Fighting the Flames | Page 9

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 at a
brisk trot, and swept into Oxford Street. Here they broke into a gallop,
and here the noise of their progress began, for the great thoroughfare
was crowded with vehicles and pedestrians, many of whom were
retiring from the theatres and music-halls, and other places of
entertainment.
To pass through such a crowd without coming into collision with
anything required not only the most dexterous driving, but rendered it
necessary that some of the men on the engine should stand up and
shout, or rather roar incessantly, as they whirled along, clearing
everything out of their way, and narrowly escaping innumerable
crashes by a mere hairbreadth.
The men, as we said before, having been sailors, 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 a hundred yards or so
lay before them; then their voices rose like the roaring of the gale as a
stupid or deaf cabman got in their way, or a plethoric 'bus threatened to
interrupt their furious passage.
The cross streets were the points where the chief difficulties met them.
There the 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 lamps casting a glare of light before, and the

helmets of its stern charioteers flashing back the rays of street-lamps
and windows; for, late though the hour was, all the gin-palaces, and
tobacconists' shops, and many of the restaurants were still open and
brightly illuminated.
At the corner of Wells Street, the crowd of cabs and other vehicles was
so great that the driver of the engine began to tighten his reins, and Jim
Baxmore and Joe Corney raised their voices to a fierce shout. Cabs,
'busses, and pedestrians scattered right and left in a marvellous manner;
the driver slackened his reins, cracked his whip, and the horses
stretched out again.
In passing Berners Street, a hansom cab swept round the corner, its
dashing driver smoking a cigar in sublime self-satisfaction, and looking
carelessly right and left for a "fare." This exquisite almost ran into the
engine! There was a terrific howl from all the firemen; the cabby turned
his smart horse with a bound to one side, and lost his cigar in the act--in
reference to which misfortune he was heartily congratulated by a small
member of the Shoe-black Brigade,--while the engine went steadily and
sternly on its way.
"There, it shows a light," observed one of the firemen to Dale, as he
pointed to a luminous appearance in the sky away to the north-east.
Dale was already looking in that direction, and made no reply.
As they reached Tottenham Court Road the driver again checked the
pace a little; yet even at the reduced speed they passed everything like a
whirlwind. The traffic here was so great that it behoved them to be
more cautious. Of course, the more need that there was for caution, the
more necessity was there for shouting; and the duty of Baxmore and
Corney--standing as they did in front of their comrades beside the
driver--became severe, but they had good lungs both of them!
At the point where Tottenham Court Road cuts Oxford Street, the
accumulation of vehicles of all sorts, from a hand-barrow to a
furniture-van, is usually very great. To one unaccustomed to the powers
of London drivers, it would have seemed nothing short of madness to

drive full tilt into the mass that blocked the streets at this point. But the
firemen did it. They reined up a little, it is true, just as a hunter does in
gathering his horse together for a rush at a stone wall, but there was
nothing like an approach to stopping.
"Hi! Hi!! Hi!!!" roared the firemen, Baxmore and Corney high above
the rest. A 'bus lumbered to the left just in time; a hansom sprang to the
right, not a moment too soon; a luggage-van bolted into Crown Street;
the pedestrians scattered right and left, and the way was clear--no, not
quite clear! The engine had to turn at a right angle here into Tottenham
Court Road. Round it went on the two off-wheels, and came full swing
on a market-gardener and a hot-coffee woman, who were wheeling
their respective barrows leisurely side by side, and chatting as they
went.
The roar that burst from the firemen was terrific. The driver attempted