Fighting the Flames by Robert Michael Ballantyne (suggested reading TXT) 📕

I assure you. I desire you to convey my message to your brother. Leave me now.' I was just on the point of saying `Good-bye, uncle,' but he covered his face with his hands, and looked so miserable, that I went out without a word more. There, you've got the whole of _my_ story. What think you of it?"

"It's a curious one, and very unexpected, at least by me," said Frank, "though, as you said, part of it must have been known to mother, who, no doubt, had good reasons for concealing it from us; but I rather think that my story will surprise you more, and it's a better one than yours, Willie, in this respect, that it is shorter."

"Come, then, out with it," said Willie, with a laugh; "why, this is something like one of the Arabian Nights' Entertainments."

"Well, mother," said Frank, laying his hand gently on the widow's shoulder, "you shan't darn any more socks if I can help it, for I'm a man of fortune now!"

"How, Frank?" said Mrs Willders, with a puzzled look.

"The fact is, mother, that Mrs Denman, the poor old lady whom I carried down the escape, I forget how many years ago, is dead, and has left me her fortune, which, I believe, amounts to something like twenty thousand pounds!"

"You _don't_ mean that!" cried Willie, starting up.

"Indeed, I do," said Frank earnestly.

"Then long life to ye, my boy!" cried Willie, wringing his brother's hand, "and success to the old--well, no, I don't exactly mean that, but if she were alive I would say my blessing on the old lady. I wish you joy, old fellow! I say, surely the stately man won't object to the penniless fireman now--ha! ha! Well, it's like a dream; but tell us all about it, Frank."

"There is very little to tell, lad. I got a very urgent message the day before yesterday to go to see an old lady who was very ill. I obtained leave for an hour, and went at once, not knowing who it was till I got there, when I found that it was Mrs Denman. She looked very ill, and I do assure you I felt quite unmanned when I looked into her little old face. `Young man,' she said in a low voice, `you saved my life; I am dying, and have sent for you to thank you. God bless you.' She put out her thin hand and tried to shake mine, but it was too feeble; she could only press her fingers on it. That was all that passed, and I returned to the station feeling quite in low spirits, I do assure you. Well, next day a little man in black called, and said he wished to have a few words with me. So I went out, and he introduced himself as the old lady's lawyer, told me that she was gone, and that she had, almost with her last breath, made him promise to go, the moment she was dead, and see the fireman who had saved her life, and tell him that she had left her fortune to him. He congratulated me; said that there were no near relations to feel aggrieved or to dispute my rights, and that, as soon as the proper legal steps had been taken--the debts and legacies paid, etcetera,--he would have the pleasure of handing over the balance, which would probably amount to twenty thousand pounds."

"It's like a dream," said Willie.

"So it is," replied Frank, "but it's well that it is not a dream, for if I had been the penniless man that Mr Auberly thinks me, I would have been obliged in honour to give up Emma Ward."

"Give her up!" exclaimed Willie in amazement. "Why?"

"Why! because I could not think of standing in the way of her good fortune."

"Oh, Frank! oh, Blazes," said Willie sadly, "has money told on you so fearfully already? Do you think that _she_ would give _you_ up for the sake of Auberly's dross?"

"I believe not, lad; but--but--well--never mind, we won't be troubled with the question now. But, mother, you don't seem to think much of my good fortune."

"I do think much of it, Frank; it has been sent to you by the Lord, and therefore is to be received with thanksgiving. But sudden good fortune of this kind is very dangerous. It makes me anxious as well as glad."

At that moment there came a loud knocking at the door, which startled Mrs Willders, and caused Willie to leap up and rush to open it.

Frank rose and put on his cap with the quiet promptitude of a man accustomed to alarms.

"That's a fire, mother; the kind of knock is quite familiar to me now. Don't be alarmed; we hear that kind of thing about two or three times a day at the station; they knew I was here, and have sent a messenger."

"A fire!" cried Willie, running into the room in great excitement.

"Tut, lad," said Frank, with a smile, as he nodded to his mother and left the room, "you'd never do for a fireman, you're too excitable. Where's the messenger?--ah, here you are. Well, where is it?"

"Tooley Street," exclaimed a man, whose condition showed that he had run all the way.

Frank started, and looked very grave as he said hurriedly to his brother--

"Good-night, lad. I won't likely be able to get out to-morrow to talk over this matter of the fortune. Fires are usually bad in that neighbourhood. Look well after mother. Good-night."

In another moment he was gone.

And well might Frank look grave, for when a fireman is called to a fire in Tooley Street, or any part of the docks, he knows that he is about to enter into the thickest of the Great Fight. To ordinary fires he goes light-heartedly--as a bold trooper gallops to a skirmish, but to a fire in the neighbourhood of the docks he goes with something of the feeling which must fill the breast of every brave soldier on the eve of a great battle.


CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.


THE FIRE IN TOOLEY STREET.

One of those great calamities which visit us once or twice, it may be, in a century, descended upon London on Saturday, the 22nd of June, 1861. It was the sudden, and for the time, overwhelming, attack of an old and unconquerable enemy, who found us, as usual, inadequately prepared to meet him.

Fire has fought with us and fed upon us since we became a nation, and yet, despite all our efforts, its flames are at this day more furious than ever. There are more fires daily in London now than there ever were before. Has this foe been properly met? is a question which naturally arises out of this fact. Referring to the beautiful organisation of the present Fire Brigade, the ability of its chiefs and the courage of its men, the answer is, Yes, decidedly. But referring to the strength of the brigade; to the munitions of war in the form of water; to the means of conveyance in the form of mains; to the system of check in the shape of an _effective_ Act in reference to partition-walls and moderately-sized warehouses; to the means of prevention in the shape of prohibitions and regulations in regard to inflammable substances-- referring to all these things, the answer to the question, "Has the foe been properly met?" is emphatically, _No_.

It is not sufficient to reply that a special inquiry has been made into this subject; that steps are being actually taken to remedy the evils of our system (or rather of our want of system) of fire prevention. Good may or may not result from this inquiry: that is yet to be seen. Meanwhile, the public ought to be awakened more thoroughly to the fact that an enemy is and always has been abroad in our land, who might be, _if we chose_, more effectively checked; who, if he has not yet attacked our own particular dwelling, may take us by surprise any day when we least expect him, and who does at all times very materially diminish our national wealth and increase our public burdens. Perhaps we should not style _fire_ an enemy, but a mutinous servant, who does his work faithfully and well, except when neglected or abused!

About five o'clock on Saturday afternoon intelligence of the outbreak of fire in Tooley Street reached the headquarters of the brigade in Watling Street.

Fire in Tooley Street! The mere summons lent energy to the nerves and spring to the muscles of the firemen. Not that Tooley Street in itself is more peculiarly dangerous in regard to fire than are the other streets of shops in the City. But Tooley Street lies in dangerous neighbourhood. The streets between it and the Thames, and those lying immediately to the west of it, contain huge warehouses and bonded stores, which are filled to suffocation with the "wealth of nations." Dirty streets and narrow lanes here lead to the fountain-head of wealth untold--almost inconceivable. The elegant filigree-work of West End luxury may here be seen unsmelted, as it were, and in the ore. At the same time the rich substances on which fire feeds and fattens are stored here in warehouses which (as they are) should never have been built, and in proximities which should never have been permitted. Examine the wharves--Brooks' Wharf, Beal's Wharf, Cotton's Wharf, Chamberlain's Wharf, Freeman's Wharf, Griffin's Wharf, Stanton's Wharf, and others. Investigate the lanes--Hay's Lane, Mill Lane, Morgan's Lane; and the streets--Bermondsey, Dockhead, Pickle Herring Street, Horsleydown, and others--and there, besides the great deposit and commission warehouses which cover acres of ground, and are filled from basement to ridge-pole with the commodities and combustibles of every clime, you will find huge granaries and stores of lead, alum, drugs, tallow, chicory, flour, rice, biscuit, sulphur, and saltpetre, mingled with the warehouses of cheese-agents, ham-factors, provision merchants, tarpaulin-dealers, oil and colour merchants, etcetera. In fact, the entire region seems laid out with a view to the raising of a bonfire or a pyrotechnic display on the grandest conceivable scale.

Little wonder, then, that the firemen of Watling Street turned out all their engines, including two of Shand and Mason's new land-steam fire-engines, which had at that time just been brought into action. Little wonder that the usual request for a man from each station was changed into an urgent demand for every man that could possibly be spared.

The fire began in the extensive wharves and warehouses known as Cotton's Wharf, near London Bridge, and was first observed in a warehouse over a counting-room by some workmen, who at once gave the alarm, and attempted to extinguish it with some buckets of water. They were quickly driven back, however, by the suffocating smoke, which soon filled the various floors so densely that no one could approach the seat of the fire.

Mr Braidwood, who was early on the spot, saw at a glance that a pitched battle was about to be fought, and, like a wise general, concentrated all the force at his command. Expresses were sent for the more distant brigade engines, and these came dashing up, one after another, at full speed. The two powerful steam floating-engines which guard the Thames from fire were moored off the wharf, two lengths of