Years passed away, and with them many old things vanished, while many
novelties appeared, but the Red Brigade remained much as it was,
excepting that it was, if possible, smarter and more energetic than
ever.
In the lobby of our West-end station one pleasant summer evening, the
men sat and stood about the open door beside the trim engines and
_materiel_ of their profession, chatting heartily as men are won't to do
when in high health and spirits. There were new faces among them, but
there were also several that had long been familiar there. The stalwart
form of Joe Dashwood was there, so little altered by time that there was
nothing about him to tell that he was passing the period of middle-age,
save a few grey hairs that mingled here and there with the dark curls on
his temples. Bob Clazie was there also, but he had not stood the trials
of his profession so well as Joe--probably his constitution was not so
strong. A disagreeable short cough harassed him, though he made light
of it. Frequent scorching, smoking, and partial suffocation had
increased his wrinkles and rendered his eyelids permanently red.
Nevertheless, although nearly fifty years old, Bob Clazie was still one
of the best men in the Brigade.
Joe Dashwood wore a pair of brass epaulettes on his shoulders, which
indicated that he had attained to the highest rank in the service, short
of the chief command.
He was giving directions to one of the younger men of the force, when a
tall strapping young man, with a plain but open and singularly pleasing
countenance entered, and going up to him shook him warmly by the hand.
"Well, Bob, what's the news? you seem excited this evening," said Joe.
"So I am, Joe; and with good reason too, for several pleasant things
have happened to-day. In the first place, my friend and patron--"
"That's the old gentleman with the ruddy face and the bald head?"
interrupted Joe.
"Yes, and with the kind heart. Don't ever omit the kind heart, Joe, in
your description of him, else you'll only have painted half the
portrait."
"Well, but the kind heart ain't quite so visible at first sight as the
ruddy face and bald head, you know."
"Perhaps not; but if you watched him long enough to see him _act_, you'd
perceive the kind heart as plain as if it hung at his button-hole, and
beat like a sixty-horse-power steam-engine _outside_ his ribs instead of
inside," said the strapping young man with quite a glow of enthusiasm.
"Oh, if you could only see how that old gentleman labours, and strives,
and wears himself out, in his desire to rescue what they call our Street
Arabs, you couldn't help loving him as I do. But I'm wandering from the
pleasant things I've got to tell about. Through his influence my friend
Jim has obtained a good appointment on the Metropolitan Railway, which
gives him a much better salary than he had in Skrimp's office, and opens
up a prospect of promotion; so, although it sends him underground before
his natural time, he says he is quite content to be buried alive,
especially as it makes the prospect of his union with a very small and
exceedingly charming little girl with black eyes, not quite so remote as
it was. In the second place, you'll be glad to hear that the directors
of the insurance office with which I am connected have raised my salary,
influenced thereto by the same old gentleman with the ruddy face, bald
head, and kind heart--"
"Coupled with your own merits, Bob," suggested Joe.
"I know nothing about _that_," replied the strapping young man with a
smile, "but these pleasant pieces of good fortune have enabled me and
Jim to carry out a plan which we have long cherished--to lodge together,
with Martha Reading as our landlady. In truth, anticipating some such
good fortune as has been sent to us, we had some time ago devoted part
of our savings to the purpose of rescuing poor Martha from that
miserable needlework which has been slowly killing her so long. We have
taken and furnished a small house, Martha is already installed as the
owner, and we go there to-night for the first time, as lodgers."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Joe, laughing; "why, Bob, you and your
friend act with as much promptitude as if you had been regularly trained
in the Fire-Brigade."
"We received much of our training _from_ it, if not _in_ it," returned
the strapping young man with the plain but pleasant countenance. "Don't
you remember, Joe, how perseveringly we followed you in former days when
_I_ was the Bloater and _he_ was Little Jim?"
"Remember it! I should think I do," replied Joe. "How glad my Mary
will be when she hears what you have done."
"But that's not all my news," continued the Bloater, (if we may presume
to use the old name). "Last, but not least, Fred has asked me to be his
groom's-man. He wrote me a very pathetic letter about it, but omitted
to mention the day--not to be wondered at in the circumstances. Poor
Fred, his letter reminded me of the blotted copies which I used to write
with such trouble and sorrow at the training school to which my patron
sent me."
"There's reason for the blotted letter besides the excitement of his
approaching marriage," said Joe. "He hurt his hand the last fire he
attended, and it's in a sling just now, so he must have taken it out,
for temporary duty when he wrote to you. The truth is that Fred is too
reckless for a fireman. He's scarcely cool enough. But I can inform
you as to the day; it is Thursday next. See that you are up to time,
Bob."
"No fear of me being late," replied the Bloater. "By the way, have you
heard of that new method of putting out fires that somebody has
invented?"
"I did hear of some nonsensical plan," replied Joe, with a slight
expression of contempt, "but I don't think it worth while to pay
attention to things o' this sort. There's nothin' can beat good cold
water."
"I'm not so sure of that, Joe," replied his friend gravely. "I have
been reading an account of it in the _Insurance Guardian_, and it seems
to me that there is something worth attending to in the new plan. It
looks as if there was life in it, for a company is to be got up called
the `Fire and Water Company.'"
"But what _is_ this new plan?" asked Joe, sending forth a violent puff
from his pipe, as if to indicate that it would all end in smoke.
"Well, I'm not sure that I've got a correct notion of it myself, but my
impression is that carbonic acid gas is the foundation-principle of it.
Fire cannot exist in the presence of this gas--wherever it goes
extinction of fire is instantaneous, which is more than you can say for
water, Joe; for as you know well, fire, when strong enough, can turn
that into steam as fast as you can pour it on, and after getting rid of
it in this way, blaze up as furious as ever. What this company proposes
to do is to saturate water with this carbonic acid gas mixed with
nitrogen, and then pour that prepared water on fires. Of course, if
much water were required, such a plan would never succeed, but a very
small quantity is said to be sufficient. It seems that some testing
experiments of a very satisfactory kind have been made recently--so you
see, Joe, it is time to be looking out for a new profession!"
"H'm. I'll stick to the old brigade, at all events till the new company
beats us from the field. Perhaps when that happens they'll enrol some
of us to work the--what d'ye call 'em?--soda-water engines. They'll
have engines of course, I suppose?"
"Of course," replied the Bloater; "moreover, they mean to turn their
prepared water to good account when there are no fires to put out. It
is said that the proportions of the mixture can be so varied that, with
one kind, the pump may be used for the clarification of beer, oils,
treacle, quicksilver, and such like, and for the preservation of fruit,
meat, milk, etcetera, and with another mixture they propose to ventilate
mines and tunnels; water gardens; kill insects on trees and flowers;
soften water for domestic uses, and breweries, and manufacture
soda-water, seltzer water, and other aerated beverages--"
"Oh, I say, Bob, hold on," cried Joe; "you seem to forget that my
capacity for swallowing is limited."
"Well, perhaps you'll get it enlarged enough before long, to swallow all
that and a deal more," said the Bloater, with a half serious air.
"Meanwhile I'll continue to wish all success and prosperity to the Red
Brigade--though you _do_ cause a tremendous amount of damage by your
floods of water, as we poor insurance companies know. Why, if it were
not for the heroes of the salvage corps we should be ruined altogether.
It's my opinion, Joe, that the men of the salvage corps run quite as
much risk as your fellows do in going through fire and smoke and working
among falling beams and tumbling walls in order to cover goods with
their tarpaulins and protect them from water."
"I admit that the salvage men do their work like heroes," said Joe; "but
if you would read our chief's report for last year, you would see that
we do our best to put out fires with the smallest possible amount of
water. Why, we only used about eleven million gallons in the last
twelve months--a most insignificant quantity that, for the amount of
work done!"
A tinkle of the telegraph bell here cut short the conversation. "Fire,
in the Mall, Kensington," was the signal.
"Get her out, lads!" cried Joe, referring to the engine.
Helmets and hatchets were donned and buckled on in the old style, and
quiet jokes or humorous and free-and-easy remarks were uttered in slow,
even sleepy tones, while the men acted with a degree of prompt celerity
that could not have been excelled had their own lives depended on their
speed. In three minutes, as usual, they were off at full gallop. The
Bloater--who still longed to follow them as of old, but had other
business on hand--wished them "good luck," and proceeded at a smart pace
to his new lodgings.
We must change the scene now, for the men of the Red Brigade do not
confine their attentions exclusively to such matters as drilling,
fighting, suffering, conquering, and dying. They sometimes marry! Let
us look in at this little church where, as a passer-by remarks,
"_something_ appears to be going on."
A tall handsome young man leads to the altar a delicate, beautiful,
blooming bride, whose bent head and blushing cheek, and modest mien and
dependent air, contrast pleasantly with the gladsome firm countenance,
stalwart frame, and self-reliant aspect of the bridegroom.
Looking at them as they stood then, no one could have entertained for a
moment the idea that these two had ever united in the desperate and
strenuous attempt to put out a fire! Yet so it was. They had, once
upon a time, devoted themselves to the extinction of a fire in a
cupboard with such enthusiasm that they had been successful not only in
putting that fire out, but in lighting another fire, which nothing short
of union for life could extinguish!
Joe Dashwood gave away the bride, and he could not help remarking in a
whisper to the Bloater, (who was also there in sumptuous attire), that
if ever a man was the born image of his father that man was Fred
Crashington--an opinion which was heartily responded to by Mrs Maggie
Crashington, who, then in the period of life which is described as "fat,
fair, and forty," looked on at the proceedings with intense
satisfaction. Mary Dashwood--also fat, fair, and forty--was there too,
and if ever a woman congratulated herself on a rosebud having grown into
a full blown blush-rose, that woman was Mary.
Besides a pretty large company of well-dressed people, with white
favours in their breasts, there was a sprinkling of active men with
sailor-like caps, who hung about the outskirts of the crowd, and among
these were two or three stout fellows with brass helmets and dirty hands
and faces, and wet garments, who had returned from a recent fire, just
in time to take a look at their comrade and his fair bride.
"Poor Ned, how his kind heart would have rejoiced to see this day!"
murmured Joe, brushing his cheek hastily as he retired from the altar.
So, the wedding party left the church, and the firemen returned to their
posts of watchfulness and duty.
About the same period that this wedding took place, there was another
wedding in the great metropolis to which we would draw the reader's
attention. Not that it was a great one or a splendid one; on the
contrary, if it was marked by any unusual peculiarities, these were
shabbiness and poverty. The wedding party consisted of only two,
besides the bride and bridegroom, and everything was conducted with such
quietness, and gravity, and absence of excitement, that it might almost
have been mistaken for a funeral on a small scale by any one
unacquainted with the ceremonial appertaining thereto.
The happy pair, besides looking very sad, were past the meridian of
life. Both were plainly dressed, and each appeared desirous of avoiding
observation. The man, in particular, hung his head and moved awkwardly,
as if begging forgiveness generally for presuming to appear in the
character of a bridegroom. His countenance had evidently never been
handsome, but there was a sad subdued look about it--the result,
perhaps, of prolonged suffering--which prevented it from being
repulsive. He looked somewhat like an invalid, yet his powerful frame
and the action of his strong muscular hands were not in keeping with
that idea.
The bride, although careworn and middle-aged, possessed a singularly
sweet and attractive countenance--all the more attractive that it wore a
habitual expression of sadness. It was a sympathetic face, too, because
it was the index to a loving, sympathetic, Christian soul, and its
ever-varying indications of feeling, lightened and subdued and modified,
but never quite removed, the sadness.
The two who composed the remainder of this wedding party were young men,
apparently in a higher position of life than the principals. The one
was tall and strapping, the other rather small, but remarkably active
and handsome. It was evident that they were deeply interested in the
ceremony in which they took part, and the smaller of the two appeared to
enjoy some humorous reminiscences occasionally, to judge from the
expression of his face when his glance chanced to meet that of his tall
friend.
As they were leaving the altar, the bridegroom bent down and murmured in
a deep soft voice--
"It's like a dream, Martha. It ain't easy to believe that such good
luck should come to the likes o' me."
The bride whispered something in reply, which was inaudible to those who
followed.
"Yes, Martha, yes," returned the bridegroom; "no doubt it is as you put
it. But after all, there's only one of His sayin's that has gone right
home to me. I've got it by heart _now_--`I came not to call the
righteous, but _sinners_ to repentance.' 'Twould have bin all up with
me long ago but for that, Martha."
They reached the door at this point, got into a cab, and drove away.
The remainder of the wedding party left the little church on foot.
The same evening on which this event took place, the strapping young man
and the little active youth sat together at the open window of a
comfortable though small parlour, enjoying a cup of tea. The view from
the window was limited, but it possessed the charm of variety;
commanding as it did, a vista of chimney-pots of every shape and form
conceivable--many of which were capped with those multiform and hideous
contrivances, with which foolish man vainly endeavours to cure smoke.
"Well, Jim," asked the strapping youth, as he gazed pensively on this
prospect, "what d'you think of it?"
"What do you refer to, Bob--our view or the wedding?"
"The wedding, of course."
"It's hard to say," replied Jim, musing. "He seemed to be such an
unmitigated scoundrel when we first made his acquaintance that it is
difficult to believe he is a changed man now."
"By which you mean to insinuate, Jim, that the Gospel is not sufficient
for out-and-out blackguards; that it is only powerful enough to deal
with such modified scoundrels as you and I were."
"By no means," replied Jim, with a peculiar smile; "but, d'you know,
Bloater, I never can feel that we were such desperate villains as you
make us out to have been, when we swept the streets together."
"Just listen to him!" exclaimed the Bloater, smiting his knee with his
fist, "you can't _feel_!--what have _feelings_ to do with knowledge?
Don't you _know_ that we were fairly and almost hopelessly _in the
current_, and that we should probably have been swept off the face of
the earth by this time if it had not been for that old gentleman with
the bald head and the kindly--"
"There, now, Bloater, don't let us have any more of that, you become
positively rabid when you get upon that old gentleman, and you are
conceited enough, also, to suppose that all the gratitude in the world
has been shovelled into your own bosom. Come, let us return to the
point, what do I think of the wedding--well, I think a good deal of it.
There is risk, no doubt, but there is that in everything sublunary. I
think, moreover, that the marriage is founded on _true love_. He never
would have come to his present condition but for true love to Martha,
which, in God's providence, seems to have been made the means of opening
his mind to Martha's _message_, the pith of which message was contained
in his last remark on leaving the church. Then, as to Martha, our own
knowledge of her would be sufficient to ease our minds as to her wisdom,
even if it were not coupled with the reply she made to me when I
expressed wonder that she should desire to marry such a man. `Many
waters,' she said, `cannot quench love!'"
"Ha! you know something of that yourself," remarked Bob with a smile.
"Something," replied Little Jim, with a sigh.
"Well, don't despond," said the Bloater, laying his hand on Jim's
shoulder. "I have reason to know that the obstacles in your way shall
soon be removed, because that dear old gentleman with the--"
He was cut short by a loud, gruff shouting in the street below,
accompanied by the rattling of wheels and the clatter of horses' hoofs.
"Ah, there they go!" cried Jim, his eyes glistening with enthusiasm as
he and his friend leaned out of the window, and strove to gain a glimpse
of the street between the forest of chimneys, "driving along, hammer and
tongs, neck or nothing, always at it night and day. A blessing on
them!"
"Amen," said the Bloater, as he and Jim resumed their seats and listened
to the sound of the wheels, voices, and hoofs dying away in the
distance.
Reader, we re-echo the sentiment, and close our tale with the remark
that there are many rescued men and women in London who shall have
cause, as long as life shall last, to pray for a blessing on the
overwrought heroes who fill the ranks, and fight the battles of the Red
Brigade.