Life in the Red Brigade | Page 7

and thus two or more engines
may do their work convivially--dip in their suction-pipes, and "drink"
simultaneously at the same fountain.
"Down with her!" shouted the man who held the "branch," or nozzle, at
the end of the hose.
A steam whistle gives a shrill, short reply; the engine quivers under the
power of man's greatest servant, and another battery opens on the foe.
But London firemen are not content to play at long bowls. While the
artillery goes thus vigorously into action, the helmets of the men are
seen gleaming and glancing everywhere amid the smoke, searching for
weak points, turning the enemy's flanks, and taking him in rear. Hose
are dragged through neighbouring houses, trailing their black coils like
horrid water snakes, through places were such things were never meant
to be. If too short, additional lengths are added, again and again, till the
men who hold the branches gain points of vantage on adjoining roofs or
outhouses, until, at last from below, above, in front, and behind,
cataracts of water dash into the glowing furnace.
The fire-escape had been first to reach the ground after the alarm was
given, this being the instrument nearest to the scene of conflagration. It
happened that night to be in charge of David Clazie, a brother of
Comrade Bob. Being a smart young fellow, David, had--with the
assistance of two early risers who chanced to be at hand, and the
policeman on the beat--run up his escape, and put it in position before
the fire had gained its full force. The gentleman of the house had
already got out, and fled in his night garments; but the fire had rendered
the staircase impassable, so that the cook, the many-thumbed Betty,
and the old lady, who was the gentleman's mother, were imprisoned in
the upper floor.

David Clazie did not learn this from the gentleman, however. That
amiable character had received such a fright, that he had taken himself
off, no one--except the individual aforementioned--knew whither.
Fortunately, Betty announced the fact of her existence by rushing to a
window and shrieking. David ran his escape towards the window,
mounted the ladder, carried the damsel down, bore her, kicking, into a
neighbouring house, and left her in fits. Meanwhile the cook rushed to
the same window, shrieked, and fell back half-suffocated with the
smoke which just then surrounded her. A policeman gallantly ran up
the escape, jumped into the room, gathered up the cook with great
difficulty--for she was unusually fat and the smoke very suffocating--
carried her down, bore her to the same house where Betty lay, and left
her there in violent hysterics.
As neither of them could answer questions, it could not be ascertained
whether there were any more people in the burning house. David
therefore explored it as far as was possible in the circumstances, and
much more than was safe for himself, but found no one. After nearly
choking himself, therefore, he drew aside the escape to prevent its
being burned.
When the engines came up, however, it was again brought into play, to
enable the firemen to get up with their "branches" to the upper
windows.
"Try that window, Dashwood," said the officer of the station to which
Joe belonged, pointing to a window on the second floor. "There ain't
much smoke coming out."
Before he had done speaking, Joe and a comrade had pushed the escape
towards the window in question. He ascended and leaped into the room,
but could scarcely see for the smoke. Knowing that the air in a burning
house is clearer near the floor, he stooped as low as possible, and went
round the room guiding himself by the walls. Coming to a door he
seized the handle and tried to open it, but found it locked, and the
handle so hot that he was forced to let go abruptly. He seized a chair,
tried to burst it open with a blow, and shivered the chair to atoms, but
did not force the door. A powerful effort with his foot also failed.

Rushing to the window he got out on the escape, and shouted:--
"The axe, lads, look sharp and pass up the hose. We'll get at it here."
A large heavy axe was handed up by one fireman, while another let
down a rope, to which the end of the hose was attached and hauled up.
Joe seized the axe, returned to the door, and, with one blow, dashed it
open.
Flames leaped upon him, as if they had been eagerly awaiting the
opportunity, licked hungrily round his legs, and kissed his whiskers--of
which, by the way, he was rather proud; and with good reason, for they
were very handsome whiskers. But Joe cared no more for them at that
moment than he