go through the nerve-trying ordeal of performing it as though in actual
practice. Escapes are run into the yard. Some of the old hands mount to
the roof, and the embryo firemen are ordered to go aloft and save them
from an awful death. That this is a very considerable feat, I think
our photograph of the operation will amply demonstrate. To an old hand
who has performed the operation amid all the exciting surroundings of
an actual fire it is simple enough. He skips up the creaking, bending
ladder, lightly tosses a twelve-stone colleague on his back, in the
most unconcerned manner, and as blithely skips down again.
But although there is an element of very real danger in it to the
beginner, yet he generally gets through it satisfactorily, though
his progress is necessarily slow. It is in such drills that his sea
training stands him in good stead.
[Illustration: NERVOUS WORK FOR RECRUITS--NEW FIREMEN RESCUING OLD
FIREMEN.]
However, the most nerve-trying work is the jumping-sheet drill. As our
illustration shows, some eighteen or twenty men at a given order man
the canvas jumping-sheet.
Beckets, or rope handles, are supplied all round the edge of the sheet.
Each man holds one of these in either hand, and as the jumper alights
in the centre of the canvas, all simultaneously give a little, and so
break the force of the fall. The men are required to jump 20 feet from
a parapet into the sheet. It is nervous work, both for the jumpers and
those who catch them.
The instructor tells you that there is no danger. In fact a forty-foot
jump into the sheet would be very unlikely to result in injury.
It is easy to listen to such statements, but it is another thing to
stand on that narrow ledge and gaze contemplatively into the tiny
sheet, twenty feet below.
Every possible method of saving life is the subject of a special set of
drills, and all are constantly practised by all hands alike. They are
designed to meet every possible contingency, and when lives are lost by
fire it is generally attributable to delay in summoning the brigade.
[Illustration: STILL MORE NERVOUS WORK--JUMPING-SHEET DRILL, A 20-FEET
DROP.]
One of the most interesting systems of rescue is that in which the
chair knot is used. It is an extreme method only resorted to when the
fierceness of the fire renders the use of the escape impracticable.
This method is shown in actual operation in one of our photographs. You
are invited to suppose that the whole face of the building is alight,
and that a person is in the top front room calling for assistance.
Several men ascend to the roofs of the houses on either side of the
doomed building. Each party has a rope, the two ends of which are tied
in a knot consisting of two loops. The person in danger is instructed
how to fasten the loops about him. He is now suspended in a sort
of cradle or chair, and is lowered away, a guy rope to the ground
controlling the angle of descent.
In some extreme cases where the chair knot cannot be used another
method is resorted to. Several of the brigade ascend to the roof of the
opposite house with a line. This has a knot similar to that already
described at one end, and is swung or thrown across into the window at
which the unfortunate individual stands. If this cannot be managed the
brigade use a special rocket apparatus which enables them to shoot a
line to any given spot.
The man or woman, as the case may be, gets into the knot and swings off
the window-ledge. The rescue party know beforehand by the length of
the line exactly where he or she will strike the wall of the opposite
house, and a mattress is suspended at this spot to break the impact.
At a middle window a long projecting fork catches the rope in the
centre as it swings across the street, and plays an important part in
lessening the shock to the human burden in the knot below.
Needless to say there must always be an element of risk in this method,
and it is only resorted to when every other expedient has failed.
New hands are constantly exercised in the work of turning out, getting
apparatus to work, and performing in every detail the duties likely to
be met with at an ordinary fire. There is a great deal of _esprit de
corps_ among them, and this and natural love of competition soon place
them on a footing with the older hands as regards rapidity, stability,
and general smartness.
Wednesday is the most interesting day of the week. This is a sort of
At Home day at Southwark, and during the afternoon all the drills are
gone through for inspection by the Commander. The picturesque incident
of this dress rehearsal is the dummy fire. Without the slightest
warning the onlooker is startled by a shrill whistle, the mad ringing
of bells, and cries of "Fire." From an upper story of one of the
buildings volumes of dense black smoke pour forth, and before he has
time to realise that the whole thing is nothing more than an elaborate
rehearsal, a steamer clatters into the yard, an escape is run up, and
the men are aloft with the hose. A moment later two persons are rescued
from the burning room, the fire is got under, and the brigade pack up
their traps and disappear as quickly as they came. The photograph on
the next page illustrates the scene a few seconds after the first alarm.
This very realistic outbreak is produced by means of a little oil and
straw, ignited in an alcove in the wall. The two men who attend it have
a lively time between fire and water, and if appearance counts for
anything they are not rescued a moment too soon.
While one cannot but smile at the humorous side of this mock rescue,
there is much of tragedy in the actual work of this kind which most
members of the brigade are called upon to perform at one time or
another.
I cannot help emphasising my conviction that the brigade is taken too
much as a matter of course. At all big fires some member of the brigade
is sure to receive injury; this is amply proved by statistics. For
example, in 1897 the number of accidents to members of the brigade was
111. That is to say, one man in ten received a more or less serious
hurt in the execution of his duty. Fortunately, no fatal case is
reported.
In spite of this percentage the men are the happiest of fellows. They
love and respect their Commander, at which there is no reason for
surprise, and they go to their duty cheerfully, no matter what the
danger or inconvenience may be.
The most pathetic record of heroism I know is that contained in a
corner cupboard of the Instruction Room. Here are the helmets of men
who have died at their posts. In more cases than one their lives have
been sacrificed for others.
Bent, battered, twisted, and torn into every conceivable shape, they
intimate only too clearly the awful nature and suddenness of such a
death.
The appended label describes how every man met his death. It is the
story we always hear of the British sailor, whether he be afloat or
ashore--blind, unfailing devotion to duty, no matter how hopeless his
case.
The remnants of uniform and equipment in the foreground of the picture
are all that was found of Jacobs, the poor fellow who was burned like a
rat in a hole at the Wandsworth fire in 1889.
I will not enlarge upon this distressing subject. They were grand
fellows all of them, worthy of our reverence and respect.
[Illustration: A PROMPT RESCUE--USING THE CHAIR KNOT.]
There are many more like them, and if this gruesome illustration
reminds our readers that our firemen are every bit as deserving of
praise as Thomas Atkins or Jack Tar it will not have been published in
vain.
[Illustration: RECEIVING SUPERINTENDENTS' REPORTS.]
Improvements are constantly being made in the apparatus of the brigade.
There is a tendency to do away with the canvas shute once generally
used on fire escapes. Commander Wells believes in ladders. He is
striving to horse all escapes, an advantage which must strike the most
casual observer of fire brigade work. At the present moment experiments
are being made with telephonic street alarms. In the ordinary street
alarm you smash the glass, press the button, which rings a bell in
the nearest station, and wait till the engine comes. By the new plan
it will be possible to speak directly through a telephone to the
superintendent of the nearest station--an enormous advantage.
Needless to say the telegraphic and telephonic arrangements of the
brigade are the most perfect in the world. One of our illustrations
shows the gigantic switchboard, which directly connects the chief
officer with the sixty odd stations situated all over London. The men
at the tables are engaged in receiving the daily reports sent to the
chief officer by the district superintendents.
The canteen van is now taken to every great fire. Formerly, when the
men were working drenched to the skin for twelve or thirteen hours on
end, they had no means of obtaining much-needed refreshment.
[Illustration: DUMMY FIRE AT HEADQUARTERS, WITH REAL SMOKE.]
Commander Wells has altered all that. If the conflagration is one
likely to keep the brigade going for some hours, the canteen takes up
a convenient position and serves out hot cocoa or hot tea and other
light refreshments.
[Illustration: HELMETS OF FIRE BRIGADE HEROES]
What a benefit this is only those who have been on fire duty know.
Much more might be said of this, the most interesting of our public
services, but my space is limited. I have not even room to deal with
the floating fire stations and engines on the River Thames, worthy in
themselves of an article.
In conclusion, I may tell those who are fond of figures that there are
in the service of the Metropolis 235 escapes, 59 steam fire engines, 70
manuals, 115 hose carts, 36 miles of hose, 8 steam tugs, 12 barges, 5
floating stations, 8 floating engines, 12 skiffs, 5 long fire ladders,
7 ladder vans, 156 watch boxes, 159 horses, 114 telephone lines between
stations, 592 fire alarm call points, and a host of other apparatus too
numerous to mention.
The two most powerful steamers have a capacity of 580 gallons per
minute, the ordinary engines 360 gallons per minute.
The horses are the finest in the world, and, as most people know, they
stand on duty ready harnessed. The weight of collar and harness is
taken off the animals by means of a mechanical contrivance which swings
upward immediately the alarm bell is rung.
In the superintendent's room there is a huge map of London. It is
dotted with little spots coloured red, green, and blue. The red marks
denote what are called by the brigade "working fires," _i.e._ where
engines have been used. The green spots indicate small fires, and there
are left a host of yellow marks--in some districts there are dozens
within a few hundred yards of each other.
I regret to say that they represent "malicious false alarms." The
punishment for wilfully playing a trick of this kind is a fine of £20
or three months' imprisonment.
[Illustration: THE FIRE BRIGADE CANTEEN.]
HOW THE MINISTER'S NOTES WERE RECOVERED.
THE STORY OF A BIT OF DIPLOMACY.
BY BEATRICE HERON-MAXWELL.
_Illustrated by Fred Pegram._
"It is like this, Frederic," said the United States Minister,
button-holing Sir Frederic Rawnsley, and leading him to a deserted
cosy-corner, "I am in a nasty hole! It must not be known, of course,
but a slip of paper containing some important notes has got lost, and I
have a horrible misgiving that it may have slipped inside the despatch
we have just sent to Lord Westfaling. It won't do to ask, because it
will only ensure their attention being attracted to it if it's there,
and will betray our own laxity if it's not. Yet it must be found. What
would you do?"
Sir Frederic thought for a moment; under his trivial exterior were some
brains, as the Minister knew well.
"I should place the whole matter in the hands of Berend," he said,
decisively.
The Minister looked dissatisfied.
"A mere lad, and quite raw," he said; "he has only been with us two
days."
"I knew his father," continued Sir Frederic; "one of the cleverest
Secretaries who ever handled a Legation. He would have made his mark if
he had not died too soon. This boy is exactly like him. I fancy he will
do well."
Some guests were entering: a private discussion was no longer possible.
The American Minister wandered away, still dissatisfied and irresolute.
Half an hour later he crossed the ballroom, with the young attaché at
his heels, and made his way to a girl in white, who was the centre of
attraction there.
"You are interested in diplomacy, Lady Anstiss," he said; "may I
present to you our latest arrival, Mr. Julius Berend?--Lady Anstiss
Carlyon."
The girl raised a pair of lovely, indifferent eyes, and bowed; the
Minister moved away as though the introduction were a matter of casual
insignificance.
A few steps further on he stopped and glanced back.
Mr. Berend, his face devoid of expression, though he had just been
introduced to the most beautiful girl in Brussels, was looking down
silently.
Lady Anstiss, her shoulder turned to him, was bestowing her slow, sweet
smile, the smile that had already made her famous as a beauty, on
someone in the distance.
"What stage of acquaintanceship must one reach," he said, gravely,
"before being promoted to the honour of a smile from Lady Anstiss
Carlyon?"
She looked a little annoyed.
"Some people never reach it," she answered; "the majority in fact. I
reserve it for my personal friends--and they are few."
"I am glad to hear it," said Mr. Berend. "I hate majorities: to escape
from them is something worth striving for. To me a barrier of any
sort is delightful; it arouses a corresponding amount of energy; and
indolence is my detestation and my failing at the same time."
Lady Anstiss made a little gesture of impatience. This sententious
boy was going to be a bore, and to give her the trouble of crushing
him. Her programme, dangling from her fan, attracted his attention; he
raised it and took the pencil, saying, "May I have the pleasure? Which
dance?"
There were still two vacant places on the card; Lady Anstiss did not
intend them for a chance-comer.
"I am sorry----" she began; but quite courteously he interrupted her.
"I should have preferred a waltz," he said; "but I am fortunate to find
you disengaged at all," and wrote his name down.
Lady Anstiss looked at him critically as he did so.
A young man of middle height, with a graceful figure, and a face
that might be called blameless, so inoffensive were the features and
colouring. Fair, youthful-looking, with an air of mild freshness about
it that seemed peculiarly unsuited to his profession. A partner claimed
Lady Anstiss before she had made up her mind precisely how to subdue
this apparently unconscious offender.
"Lord Westfaling is still away, and can't have had your despatch yet;
so if Berend can get round Lady Anstiss," said Sir Frederic Rawnsley,
with oracular significance, a little later, "the thing might be worked
somehow."
[Illustration: 'YOU ARE INTERESTED IN DIPLOMACY, LADY ANSTISS. MAY I
PRESENT TO YOU OUR LATEST ARRIVAL?' SAID THE AMERICAN MINISTER.]
The American Minister shook his head.
"If!" he repeated. "There is a very wide margin for probability, I am
afraid."
"I don't know," replied Sir Frederic. "Women move the levers nowadays,
though men make 'em. Westfaling gives in to her in everything. If she
so insisted on his retiring from political life to-morrow, he would do
it."
Nevertheless, and in spite also of the fact that Lady Anstiss was
dancing for the second time that night with Mr. Berend, the Minister
still felt as hopeless at the conclusion of the Diplomatic Ball as he
had at its commencement.
The day following the ball happened to be the occasion of a weekly
reception at Lord Westfaling's, where the part of hostess was played by
his only daughter, Lady Anstiss Carlyon. She was at home from four to
seven, and it was as the clock struck the former hour that her first
visitor was announced--Mr. Julius Berend.
She had parted from him the night before still undecided as to the
precise nature and extent of his offence, and the precise measure of
punishment. His presumption appeared to be involuntary, as in the case
of his calling so early--a privilege he ought to have hesitated to take.
She greeted him with the faintest perceptible effort of memory, as
though she hardly recalled who Mr. Julius Berend was; but he was so
little disconcerted that the reproof was wasted, and he took the chair
nearest to her, which was unnecessary. She felt, in the few moments'
conversation that ensued, as though she were a skilled fencer foiling
the aimless thrusts of a tyro who did not know he was fencing.
Presently she handed him some tea, and in accepting it he calmly
detained her fingers with his left hand.
"Pardon me," he said, "is that a genuine scarabæus in your ring? If so,
it is a very perfect specimen."
"My father gave it to me," she said, coldly, "and he believes it to be
a real one, but I cannot answer for its genuineness."
She attempted to withdraw her fingers; really, this young man was
impossible.
But he still held them with firm gentleness, and having placed his cup
of tea on a table, he now ventured to touch the ring with his right
forefinger.
"Singular!" he said. "I thought I knew the genus scarabæus fairly well,
but I do not remember seeing an intaglio quite like this before. May
I----" He was about to draw the ring off.
"I would rather not," Lady Anstiss said, hastily, while his audacity
brought the slightest addition of rose-flush to her cheek. "My father
placed the ring there himself on my last birthday."
Again she strove to release her hand, and her eyes--grey eyes, with
depths of violet in them--darkened with surprised vexation.
This young man seemed incapable of appreciating his own transcendent
presumption. He was still replacing the ring, when the door, opening
wide and swiftly, disclosed another visitor.
"Lady Lomond!" announced the footman; and a Scotchwoman, of ready
eye and potent tongue, entered. The hand of Lady Anstiss was her own
again simultaneously; but she rose to greet the newcomer with an
uncomfortable sensation of having been caught and compromised.
Her hope that the situation had escaped Lady Lomond's notice was
shattered with the first words.
"Palmistry?" inquired that lady, briefly, with a glance at Mr. Berend.
Lady Anstiss smiled with outward composure, but with inward rage.
"Oh, no!" she said; "this is Mr. Berend, who is learned in Egyptian
lore, and doubts the quality of my scarabæus."
But even as she said it, she rebelled against all that her words must
imply.
It would seem to Mr. Berend that she was acknowledging his right to
have held her hand, to have behaved in fact unpardonably; that she was
mitigating, explaining, condoning the offence all in one breath, and
leaguing herself, as it were, with him against any insinuations that
Lady Lomond might make.
Whether Mr. Berend perceived the situation or not it was impossible to
tell.
He handed some tea to Lady Lomond, made one of his subtly inane
remarks, and took his leave, saying, as he bowed over Lady Anstiss's
hand, which he pressed more closely than the farewell warranted--
"I should like to feel quite certain about that scarabæus. Perhaps you
will let me examine it again at leisure another day; it is exceedingly
interesting to me."
And under the watchful eyes of the most ruthless scandal-promoter in
Brussels, Lady Anstiss was obliged to assent, to appear quite friendly
and at ease with him, when all the time she felt every word he uttered
as a fresh provocation.
"Quite new, is he not?" said Lady Lomond; "that is, out here, I mean.
An old friend of yours, no doubt?" Which was embarrassing when Lady
Anstiss was secretly making up her mind to cut him dead from that
moment.
The door reopened before she answered, and Mr. Berend was back again.
"I forgot," he said, "I am the bearer of a message to Lord Westfaling.
Might I give it to him personally?"
"My father is away for three days," replied Lady Anstiss; "I thought
General Standish was aware of that."
She intended a reproof, and this time Mr. Berend did not ignore it.
"Quite so," he answered; "my message was not from my chief; it was
of a more private nature. Perhaps I might be permitted to have Lord
Westfaling's address, or if I might send a note here could it be
forwarded?"
"We are not forwarding any letters to him this time; they would only
have missed him, perhaps," she answered, "but if you write here he will
receive it on arrival."
"Thanks," said Mr. Berend, laconically, and took his final departure.
For thirty-six hours Lady Anstiss did not see him again, and during
that period, in the intervals between her social distractions, the
thought of him recurred so often that at last she positively wished to
see him. She intended to show him plainly that he had transgressed,
that she was not to be approached in the easy fashion he had adopted,
and that the idea of friendship between them was quite out of the
question.
She meant, in fact, to snub him as never had any young rising diplomat
been snubbed before.
Armed with these pleasant resolutions, she felt really gratified when,
at a dinner to which she had gone under Lady Lomond's chaperonage, she
found that Mr. Berend was sitting on her left hand.
She was fully prepared for any advances he might make, and it took her
some time to realise that he was evidently not going to make any at all.
He acknowledged her presence with polite gravity, and thereafter
devoted himself to the lady on his other side, taking part also in
the general conversation at table, and taking it well, but never once
addressing a remark to Lady Anstiss.
She found herself listening to his conversation, acknowledging with
unwillingness that it was clever, and betrayed no immaturity such as
his face suggested; finally she began to feel piqued that he should
ignore her, and to think that if Lady Lomond noticed it, that good lady
would be sure to weave a new romance from his conduct.
[Illustration: "HE CALMLY DETAINED HER FINGERS WITH HIS LEFT HAND."]
After dinner the same thing occurred. Mr. Berend, without seeming to do
so in any marked manner, contrived to avoid her, and, strange to say,
this chafed her, although she was surrounded all the evening by other
men.
It vexed her, too, that Mr. Berend should appear to be concentrating
himself on Lady Lomond, and Lady Anstiss wondered that he should be
content to listen to such lengthy discourse from a woman who was
nothing if she was not gossiping.
She felt a sort of relief when at last the moment for departure came,
and, passing Mr. Berend with the slightest bow as he held the door
open, swept downstairs in a less equable frame of mind than was her
wont. To her surprise, when she followed Lady Lomond down the steps to
the carriage, Mr. Berend, running lightly after them, jumped in too.
"I asked Mr. Berend to come with us," said Lady Lomond, "because if you
do not mind I should like you to drive me home first, and I thought
he could then escort you on to the Rue de la Place." The smile which
accompanied this remark conveyed that she thought she had done a very
clever and acceptable thing in giving these two an opportunity for a
_tête-à-tête_.
"Thanks," responded Lady Anstiss, stiffly, "but I am afraid that will
be taking Mr. Berend quite out of his way; and I am accustomed to drive
alone often."
The matter, however, appeared to be settled, and she could only invoke
silent anathemas on Lady Lomond's head for her officiousness, and
determine that she would match Mr. Berend in behaviour, and would
ignore him even when they were left to each other's society. But she
reckoned without her host.
For, the moment after Lady Lomond had entered her own house and the
carriage had started again, Mr. Berend, calmly taking the vacant place
beside Lady Anstiss, said in an earnest tone, quite different from his
usual one--
"I have longed for and yet dreaded this moment. Lady Anstiss, I felt
to-night that there was only one subject I could speak to you about,
and that I did not care to touch on it in the presence of others. It
is a matter of indifference to you, but to me it is not only a serious
one--it is a very distressing one."
He paused; and she tried to remember some of the chill and cutting
remarks with which she had intended to show him how great was the
distance that divided them.
But she had been wholly unprepared for this new method of advance, and,
as only irrelevant replies occurred to her, she contented herself with
silence.
"I am going away," he continued, "to-morrow."
"Going away," she echoed, involuntarily; "you have only just come. How
is that?"
"I have pledged myself to fulfil a certain task in a certain space of
time; the time ends to-morrow morning, and the task is uncompleted.
Therefore I shall leave Brussels in the afternoon. Failure is quite as
insupportable to me as to those above me. But I should not mind it so
much if it were not for two things."