Fighting the Flames | Page 7

fixed by the heel in a grating over a cellar-window in Tottenham Court Road. Without hat or coat, with his shirt-sleeves torn by those unfortunates into whose arms he had wildly rushed, with his hair streaming backwards, his eyes blood-shot, his face pale as marble, and perspiration running down his cheeks, not even his own most intimate friends would have recognised Hopkins--the staid, softspoken, polite, and gentle Hopkins-- had they seen him that night pulling like a maniac at the fire-bell.
And, without doubt, Hopkins was a maniac that night--at least he was afflicted with temporary insanity!
CHAPTER THREE.
FIRE!!!
"Hallo, that'll do, man!" cried the same stalwart fireman who had seized the small boy, stepping out and laying his hand on Hopkins's shoulder, whereabouts is it?
Hopkins heard him not. One idea had burnt itself into the poor man's brain, and that was the duty that lay on him to ring the alarm-bell! Seeing this, the fireman seized him, and dragged him forcibly--almost lifted him--into the station, round the door of which an eager crowd had already begun to collect.
"Calm yourself," said the stalwart fireman quietly, as he thrust Hopkins down into a chair. "Consider now. You'll make us too late if you don't speak. Where is it?"
"B-B-Fire!" yelled Hopkins, gasping, and glaring round him on the men, who were quietly putting on their helmets.
Hopkins suddenly burst from the grasp of his captor, and, rushing out, seized the bell-handle, which he began to pull more furiously than ever.
"Get her out, Jim," said the fireman in a low tone to one of his comrades ("her" being the engine); at the same time he went to the door, and again seizing Hopkins, brought him back and forced him into a chair, while he said firmly:
"Now, then, out with it, man; where's the fire?"
"Yes, yes," screamed Hopkins, "fire! fire that's it! B-! B-Beverly!-- blazes!--square!--number--Fire!"
"That'll do," said the fireman, at once releasing the temporary maniac, and going to a book where he calmly made an entry of the name of the square, the hour of the night, and the nature of the call. Two lines sufficed. Then he rose, put on his helmet, and thrust a small hatchet into his belt, just as the engine was dragged to the door of the station.
There was something absolutely magnificent in this scene which no pen can describe, because more than half its force was conveyed only by the eye and the ear. The strong contrast between human excitement and madness coupled with imbecility, and human calmness and self-possession coupled with vigorous promptitude, was perfect.
Just before poor Hopkins rang his first note of alarm the station had been wrapt in profound silence--the small boy's interruption having been but a momentary affair. George Dale, the fireman in charge, was seated at a desk in the watch-room (known among firemen as the "lobby"), making an entry in a diary. All the other men--about thirteen in number--had gone to their respective homes and beds in the immediate neighbourhood, with the exception of the two whose turn it was to remain on duty all night. These two (named Baxmore and Corney), with their coats, belts, boots, and caps on, had just lain down on two low tressel couches, and were courting sleep. The helmets of their comrades hung on the walls round the room, with belts and hatchets underneath them. Several pairs of boots also graced the walls, and a small clock, whose gentle tick was the only sound that broke the silence of the night. In an outer room the dim form of a spare engine could be seen through the doorway.
The instant that the bell rang, however, this state of quietude was put to flight. The two men rose from their couches, and Dale stepped to the door. There was no starting up, no haste in their movements, yet there was prompt rapidity. The men, having been sailors, had been trained in the midst of alarms. The questions which were put to Hopkins, as above described, were rapidly uttered. Before they were answered the two men were ready, and at Dale's order, "Get her out!" they both vanished.
One ran round the corner to the engine-house and "knocked up" the driver in passing. The other ran from door to door of the firemen's abodes, which were close at hand, and with a loud double-ring summoned the sleepers. Before he got back to help the first with the engine, one and another and another door opened, and a man darted out, buttoning braces or coat as he ran. Each went into the station, seized his helmet, belt, and axe, from his own peg, and in another moment all were armed cap-a-pie. At the same instant that the engine appeared at the door a pair of horses were trotted up. Two men held them; two others