Life in the Red Brigade | Page 9

Meanwhile Joe shouted, "Down with Number 3;" by which he meant,
"up with as much water as possible from Number 3, and as fast as you
can!" and sprang into the room from which he had just rescued the old
woman. In passing out with her he had observed a glimmer of flame
through the door which he had first broken open, and which, he
reflected while descending the escape, was just out of range of Bob
Clazie's branch. It was the thought of this that had induced him to hurry

back so promptly; in time, as we have seen, to relieve his comrade. He
now pointed the branch at the precise spot, and hit that part of the fire
right in its heart. The result was that clouds of steam mingled with the
smoke. But Joe was human after all. The atmosphere, or, rather, the
want of atmosphere, was too much for him. He was on the point of
dropping the branch, and rushing to the window for his life, when Ned
Crashington, feeling his way into the room, tumbled over him.
Speech was not required in the circumstances. Ned knew exactly what
to do, and Joe knew that he had been sent to relieve him. He therefore
delivered the branch to Ned, and at once sprang out on the escape,
where he encountered David Clazie.
"Go in, Davy, he can't stand it long," gasped Joe.
"No fears of 'im," replied Davy, with a smile, as he prepared to enter
the window; "Ned can stand hanythink a'most. But, I say, send up some
more 'ands. It takes two on us to 'old that 'ere branch, you know."
The brass helmets of more hands coming up the escape were observed
as he spoke, for the foreman saw that this was a point of danger, and,
like a wise general, had his reserves up in time.
David Clazie found Ned standing manfully to the branch. Ned was
noted in the Red Brigade as a man who could "stand a'most anything,"
and who appeared to cherish a martyr-like desire to die by roasting or
suffocation. This was the more surprising that he was not a boastful or
excitable fellow, but a silent, melancholy, and stern man, who, except
when in action, usually seemed to wish to avoid observation. Most of
his comrades were puzzled by this compound of character, but some of
them hinted that Crashington's wife could have thrown some light on
the subject. Be this as it may, whenever the chief or the foreman of the
Brigade wanted a man for any desperate work, they invariably turned to
Ned Crashington. Not that Ned was one whit more courageous or
willing to risk his life than any of the other men, all of whom, it must
be remembered, were picked for courage and capacity for their special
work; but he combined the greatest amount of coolness with the utmost
possible recklessness, besides being unusually powerful, so that he

could be depended on for wise as well as desperate action. Joe
Dashwood was thought to be almost equal to Ned--indeed, in personal
activity he was superior; but there was nothing desperate in Joe's
character. He was ever ready to dare anything with a sort of jovial
alacrity, but he did not appear, like Ned, to court martyrdom.
While Ned and David subdued the flames above, Joe descended the
escape, and being by that time almost exhausted, sat down to rest with
several comrades who had endured the first shock of battle, while fresh
men were sent to continue the fight.
"Have a glass, Joe?" said one of the firemen, coming round with a
bottle of brandy.
"No, thank 'ee," said Joe, "I don't require it."
"Hand it here," said a man who stood leaning against the rails beside
him, "my constitution is good, like the British one, but it's none the
worse for a drop o' brandy after such tough work."
There was probably truth in what the man said. Desperate work
sometimes necessitates a stimulant; nevertheless, there were men in the
Red Brigade who did their desperate work on nothing stronger than
water, and Joe was one of these.
In three hours the fire was subdued, and before noon of that day it was
extinguished. The "report" of it, as published by the chief of the
Fire-Brigade next morning, recorded that a house in Ladbroke Square,
occupied by Mr Blank, a gentleman whose business was "private"--in
other words, unknown--had been set on fire by some "unknown cause,"
that the whole tenement had been "burnt out" and "the roof off," and
that the contents of the building were "insured in the Phoenix."
Some of the firemen were sent home about daybreak, when the flames
first began to be mastered.
Joe was among these. He