There were hoarse commands from in front of the house. "Turn on your
water, Five!" "Let 'er go, One!" The gathering crowd swayed this way
and that way. The flames, towering high, cast a wild red light on
their faces. There came the clangor of a gong from along some adjacent
street. The crowd exclaimed at it. "Here comes Number Three!" "That's
Three a-comin'!" A panting and irregular mob dashed into view,
dragging a hose-cart. A cry of exultation arose from the little boys.
"Here's Three!" The lads welcomed Never-Die Hose Company Number Three
as if it was composed of a chariot dragged by a band of gods. The
perspiring citizens flung themselves into the fray. The boys danced in
impish joy at the displays of prowess. They acclaimed the approach of
Number Two. They welcomed Number Four with cheers. They were so deeply
moved by this whole affair that they bitterly guyed the late
appearance of the hook and ladder company, whose heavy apparatus had
almost stalled them on the Bridge Street hill. The lads hated and
feared a fire, of course. They did not particularly want to have
anybody's house burn, but still it was fine to see the gathering of
the companies, and amid a great noise to watch their heroes perform
all manner of prodigies.
They were divided into parties over the worth of different companies,
and supported their creeds with no small violence. For instance, in
that part of the little city where Number Four had its home it would
be most daring for a boy to contend the superiority of any other
company. Likewise, in another quarter, where a strange boy was asked
which fire company was the best in Whilomville, he was expected to
answer "Number One." Feuds, which the boys forgot and remembered
according to chance or the importance of some recent event, existed
all through the town.
They did not care much for John Shipley, the chief of the department.
It was true that he went to a fire with the speed of a falling angel,
but when there he invariably lapsed into a certain still mood, which
was almost a preoccupation, moving leisurely around the burning
structure and surveying it, putting meanwhile at a cigar. This quiet
man, who even when life was in danger seldom raised his voice, was not
much to their fancy. Now old Sykes Huntington, when he was chief, used
to bellow continually like a bull and gesticulate in a sort of
delirium. He was much finer as a spectacle than this Shipley, who
viewed a fire with the same steadiness that he viewed a raise in a
large jack-pot. The greater number of the boys could never understand
why the members of these companies persisted in re-electing Shipley,
although they often pretended to understand it, because "My father
says" was a very formidable phrase in argument, and the fathers seemed
almost unanimous in advocating Shipley.
At this time there was considerable discussion as to which company had
gotten the first stream of water on the fire. Most of the boys claimed
that Number Five owned that distinction, but there was a determined
minority who contended for Number One. Boys who were the blood
adherents of other companies were obliged to choose between the two on
this occasion, and the talk waxed warm.
But a great rumor went among the crowds. It was told with hushed
voices. Afterwards a reverent silence fell even upon the boys. Jimmie
Trescott and Henry Johnson had been burned to death, and Dr. Trescott
himself had been most savagely hurt. The crowd did not even feel the
police pushing at them. They raised their eyes, shining now with awe,
towards the high flames.
The man who had information was at his best. In low tones he described
the whole affair. "That was the kid's room--in the corner there. He
had measles or somethin', and this coon--Johnson--was a-settin' up
with 'im, and Johnson got sleepy or somethin' and upset the lamp, and
the doctor he was down in his office, and he came running up, and they
all got burned together till they dragged 'em out."
Another man, always preserved for the deliverance of the final
judgment, was saying: "Oh, they'll die sure. Burned to flinders. No
chance. Hull lot of 'em. Anybody can see." The crowd concentrated its
gaze still more closely upon these flags of fire which waved joyfully
against the black sky. The bells of the town were clashing
unceasingly.
A little procession moved across the lawn and towards the street.
There were three cots, borne by twelve of the firemen. The police
moved sternly, but it needed no effort of theirs to open a lane for
this slow cortege. The men who bore the cots were well known to the
crowd, but in this solemn parade during the ringing of the bells and
the shouting, and with the red glare upon the sky, they seemed utterly
foreign, and Whilomville paid them a deep respect. Each man in this
stretcher party had gained a reflected majesty. They were footmen to
death, and the crowd made subtle obeisance to this august dignity
derived from three prospective graves. One woman turned away with a
shriek at sight of the covered body on the first stretcher, and people
faced her suddenly in silent and mournful indignation. Otherwise there
was barely a sound as these twelve important men with measured tread
carried their burdens through the throng.
The little boys no longer discussed the merits of the different fire
companies. For the greater part they had been routed. Only the more
courageous viewed closely the three figures veiled in yellow blankets.
X
Old Judge Denning Hagenthorpe, who lived nearly opposite the
Trescotts, had thrown his door wide open to receive the afflicted
family. When it was publicly learned that the doctor and his son and
the negro were still alive, it required a specially detailed policeman
to prevent people from scaling the front porch and interviewing these
sorely wounded. One old lady appeared with a miraculous poultice, and
she quoted most damning Scripture to the officer when he said that she
could not pass him. Throughout the night some lads old enough to be
given privileges or to compel them from their mothers remained
vigilantly upon the kerb in anticipation of a death or some such
event. The reporter of the Morning Tribune rode thither on his bicycle
every hour until three o'clock.
Six of the ten doctors in Whilomville attended at Judge Hagenthorpe's
house.
Almost at once they were able to know that Trescott's burns were not
vitally important. The child would possibly be scarred badly, but his
life was undoubtedly safe. As for the negro Henry Johnson, he could
not live. His body was frightfully seared, but more than that, he now
had no face. His face had simply been burned away.
Trescott was always asking news of the two other patients. In the
morning he seemed fresh and strong, so they told him that Johnson was
doomed. They then saw him stir on the bed, and sprang quickly to see
if the bandages needed readjusting. In the sudden glance he threw from
one to another he impressed them as being both leonine and
impracticable.
The morning paper announced the death of Henry Johnson. It contained a
long interview with Edward J. Hannigan, in which the latter described
in full the performance of Johnson at the fire. There was also an
editorial built from all the best words in the vocabulary of the
staff. The town halted in its accustomed road of thought, and turned a
reverent attention to the memory of this hostler. In the breasts of
many people was the regret that they had not known enough to give him
a hand and a lift when he was alive, and they judged themselves stupid
and ungenerous for this failure.
The name of Henry Johnson became suddenly the title of a saint to the
little boys. The one who thought of it first could, by quoting it in
an argument, at once overthrow his antagonist, whether it applied to
the subject or whether it did not.
"Nigger, nigger, never die.
Black face and shiny eye."
Boys who had called this odious couplet in the rear of Johnson's march
buried the fact at the bottom of their hearts.
Later in the day Miss Bella Farragut, of No. 7 Watermelon Alley,
announced that she had been engaged to marry Mr. Henry Johnson.