Life in the Red Brigade | Page 3

It makes me feel stronger than the stoutest man in the
brigade. Good night, lass, or good mornin'. I must make the most o' my
time. There's no sayin' how soon the next call may come. Seems to me
as if people was settin' their houses alight on purpose to worry us."
The tones in which the last sentences were uttered, and the creaking of
the bedstead indicated that the fireman was composing his massive
limbs to rest, and scarcely had Mrs Dashwood resumed her washing,
when his regular heavy breathing proclaimed him to be already in the
land of Nod.
Quietly but steadily did Mrs Dashwood pursue her work. Neat little
under-garments, and fairy-like little socks, and indescribable little
articles of Lilliputian clothing of various kinds, all telling of the little
rosebud in the crib, passed rapidly through Mary's nimble fingers, and
came out of the tub fair as the driven snow. Soon the front of the
fire-place became like a ship dressed with flags, with this difference,
that the flags instead of being gay and parti-coloured, were white and
suggestive of infancy and innocence. The gentle noise of washing, and
the soft breathing of the sleepers, and the tiny ticking of the clock over
the chimney-piece, were the only audible sounds, for London had
reached its deadest hour, four o'clock. Rioters had exhausted their
spirits, natural and artificial, and early risers had not begun to move.
Presently to these sounds were added another very distant sound which
induced Mary to stop and listen. "A late cab," she whispered to herself.
The rumbling of the late cab became more distinct, and soon proved it
to be a hurried cab. To Mary's accustomed ear this raised some
disagreeable idea. She cast a look of anxiety into the closet, wiped her

hands quickly, and taking up a pair of dry boots which had been
standing near the fire, placed them beside her husband's coat. This was
barely accomplished when the hurried cab was heard to pull up at the
neighbouring fire-station. Only a few seconds elapsed when racing
footsteps were heard outside. Mary seized her husband's arm--
"Up, Joe, up," she cried and darted across the room, leaped on a chair,
and laid violent hands on the tongue of the door-bell, thereby
preventing a furious double ring from disturbing the rosebud!
At the first word "up," the bed in the closet groaned and creaked as the
fireman bounded from it, and the house shook as he alighted on the
floor. Next moment he appeared buttoning his braces, and winking like
an owl in sunshine. One moment sufficed to pull on the right boot,
another moment affixed the left. Catching up his half-dried coat with
one hand, and flinging on his sailor's cap with the other, he darted from
the house, thrust himself into his coat as he ran along and appeared at
the station just as four of his comrades drew the fire-engine up to the
door, while two others appeared with three horses, which they
harnessed thereto--two abreast, one in front--with marvellous rapidity.
The whole affair, from the "Up, Joe, up," of Mrs Dashwood, to the
harnessing of the steeds, was accomplished in less than five minutes.
By that time Joe and several of his mates stood ready belted, and armed
with brass helmets on their heads, which flashed back the rays of the
neighbouring street lamp and the engine lanterns.
There was wonderfully little noise or fuss, although there was so much
display of promptitude and energy; the reason being that all the men
were thoroughly drilled, and each had his particular duty to perform;
there was, therefore, no room for orders, counter-orders, or confusion.
The moment the call was given, Bob Clazie, having received no
telegraphic "stop," had at once run to ring up the men, who, like
Dashwood, had been sleeping close at hand. He rang up the driver of
the engine first. At the same moment his comrade on duty had run
round to the stable, where the horses stood ready harnessed, and
brought them out. Thus the thing was done without a moment's delay.
The driver, when roused, flung on his coat and helmet, and ran to the

engine. It was a steam fire-engine; that is, the pumps were worked by
steam instead of by hand. The firing was ready laid, and the water kept
nearly at the boiling point by means of a jet of gas. He had scarcely
applied a light to the fire and turned off the gas, when four comrades
ran into the shed, seized the red-painted engine, and dragged her out, as
we have seen.
Much shorter time did it take to do all this than is required to describe
it.
When the driver mounted his box, the others sprang on the