ENGINE 33 was kept in a substantial brick building that stood on a
little hill in a pleasant part of the city. The brass shone so brightly
that you could see your face in it, and not a speck of dust or rust was
to be seen on any part of it, as it stood ready for use at a moment’s
notice. Directly over the shafts hung the harnesses, to be lowered down
upon the horses when they took their places in front of the engine; and
this was the work of an instant.
The floor was just as clean as the engine; and so were all parts of the
building. Three strong beautifully groomed gray horses stood in their
well-kept stalls, ready to dart out at the sound of the gong and fall
into their places before the engine.
Not a boy or girl in that part of the city but thought that Engine 33
was superior to all the other engines in the big city. She was always
the first at a fire, and she could throw a stream higher than any
of the others. One boy made a little verse on the subject, and his
companions thought it very beautiful, for it expressed their views
about Engine 33. This is the verse,—
“Number Thirty-three
Is fine as she can be.
She’s never late
And plays first-rate.”
Not only did the children think there was no other engine equal to
theirs, but so did Jack the Fire-Dog. Why, it was _his_ engine! Jack
lived in the engine-house and went to all the fires just as the horses
did. He never ventured far from the engine-house, but kept within
hearing of the gong that struck the alarm. How fast he raced back when
he heard that well-known sound, to be ready to start with the engine!
So eager was he to be on hand, that on one occasion when he could not
get the screen door at the head of the stairs open, he went _through_
it. Sometimes in winter Jack was harnessed to a little sled and carried
salt for the firemen to melt the snow on the hydrants, to keep them
clear in case of a fire.
Jack was a dog of no particular breed, spotted black and white like
a coach-dog, but larger and heavier in build. Those who knew Jack
did not care if he were not a well-bred dog, they loved him for his
intelligence and affectionate nature. The children in the neighborhood
were as proud of him as they were of the engine.
Our story opens on a cold evening in winter. The wind had been blowing
fiercely all day, catching up the light snow and scattering it wildly
about, until it was hard to tell whether it were snowing or not, so
full of snow was the sharp air. Toward the latter part of the afternoon
the wind began to go down, but as it grew less the air became colder,
and the mercury fell lower and lower, until it reached zero. It went
even lower than that, and at seven o’clock stood at eight below. A
dreadful night for our brave firemen to work in, but they never fail us.
Below, in the engine-house of Number 33, stands the engine ready for
duty, her shining brass reflecting a hundred-fold the lights that shine
on her. The horses are warm and comfortable in their stalls, and still,
except when one gives an occasional stamp or rubs against the side of
his stall. On the floor above, in their cosey, warm room, the firemen
are assembled. Some are reading, others talking together. One young man
is putting Jack through his tricks, of which he has a long list. He
has just told to what engine he belongs,—not in words, for Jack cannot
speak the human language. When he is asked what is his engine, and
the numbers of several are mentioned, he is silent until Number 33 is
called, then he gives a sharp bark.
This evening no sooner has he given his answer than the gong below
strikes, and in an instant men and dog are on their feet, and on the
way to the floor below. Jack rushes headlong down the long, steep
flight of stairs, while the firemen take a shorter cut by sliding down
the pole. In a very few seconds the horses have taken their places in
front of the engine, the harness is let down and fastened into place.
The fire is started under the boiler of the engine, the driver is in
his seat, the men in their places, and the three splendid grays dash
out of the engine-house, Jack circling about in front of them, almost
crazy with excitement, or running ahead to bark indignantly at any team
that happens to be in their path. Not long does he keep up his circling
and barking, for by the time they are at the foot of the hill the
horses have broken into a run, and Jack has all he can do to keep up
with them. He has worked off his excitement and is ready for business.
Such a stinging, cold night! The engine-wheels crunch the frozen snow
with a sharp, creaking sound, and the warning notes of the bugle ring
out loud and clear on the still air.
Sometimes an answering bark comes from the houses they pass, as the
engine dashes by. No dogs are out on such a night, but they all know
Jack and envy him his position as engine-dog. It is not always such fun
for Jack as they think it is, particularly on such a night as this.
However, Jack has a duty to perform as well as the firemen have, and he
does it just as fearlessly and nobly as they do.
The fire is at one of the extreme ends of the city, a small theatre
in a narrow street where tenement-houses and small shops are crowded
together regardless of regularity,—a court here and a narrow alley-way
there, but every square inch taken up with a building of some kind.
When our engine arrives, it is to find others that have not come from
such a distance hard at work, the deep throbs of the working engines
reaching far through the crisp air.
Engine 33 takes her stand, and while her men are attaching the hose
to the hydrant and preparing for action, Jack, as is his custom,
makes his rounds to see if all is going on as it should. He sees the
horses standing with their legs drawn closely together under them, as
they always do in cold weather, and well blanketed by the men who are
detailed for that purpose. Frozen pools and rivulets are standing on
the sidewalks and streets, and as the water comes out of the hose it is
turned to frozen spray. Jack’s thin coat of hair does not keep out the
cold very well, and he shivers as he steps over the icy ground. There
is no time to be wasted, however, and as soon as he is satisfied that
all is in working order, the Fire-Dog joins his own company. They are
ordered into a tenement-house that adjoins the burning theatre, and
from which smoke is thickly pouring.
The inhabitants of the tenement-house have thrown their bedding and
many other articles from the windows, or carried them down to the
street. Groups of people, lamenting and terrified, are huddled about
their property, hoping to save it. Scantily clothed in their sudden
exit, they shiver and moan in a manner pitiable to behold. Many
children are among the number, either in their mothers’ arms or huddled
together among their household goods, vainly trying to escape from the
biting air.
The men of Engine 33 are ordered to the roof of the tenement-house; and
in they rush, dragging the hose after them, plucky Jack keeping close
behind them. They have no easy task, for the narrow halls and stairways
are filled with smoke that blinds and suffocates them. It is slow work,
too, for they must stop occasionally to take breath at an open window.
Sometimes, too, one of them sinks to the floor, overpowered by the
thick smoke. On they go, however, dragging the long hose after them,
with valiant Jack always close behind them. At last the upper story is
reached, and the skylight through which they must reach the roof is
thrown open. Here, however, Jack stops, and running up to a closed door
sniffs for a moment, and then begins to whine and scratch.
It is only a kind of store-room, without windows or any opening to
admit the light, and is built under the stairway leading to the roof.
It seems impossible that any one could be there, but Jack’s whines and
scratching must mean something, and one of the men throws the door open.
Through the smoke and darkness nothing is seen at first; but in rushes
Jack, pounces upon something in one corner, tugging at it until he
succeeds in dragging it to the door. Then they see what it is,—a child;
and one of the men, the young man who put Jack through his tricks in
the engine-house, picks it up. Through the smoke and darkness they make
out that it is a boy, tall enough for a boy of seven, but how thin and
light! He is either in a stupor from the effects of the suffocating
smoke that filled the close room in which he was found, or else in a
faint. At all events, he lies motionless in the fireman’s arms.
It takes more time to write the event than it took for it to transpire.
The other men mount to the roof through the skylight, while the
man who picked up the boy forces his way through the blinding smoke
down to the street, closely followed by Jack. If it were not for the
responsibility for the boy he discovered, Jack would have followed the
men to the roof, for wherever they went he always followed.
The young fireman bears the motionless form of the boy to the street,
and singles out the group of tenants who had succeeded in escaping in
safety from the tenement-house.
“Which of you has left this child behind?” he sternly asks, looking at
the different family groups crowded together, vainly trying to keep
warm. “Whose is he?”