"Fireman, there's a fire in New Bond Street."
One word Flaxmore exchanged with the driver, and then, turning to me,
said, "Come on, sir, I'll give you a ride!"
Off we went at a run, and burst into the station. "Get her out, Jim,"
cried Flaxmore, (_her_ being the engine). Jim, the man on duty, put on
his helmet without saying a word, and hauled out the fire-engine, while
a comrade ran for the horses, and another called up the men. In five
minutes more I was seated beside seven men in blue uniforms and brass
helmets, dashing through the streets of London at full gallop!
Now, those who have never seen a London fire-engine go to a fire have no
conception of what it is--much less have they any conception of what it
is to ride on the engine! To those accustomed to it, no doubt, it may
be tame enough--I cannot tell; but to those who mount an engine for the
first time and dash through the crowded thoroughfares at a wild tearing
gallop; it is probably the most exciting drive conceivable. It beats
steeplechasing! It feels like driving to destruction--so desperate and
reckless is it. And yet, it is not reckless in the strict sense of that
word; for there is a stern need-be in the case. Every moment, (not to
mention minutes or hours), is of the utmost importance in the progress
of a fire, for when it gets the mastery and bursts into flames it
flashes to its work, and completes it quickly. At such times one moment
wasted may involve the loss of thousands of pounds, ay, and of human
lives also. This is well-known to those whose profession it is to fight
the flames. Hence the union of apparent mad desperation, with cool,
quiet self-possession in their proceedings. When firemen can work in
silence they do so. No unnecessary word is uttered, no voice is
needlessly raised; but, when occasion requires it, their course is a
tumultuous rush, amid a storm of shouting and gesticulation!
So was it on the present occasion. Had the fire been distant, they
would have had to commence their gallop somewhat leisurely, for fear of
breaking down the horses; but it was not far off--not much more than a
couple of miles--so they dashed round the corner of their own street and
swept into the Edgeware Road at full speed.
Here the noise of our progress began, for the great thoroughfare was
crowded with vehicles and pedestrians.
To pass through such a crowd without coming into collision with anything
required not only dexterous driving, but rendered it necessary that two
of the men on the engine should stand up and shout incessantly as we
whirled along, clearing everything out of our way.
The men seemed to shout with the memory of the boatswain strong upon
them, for their tones were pitched in the deepest and gruffest bass-key.
Sometimes there was a lull for a moment, as a comparatively clear space
of 100 yards or so lay before us; then their voices rose like the
roaring of the gale as a stupid or deaf cabman got in our way, or a
plethoric 'bus threatened to interrupt our furious career. The cross
streets were the points where the chief difficulties met us. There cab-
and van-drivers turned into or crossed the great thoroughfare, all
ignorant of the thunderbolt that was rushing on like a fiery meteor,
with its lanterns casting a glare of light before, and the helmets of
the stern charioteers flashing back the rays from street-lamps and
windows. At the corner of one of the streets the crowd of vehicles was
so great that the driver of the engine began to tighten his reins, while
Flaxmore and his comrades raised a furious roar. Cabs, 'buses, and
pedestrians scattered right and left in a marvellous manner; the driver
slackened his reins, cracked his whip, and the horses stretched out
again.
"There, it shows a light," observed Flaxmore, as we tore along Oxford
Street. At that moment a stupid cabman blocked up the way. There was a
terrific shout from all the firemen, at once! but the man did not hear.
Our driver attempted both to pull up and to turn aside; the first was
impossible, the latter he did so effectively that he not only cleared
the cab but made straight at a lamp-post on the other side! A crash
seemed inevitable, but Flaxmore, observing the danger, seized the rein
next to him and swung the horses round. We flew past, just shaving the
lamp-post, and in three minutes more pulled up at a house which was
blazing in the upper floors. Three engines were already at work on it.
Flaxmore and his men at once entered the burning house, which by that
time was nearly gutted. I stood outside looking on, but soon became
anxious to know what was doing inside, and attempted to enter. A
policeman stopped me, but at that moment Flaxmore came out like a
half-drowned rat, his face streaked with brick-dust and charcoal.
Seeing what I wanted he led me into the house, and immediately I found
myself in a hot shower-bath which did not improve my coat or hat! At
the same time I stepped up to the ankles in hot water! Tons of water
were being poured on the house by three powerful engines, and this, in
passing through so much heated material had become comfortably warm.
The first thing I saw on entering was a foaming cataract! This was the
staircase, down which the water rushed, breaking over masses of fallen
brickwork and debris, with a noise like a goodly Highland burn! Up this
we waded, but could get no further than the room above, as the upper
stair had fallen in. I was about to descend in order to try to reach
the roof by some other way, when a fireman caught me by the collar,
exclaiming--"Hold on, sir!" He thought the staircase was about to fall.
"Bolt now, sir," he added, releasing me. I bolted, and was out in the
street in a moment, where I found that some of the firemen who had first
arrived, and were much exhausted, were being served with a glass of
brandy. If there were any case in which a teetotaller might be
justified in taking spirits, it would be, I think, when exhausted by
toiling for hours amid the heat and smoke and danger of a fire--
nevertheless I found that several of the firemen there were
teetotallers.
There was a shout of laughter at this moment, occasioned by one of the
firemen having accidentally turned the _branch_ or delivery pipe full on
the faces of the crowd and drenched some of them. This was followed by
a loud cheer when another fireman was seen to have clambered to the roof
whence he could apply the water with better effect. At last their
efforts were crowned with success. Before midnight the fire was
extinguished, and we drove back to the Paddington Station at a more
leisurely pace. Thus ended my first experience of a London fire.
Accidents, as may be easily believed, are of frequent occurrence.
Accidents.
There were between forty to fifty a year. In 1865 they were as
follows:--
+=========================+==+
|Cuts and Lacerated Wounds|12|
+-------------------------+--+
|Contusions |15|
+-------------------------+--+
|Fractures | 2|
+-------------------------+--+
|Sprains | 9|
+-------------------------+--+
|Burns and Scalds | 3|
+-------------------------+--+
|Injury to Eyes | 5|
+-------------------------+--+
| |46|
+=========================+==+
My friend Flaxmore himself met with an accident not long afterwards. He
slipped off the roof of a house and fell on his back from a height of
about fifteen feet. Being a heavy man, the fall told severely on him.
For about two weeks I went almost every evening to the Regent Street
Station and spent the night with the men, in the hope of accompanying
them to fires. The "lobby"--as the watch room of the station was
named--was a small one, round the walls of which the brass helmets and
hatchets of the men were hung. Here, each night, two men slept on two
trestle-beds. They were fully equipped, with the exception of their
helmets. Their comrades slept at their own homes, which were within a
few yards of the station. The furniture of the "lobby" was scanty--a
desk, a bookcase, two chairs, a clock, an alarm-bell, and four
telegraphic instruments comprised it all. These last formed part of a
network of telegraphs which extended from the central station to nearly
all the other stations in London. By means of the telegraph a "call" is
given--i.e. a fire is announced to the firemen all over London, if need
be, in a very few minutes. Those who are nearest to the scene of
conflagration hasten to it at once with their engines, while each
outlying or distant station sends forward a man on foot. These men,
coming up one by one, relieve those who have first hastened to the fire.
"Calls," however, are not always sent by telegraph. Sometimes a furious
ring comes to the alarm-bell, and a man or a boy rushes in shouting
"_fire_!" with all his might. People are generally much excited in such
circumstances,--sometimes half mad. In one case a man came with a
"call" in such perturbation of mind that he could not tell where the
fire was at all for nearly five minutes! On another occasion two men
rushed in with a call at the same moment, and both were stutterers. My
own opinion is that one stuttered by nature and the other from
agitation. Be that as it may, they were both half mad with excitement.
"F-f-f-fire!" roared one.
"F-f-f-fire!" yelled the other.
"Where away?" asked a fireman as he quietly buckled his belt and put on
his helmet.
"B-B-Brompton!"--"B-B-Bayswater!" burst from them both at the same
moment. Then one cried, "I--I s-s-say Brompton," and the other shouted,
"I--I s-say Bayswater."
"What street?" asked the fireman.
"W-W-Walton Street," cried one.
"N-No--P-P-orchester Terrace," roared the other, and at the word the
Walton Street man hit the Porchester Terrace man between the eyes and
knocked him down. A regular scuffle ensued, in the midst of which the
firemen got out two engines--and, before the stutterers were separated,
went off full swing, one to Brompton, the other to Bayswater, and found
that, as they had guessed, there were in reality two fires!
One night's experience in the "lobby" will give a specimen of the
fireman's work. I had spent the greater part of the night there without
anything turning up. About three in the morning the two men on duty lay
down on their trestle-beds to sleep, and I sat at the desk reading the
reports of recent fires. The place was very quiet--the sounds of the
great city were hushed--the night was calm, and nothing was heard but
the soft breathing of the sleepers and the ticking of the clock as I sat
there waiting for a fire. I often looked at the telegraph needles and,
(I am half ashamed to say it), longed for them to move and give us "a
call." At last, when I had begun to despair, the sharp little telegraph
bell rang. Up I started in some excitement--up started one of the
sleepers too, quite as quickly as I did, but without any excitement
whatever--he was accustomed to alarms! Reading the telegraph with
sleepy eyes he said, with a yawn, "it's only a stop for a chimbley." He
lay down again to sleep, and I sat down again to read and wait. Soon
after the foreman came down-stairs to have a smoke and a chat. Among
the many anecdotes which he told me was one which had a little of the
horrible in it. He said he was once called to a fire in a cemetery,
where workmen had been employed in filling some of the vaults with
sawdust and closing them up. They had been smoking down there and had
set fire to the sawdust, which set light to the coffins, and when the
firemen arrived these were burning fiercely, and the stench and smoke
were almost overpowering--nevertheless one of the men ran down the stair
of the vaults, but slipped his foot and fell. Next moment he rushed up
with a face like a ghost, having fallen, he said, between two coffins!
Quickly recovering from his fright he again descended with his comrades,
and they soon managed to extinguish the fire.
The foreman went off to bed after relating this pleasant little incident
and left me to meditate on it. Presently a sound of distant wheels
struck my ear. On they came at a rattling pace. In a few minutes a cab
dashed round the corner and drew up sharply at the door, which was
severely kicked, while the bell was rung furiously. Up jumped the
sleepers again and in rushed a cabman, backed by a policeman, with the
usual shout of "fire." Then followed "question brief and quick
reply"--"a fire in Great Portland Street close at hand."
"Get her out, Bill," was the order. Bill darted to the engine-shed and
knocked up the driver in passing. He got out the horses while the other
man ran from house to house of the neighbouring firemen giving a
_double_ ring to their bells. Before the engine was horsed one and
another and another of the men darted into the station, donned his
helmet, and buckled on his axe; then they all sprang to their places,
the whip cracked, and off we went at full gallop only eight minutes
after the alarm-bell rang. We spun through the streets like a rocket
with a tail of sparks behind us, for the fire of the engine had been
lighted before starting.
On reaching the fire it was found to be only smouldering in the basement
of the house, and the men of another engine were swarming through the
place searching for the seat of it. I went in with our men, and the
first thing I saw was a coffin lying ready for use! The foreman led me
down into a vaulted cellar, and here, strange to say, I found myself in
the midst of coffins! It seemed like the realisation of the story I had
just heard. There were not fewer than thirty of them on the floor and
ranged round the walls. Happily, however, they were not tenanted. In
fact the fire had occurred in an undertaker's workshop, and, in looking
through the premises, I came upon several coffins laid out ready for
immediate use. Two of these impressed me much. They lay side by side.
One was of plain black wood--a pauper's coffin evidently. The other was
covered with fine cloth and gilt ornaments, and lined with padded white
satin! I was making some moral reflections on the curious difference
between the last resting-place of the rich man and the poor, when I was
interrupted by the firemen who had discovered the fire and put it out,
so we jumped on the engine once more, and galloped back to the station.
Most of the men went off immediately to bed; the engine was housed; the
horses were stabled; the men on guard hung up their helmets and lay down
again on their trestle-beds; the foreman bade me "good-night," and I was
left once more in a silence that was broken only by the deep breathing
of the sleepers and the ticking of the clock--scarcely able to believe
that the stirring events of the previous hour were other than a vivid
dream.
All over London, at short distances apart, fire-escapes may be seen
rearing their tall heads in recesses and corners formed by the angles in
churches or other public buildings. Each night these are brought out to
the streets, where they stand in readiness for instant use.
At the present time the escapes are in charge of the Fire Brigade. When
I visited the firemen they were under direction of the Royal Society for
the Protection of Life from Fire, and in charge of Conductors, who sat
in sentry-boxes beside the escapes every night, summer and winter, ready
for action.
These conductors were clad like the firemen--except that their helmets
were made of black leather instead of brass. They were not very
different from other mortals to look at, but they were picked men--every
one--bold as lions; true as steel; ready each night, at a moment's
notice, to place their lives in jeopardy in order to rescue their
fellow-creatures from the flames. Of course they were paid for the
work, but the pay was small when we consider that it was the price of
indomitable courage, tremendous energy, great strength of limb, and
untiring perseverance in the face of appalling danger.
Here is a specimen of the way in which the escapes were worked.
On the night of the 2nd March 1866, the premises of a blockmaker named
George Milne caught fire. The flames spread with great rapidity,
arousing Milne and his family, which consisted of his wife and seven
children. All these sought refuge in the attics. At first Milne
thought he could have saved himself, but with so many little children
round him he found himself utterly helpless. Not far from the spot,
Henry Douglas, a fire-escape conductor, sat in his sentry-box, reading a
book, perchance, or meditating, mayhap, on the wife and little ones
slumbering snugly at home, while he kept watch over the sleeping city.
Soon the shout of fire reached his ears. At once his cloth-cap was
exchanged for the black helmet, and, in a few seconds, the escape was
flying along the streets, pushed by the willing hands of policemen and
passers-by. The answer to the summons was very prompt on this occasion,
but the fire was burning fiercely when Conductor Douglas arrived, and
the whole of the lower part of the house was so enveloped in flames and
smoke that the windows could not be seen at all. Douglas therefore
pitched his escape, at a venture, on what he _thought_ would bring him
to the second-floor windows, and up he went amid the cheers of the
on-lookers. Entering a window, he tried to search the room, (and the
cheers were hushed while the excited multitude gazed and listened with
breathless anxiety--for they knew that the man was in a position of
imminent danger). In a few moments he re-appeared on the escape, half
suffocated. He had heard screams in the room above, and at once threw
up the fly-ladder, by which he ascended to the parapet below the attic
rooms. Here he discovered Milne and his family grouped together in
helpless despair. We may conceive the gush of hope that must have
thrilled their breasts when Conductor Douglas leaped through the smoke
into the midst of them; but we can neither describe nor conceive,
(unless we have heard it in similar circumstances), the _tone_ of the
deafening cheers that greeted the brave man when he re-appeared on the
ladders, and, (with the aid of a policeman named John Pead), bore the
whole family, one by one, in safety to the ground! For this deed
Conductor Douglas received the silver medal of the Society, and Pead,
the policeman, received a written testimonial and a sovereign.
Subsequently, in consequence of Conductor Douglas's serious illness,--
resulting from his efforts on this occasion--the Society voted him a
gratuity of 5 pounds beyond his sick allowance to mark their strong
approbation of his conduct. Now in this case it is obvious that but for
the fire-escape, the blockmaker and his family must have perished.
Here is another case. I quote the conductor's own account of it, as
given in the Fire Escape Society's annual report. The conductor's name
was Shaw. He writes:--
"Upon my arrival from Aldersgate Street Station, the fire had gained
strong hold upon the lower portion of the building, and the smoke
issuing therefrom was so dense and suffocating as to render all escape
by the staircase quite impossible. Hearing cries for help from the
upper part of the house, I placed my Fire Escape, ascended to the
third floor, whence I rescued four persons--viz. Mrs Ferguson, her
two children, and a lodger named Gibson. They were all leaning
against the window-sill, almost overcome. I carried each down the
Escape, (a height of nearly fifty feet), in perfect safety; and
afterwards entered the back part of the premises, and took five young
children from a yard where they were exposed to great danger from the
fire."
There was a man in the London Brigade who deserves special notice--viz.
Conductor Samuel Wood. Wood had been many years in the service, and
had, in the course of his career, saved no fewer than 168 lives.
On one occasion he was called to a fire in Church Lane. He found a Mr
Nathan in the first-floor unable to descend the staircase, as the ground
floor was in flames. He unshipped his first-floor ladder, and, with the
assistance of a policeman, brought Mr Nathan down. Being informed that
there was a servant girl in the kitchen, Wood took his crowbar, wrenched
up the grating, and brought the young woman out in safety. Now this I
give as a somewhat ordinary case. It involved danger; but not so much
as to warrant the bestowal of the silver medal. Nevertheless, Wood and
the policeman were awarded a written testimonial and a sum of money.
I have had some correspondence with Conductor Wood, whose broad breast
was covered with medals and clasps won in the service of the F.E.
Society. At one fire he rushed up the escape before it was properly
pitched, and caught in his arms a man named Middleton as he was in the
act of jumping from a window.
At another time, on arriving at a fire, he found that the family thought
all had escaped, "but," wrote the conductor to me, "they soon missed the
old grandmother.--I immediately broke the shop door open and passed
through to the first-floor landing, where I discovered the old lady
lying insensible. I placed her on my back, and crawled back to the
door, and I am happy to say she is alive now and doing well!"
So risky was a conductor's work that sometimes he had to be rescued by
others--as the following extract will illustrate. It is from one of the
Society's reports:--
"CASE 10,620.
"Awarded to James Griffin, Inspector of the K Division of Police, the
Society's Silver Medal, for the intrepid and valuable assistance
rendered to Fire Escape Conductor Rickell at a Fire at the `Rose and
Crown' public-house, Bridge Street, at one o'clock on the morning of
February 1st, when, but for his assistance there is little doubt that
the Conductor would have perished. On the arrival of Conductor
Rickell with the Mile End Fire Escape, not being satisfied that all
the inmates had escaped, the Conductor entered the house, the upper
part of which was burning fiercely; the Conductor not being seen for
some time, the Inspector called to him, and, not receiving an answer,
entered the house and ascended the stairs, and saw the Conductor lying
on the floor quite insensible. With some difficulty the Inspector
reached him, and, dragging him down the staircase, carried him into
the air, where he gradually recovered."
While attending fires in London, I wore one of the black leather helmets
of the Salvage Corps. This had the double effect of protecting my head
from falling bricks, and enabling me to pass the cordon of police
unquestioned.
After a night of it I was wont to return home about dawn, as few fires
occur after that. On these occasions I felt deeply grateful to the
keepers of small coffee-stalls, who, wheeling their entire shop and
stock-in-trade in a barrow, supplied early workmen with cups of hot
coffee at a halfpenny a piece, and slices of bread and butter for the
same modest sum. At such times I came to know that "man wants but
little here below," if he only gets it hot and substantial.
Fire is such an important subject, and an element that any one may be
called on so suddenly and unexpectedly to face, that, at the risk of
being deemed presumptuous, I will, for a few minutes, turn aside from
these reminiscences to put a few plain questions to my reader.
Has it ever occurred to you to think what you would do if your house
took fire at night? Do you know of any other mode of exit from your
house than by the front or back doors and the staircase? Have you a
rope at home which would support a man's weight, and extend from an
upper window to the ground? Nothing easier than to get and keep such a
rope. A few shillings would purchase it. Do you know how you would
attempt to throw water on the walls of one of your rooms, if it were on
fire near the ceiling? A tea-cup would be of no use! A sauce-pan would
not be much better. As for buckets or basins, the strongest man could
not heave such weights of water to the ceiling with any precision or
effect. But there are garden hand-pumps in every seedsman's shop with
which a man could deluge his property with the greatest ease.
Do you know how to tie two blankets or sheets together, so that the knot
shall not slip? Your life may one day depend on such a simple piece of
knowledge.
Still further, do you know that in retreating from room to room before a
fire you should shut doors and windows behind you to prevent the supply
of air which feeds the flames? Are you aware that by creeping on your
hands and knees, and keeping your head close to the ground, you can
manage to breathe in a room where the smoke would suffocate you if you
stood up?--also, that a wet sponge or handkerchief held over the mouth
and nose will enable you to breathe with less difficulty in the midst of
smoke?--Do you know that many persons, especially children, lose their
lives by being forgotten by the inmates of a house in cases of fire, and
that, if a fire came to you, you ought to see to it that every member of
your household is present to take advantage of any means of escape that
may be sent to you?
These subjects deserve to be considered thoughtfully by every one,
especially by heads of families--not only for their own sakes, but for
the sake of those whom God has committed to their care. For suppose
that, (despite the improbability of such an event), your dwelling really
_did_ catch fire, how inconceivable would be the bitterness added to
your despair, if, in the midst of gathering smoke and flames--with death
staring you in the face, and rescue all but hopeless--you were compelled
to feel that you and yours might have escaped the impending danger if
you had only bestowed on fire-prevention, fire-extinction, and
fire-escape a very little forethought and consideration.