WINNING THE TRUMPET
Bert gave his lads the order to halt, when the engine was about fifty
feet away from the burning shacks.
"Run out the hose!" he called to Tom Donnell. "The rest of you stand
ready with the hooks, and, as soon as Tom has got her pretty near out,
pull the boards apart so he can get out the last spark."
Quickly was the hose unreeled. Bert stood near the engine, ready to
swing the lever and turn the valve wheel that would send the hot
sulphuric acid into the soda water. Then, when there was a good head
of gas accumulated in the cylinder, he would open another valve, and
the fire-quenching fluid would spurt from the hose.
There was a hiss as the breaking of the glass holding the vitriol was
followed by the instant generation of gas.
"Here she comes!" cried Bert, as he turned the valve.
A second later a white, foamy stream jetted from the nozzle, and
sprayed into the midst of the blaze. The flames began to die down as
if by magic.
But Vincent was not a second behind Bert in getting his machine into
operation.
"Lively, boys!" he cried, and the hose was unreeled, the stream
playing almost at the same instant as was Bert's.
The spectators set up a cheer. This was something few of them had
seen. The chemical engines were proving what they could do. Whether
the blaze at which Vincent's crew directed their stream was not as
fierce as the other was not disclosed, but in spite of the fact that
Bert's engine was the first in operation by a narrow margin, the blaze
Vincent was fighting began to die down quicker.
"We'll win!" cried Vincent. "Our fire's out, and theirs is blazing
good yet!"
A few seconds later, however, Tom Donnell had succeeded in taming the
last of the leaping flames.
"Now, boys, tear her apart!" ordered Bert, and the lads with the long
hooks began scattering the still glowing embers of the boards that had
formed the shack. As soon as they did so, parts of the shed not
touched by the chemical, began to blaze.
"Douse her, Tom!" cried the young chief, and Tom did so with good
effect.
Meanwhile Vincent's crowd, thinking they had put their fire out, had
turned away, while Vincent shut off the valve that controlled the
outlet from the tank. No sooner had this been done than the fire in
their shack blazed up again.
"Look!" cried John Boll, one of Vincent's crew.
"Turn on the stream!" shouted several of the lads. Vincent tried to do
so, but before he could work it the shack was blazing again, almost as
fiercely as before. He had been too confident that the fire was out.
By the time he got his stream to spurting again, Bert had the other
fire completely out, so that only a little steam came from the pile of
blackened embers.
"We win!" cried Cole Bishop.
"Yes, I guess you do," assented Mr. Bergman, who was the umpire. "I'll
have to award you the decision. Now, Bert, fill your tank again, and
get ready for the real contest, which will take place in about an
hour."
"I'm glad you won, Bert," said Vincent, generously, coming over, and
shaking hands with the young chief.
"Thanks. You see I thought the blaze was smouldering under the wood,
and I was ready for it."
"I'll be, next time. I hope you win the trumpet."
"Well, so do I, for the sake of Lakeville. But these other departments
have had more practice than we have."
All the members of the Lakeville fire corps turned in to help get
Bert's engine ready for the main contest of the day. The tank was
refilled with soda water, and a new bottle of sulphuric acid put in
the holder, for a supply of the chemicals had been brought along for
that purpose.
The other companies were also preparing for the contest. The
Jamesville crowd had an engine just like these which Mr. Bergman had
purchased for Lakeville. The machines from Northville Centre and
Weedsport were different, but worked on the same principle.
"Are you all ready?" asked Mr. Bergman, when the four companies were
lined up on the edge of the wood, ready for the race to the shacks.
The various chiefs answered that they were. The word was given to fire
the sheds, and soon four clouds of black smoke were ascending to the
sky, while the flames began to roar.
"Don't start until I give the word," cautioned Mr. Bergman. "I want
the fires to get a good headway."
Anxiously the members of the four companies stood lined up, ready for
the signal. Grouped around them was a big throng.
"Be ready to jump, boys," cautioned Bert, in a low voice to his lads.
"But be careful not to stumble."
"We're all ready," replied Cole, looking back at the line of boys who
grasped the rope.
The flames were crackling more loudly. Greater clouds of smoke from
the burning oil rolled into the air. The heat from the blazing shacks
could be felt some distance away.
"Why doesn't he give the word?" asked Tom Donnell, impatiently.
Members of the other companies were inquiring the same thing. Mr.
Bergman stood with his watch in his hand. He looked at the four fires.
Then he called:
"Get ready!"
The boys tightened their grip on the rope. They leaned forward,
prepared to spring at the command.
"Go!" shouted the umpire, and the four companies were off as one.
Over the open field they dragged the engines, the big wheels rumbling
like subdued thunder. The crowd began to cheer, men and boys calling
to their favorite companies to beat in the race.
Nearer and nearer to the blazing shacks came the fire-fighters. The
company from Northville Centre was slightly in the lead, for their
engine was lighter, and there were a score of men on the rope. Next
came the Lakeville lads, while those from Weedsport were in the rear.
Suddenly there sounded a crash, and Bert, turning his head, saw the
foremost of the Weedsport men stumble. An instant later the engine,
striking a rut, overturned, dragging the whole company down.
"That--puts--them--out--of--the---race!" panted Cole, who, in spite of
his fleshiness, was keeping well up with his companions. But he was
beginning to get out of breath. "We've--got--a--better--chance--now,"
he said.
"Don't talk," advised Bert. "Save your breath for running, Cole."
Which advice the young engineer followed.
It was now an even race between the Lakeville, Jamesville and
Northville Centre departments. The members of the Weedsport crew were
trying to right their engine.
"They've--got--her--up! They're--coming!" spoke Cole, as he looked
back to see how their unfortunate adversaries fared. The three
contestants were now about as close as they dared go to the blazes.
"Never mind them! We've got our own work cut out for us!" cried Bert.
"Unreel, boys! I'll give you the stream as soon as you're ready!"
"Give it to us now!" cried Cole, quickly. "Turn the valve, Bert. The
hose and nozzle will stand the pressure, and hold it back until we
need it. Maybe we can beat 'em that way, for it will be there waiting
for us."
Bert was a little doubtful, but he knew Cole was an authority on hose
and nozzles. So, before the line was unreeled he had burst the
sulphuric acid bottle, and the hissing within the tank told him the
gas was beginning to generate.
"Come on, boys!" cried Cole, who, with Tom Donnell and several others,
was pulling the long snake-like line of rubber toward the blaze which
had been assigned to them to extinguish.
Cole's forethought proved successful. By the time the Lakeville boys
were at the fire, the fluid had filled the hose, and was ready to
spurt out of the nozzle. The others had waited until the hose was
fully unreeled before putting the apparatus in operation.
"First stream!" yelled Cole with delight, as he saw the whitish fluid
spurting toward the blaze.
They beat the other two companies by at least half a minute, and
seconds count in these fire department contests.
But the fight was only begun. So fiercely were the shacks blazing that
it seemed as if a big stream of water was needed to extinguish them.
The small chemical ones did not appear adequate. But it was science
triumphing over matter.
In less than a minute there was noticed a lessening in the power of
all three blazes. The fourth one, assigned to the unfortunate
Weedsport department, was going fiercely. But, with a shout, the
members of that department, having righted their engine, which was
only slightly damaged, rushed it up, and were soon playing a stream on
the miniature conflagration.
"Well done!" shouted Bert, in praise of a gallant foe, and the chief
of the Weedsport department acknowledged the compliment with a salute.
But the real contest was now among the Lakeville, Jamesville and
Northville Centre crews. The two latter had taken a lesson from Bert's
first contest, and had men ready with hooks to tear the piles apart as
soon as chance offered.
This opportunity soon came, as the flames began to die down under the
influence of the powerful gas.
"Tear it up, boys!" cried Bert, and, as his lads rushed forward, the
men from the other departments did likewise. Once more the flames
leaped up, as fresh material was thus made available, but the chemical
streams made short work of them.
Misfortune seemed to follow the Weedsport department, for, when they
had somewhat subdued their fire, something went wrong with their
engine. No more fluid issued from the hose, and, with an explosion
like that of a gun, the safety valve of the cylinder blew out, and the
stream began spurting from the back.
"There's no fire there!" shouted the crowd, laughing at the bad luck
of the Weedsport crew.
"Too bad, old man!" called Bert in sympathy.
"If he had my force-pump here, he could put out that fire yet," said
Cole. "I wish our boys would run out the old hand-engine."
And that is exactly what the smaller lads did, at the suggestion of
Mr. Bergman. He saw that the Weedsport department could do no more,
and, as the water tank of the hand-engine had been filled, he thought
of giving the smaller lads a chance to demonstrate what they could do.
They rushed out, and soon had the blaze well in hand.
Meanwhile, the now triple-cornered contest was almost over. The three
blazes were dying down. The lead which Bert and his lads had secured
at the start, stood them in good stead. In a few minutes more, and
just as the chemical in the tank began to give out, for Bert had, in
the excess of his zeal, turned on full power, the blaze was
extinguished. But, in the other two shacks, there were still signs of
flames.
"Take up!" cried the chief, in his most professional voice.
The boys began to reel back the hose.
"Lakeville wins!" called the umpire of the contest.
"Hurrah! Three cheers for Lakeville!" yelled the crowd, and Bert and
his lads blushed with pleasure, for they had won the silver trumpet.