BERT SAVES A TRAMP
The boys needed no further call. With whoops and yells they began to
haul the engine rapidly in the direction of the fire, the reflection
of which could already be seen.
"Come on!" cried Mr. Sagger, to several of the bucket brigade. "We
must put out the fire. Come on, men!"
He caught up his bucket from the corner where he kept it. Other
villagers did likewise, and soon there was quite a throng headed for
the burning haystack.
"Leg it, boys! Leg it!" cried Tom Donnell. "Don't let those fellows of
the bucket brigade get ahead of us!"
"If-they-do-we-can-beat-'em-by-squirting-more-water," panted Cole
Bishop. "But-say-fellows-go-a little slower-I can't-run-much farther."
Indeed, he was out of breath, for the long tramp from Jamesville had
tired him.
"Jump up on the engine, Cole," proposed Bert. "We can pull you. We'll
make you engineer, and the engineer always rides on the machine."
"All--right," responded Cole, gratefully. He scrambled up on the
apparatus, and, with a shout and cheer, the boys were off faster than
before, for Cole had been a hindrance rather than a help, in pulling
the apparatus, as he could not go fast.
"Fire! Fire!" shouted many voices, taking up the cry of the constable.
This brought out nearly all the members of the bucket brigade. The
blaze was now brighter.
"Where we going to get our water?" asked John Boll of Bert, as he
raced alongside of his chum, both dragging on the rope.
"In the brook. It runs right past Kimball's place, and we can form a
line of buckets right down to it and up to the engine."
Mr. Kimball's place was on a side street. He had a house and a small
barn. The latter building was not large enough to store his hay in, so
he kept the stuff in a stack outside.
"Come on! Come on!" Constable Stickler could be heard yelling. "The
barn'll catch pretty soon."
"We're coming!" replied Bert.
"For th' love of tripe! What's that?" cried the constable, as he
caught sight of the engine.
"The Lakeville Fire Department!" responded several boys.
"Humph!" exclaimed the constable. "Don't you boys go to interferin'
with the bucket brigade. I won't have it. The bucket brigade is the
regular department for this town."
"The only thing the matter with it is that it can't put out any
fires," was the retort from John Boll. "Let's show 'em how we do it,
boys."
On the way from Jamesville, Bert and Cole, who had been instructed by
the chief of that department how to operate the engine, imparted this
information to their chums. So, though the lads had never before
worked a hand engine, they felt that they could make a good showing.
"We'll have to hustle, boys," called Bert to his little force. "That
bucket brigade will have it in for us, and they can handle a haystack
fire pretty good. Let's show 'em how we do it."
By this time they had turned down the side street to where the burning
hay was. The flames had mostly enveloped it, and Mr. Kimball and his
two sons were vainly dashing pails of water at the base of the ignited
pile.
"Run the engine right down to the brook," said Bert. "We won't have to
pass the water so far then. As soon as it stops I'll unreel the hose
and Cole will call for some fellows to jump up and work the handles.
Don't have any disputes. The rest will pass buckets, and John Boll and
Tom Donnell can handle the nozzles. I'll pass water, this time."
The post of honor, of course, was at the nozzles, of which there were
two. Next to that came being at the handles, or brakes, while the
hardest work and probably the least spectacular was passing the water.
Bert deliberately selected this, as he knew putting out the fire
depended entirely on the water, and he did not want it said that he
chose the best position, as he wanted plenty of lads to assist him
with the buckets.
"This way, bucket brigade!" called Mr. Sagger, who acted as a sort of
chief at times.
"Here you are with the engine," cried Bert, in opposition. "Right down
to the brook, boys!"
"Form lines!" directed Mr. Sagger. "Pass buckets."
Bert and his chums ran the engine close to the stream of water. Then
Burt unreeled the two lines of hose, and gave them in charge of Tom
and John. Cole was busy oiling the brake bearings and calling for ten
boys to assist him. The others, with Bert, grabbed the buckets from
where they hung underneath the tank, and ran toward the brook.
In less than three minutes from the time they had the engine in place,
the boys at the handles could pump water, so quickly was the tank
partly filled.
"Now, boys, keep her as near full as you can," advised Bert.
There were many willing hands. Into the tank splashed pail after pail
of water. Up and down went the long handles, with a "clank-clank." The
flattened lines of hose filled out as the water squirted through them,
and an instant later, out from the nozzles spurted vigorous streams,
which Tom and John aimed at the blazing stack.
There was a loud hissing, as the water struck the hot embers, and a
great cloud of steam arose.
"That's the stuff!" cried Bert, from his position near the brook.
"We'll have it out in a few minutes."
"Pass the buckets faster!" cried Mr. Sagger. "Douse out the fire!"
The members of the brigade had not been idle. They had formed two
lines, one for the empty and one for the filled pails, and the end man
at the latter line was kept busy tossing gallon after gallon of water
on the fire. But his was slow work compared with that of even the
primitive hand engine. He had to stop, momentarily, after each
bucketful, to reach for another and to toss aside the empty one.
Then, again, he could only throw water on one spot at a time, and this
only a short distance above the ground, whereas most of the fire was
near the top. But the hose lines could be aimed to send the water high
into the air, whence it descended in a shower, wetting the stack all
over.
Such vigorous treatment could have but one effect. In a little while
the fire was under control, save at one place, and this was opposite
the line formed by the bucket brigade. The young firemen had refrained
from directing water from their lines there, as they did not want to
wet the men.
"Douse the blaze there!" cried Mr. Kimball, as he saw that in spite of
the good work of the boys much of his hay might yet be burned.
"Don't you dare do it!" cried Mr. Sagger to John and Tom. "We can put
this out."
"Why don't you do it, then?" inquired the owner of the hay. "You've
been long enough at it. Here, I'll do it."
He made a grab for the nozzle Tom held, and in doing so doused Mr.
Sagger.
"I'll have you arrested for that!" cried the butcher. "You done it on
purpose!"
"Wa'al, I'm going to have this fire out!" replied Mr. Kimball, and a
few seconds later, with the aid from the other nozzle, the blaze was
comparatively out. It still smouldered a bit on top, but a few
sprinkles from a hose quenched that.
"Fire's out!" cried Cole, from his place on top of the engine. "How's
that for the new department?"
"Boys, you're all right!" exclaimed Mr. Kimball. "There ain't more
than half my hay burned. If I'd waited for that bucket brigade it
would all be gone!"
"That's not so!" cried Mr. Sagger. "We'd have had it out in five
minutes, if those lads hadn't interfered with us."
"That's right," added several men, who did not like the praise
accorded to the young fellows.
In spite of the good work they had done, there was not the best of
feeling toward the boys on the part of the members of the bucket
brigade. But on unprejudiced observers the work of the young firemen
made a good impression, and they were warmly praised.
Quite a crowd had collected around the engine, examining it by the
light of the four lanterns. All the boys were there save Bert, and he
had remained near the brook to gather up some of the engine buckets
that had been dropped there.
As he was picking them up he saw some one crossing the little bridge
that spanned the stream, over a hole that was quite deep. The bridge
had no side rails, and the figure, which was that of a man, seemed to
be unfamiliar with this fact.
As Bert watched he saw the man sway toward the edge, and, an instant
later, topple over into the water, where there was quite a swift
current.
"Help! Help!" the man cried. "I'm drowning!"
[Illustration: "Caught the man by his long hair"]
Bert hesitated only long enough to toss off his coat and in he
plunged. He could just make out the head of the man, being swept under
the bridge, and he swam rapidly toward it. An instant later he had
caught the man by his rather long hair and was pulling him toward
shore.
"You--you saved my life!" gasped the rescued one, as soon as he was on
the bank and could speak, for he had swallowed some water. "I can't
swim."
"Oh, I guess you'd have been all right," said Bert. "It is shallow a
short distance below here, and you could have waded out."
"No," said the man, rather solemnly; "I'd have gone to the bottom and
stayed there. I'm that unlucky."
He seemed quite affected and spoke sadly. Then, by the distant gleam
of the lanterns on the engine, Bert saw that the man was ragged and
quite unkempt. In short, he was a tramp.
"Where are you from?" asked Bert.
"From New York. I was asleep under that haystack, and I woke up to
find it on fire."
"Were you smoking there?" asked Bert, suspiciously.
"No," replied the tramp, so earnestly that Bert believed him. "I don't
smoke. But I was traveling with a fellow who did. Maybe it was his
pipe that set the fire. He ran off, and I stayed around to see you
boys put out the fire. You did it in great shape. I started to cross
the bridge and I fell off. I'm weak, I guess. I haven't had anything
to eat all day."
"Where are you going?" asked Bert, for he felt a sympathy for the man.
No one else had been attracted to the scene, as every one was too much
interested in the new engine to leave it.
"I don't know," replied the man, despondently, "I'm looking for work."
"What do you do."
"I'm a stenographer and typewriter, but there are so many girls at it
now that a man can't get living wages. So I decided to become a tramp.
I wanted to get out doors, because my health is not good. But I can't
get anything to do, except very heavy tasks, and I'm not able to do
them."
"I'll see if I can't help you," proposed Bert. "Come with me. I can
give you a bed for the night."
"No, you've done enough for me. You saved my life, and I'm grateful.
Some day, maybe, I can return the favor. I'll go on now. If I stayed
around here they might arrest me on suspicion of setting the hay on
fire. I'll keep on. Maybe something will turn up."
"Then take this money," said Bert, handing the tramp a quarter. "You
can get something to eat with it."