Chapter Twelve.A Little Domestic Chit-Chat.One night, not long after the events narrated in the last chapter, Frank Willders was standing with the fireman-in-charge in the King Street Station. He had just removed his helmet, and the perspiration on his brow showed that he had been but recently engaged in some active duty; as indeed was the case, for he had just returned from a “walk” to a fire in Whitechapel.“It was only a small affair,” said Frank, hanging up his helmet and axe, and sitting down to fill his pipe; “a low beer-shop in Brook Street; the taproom burnt out, and the rest of the house damaged by smoke. It was pretty well over before I got there, and I left half an hour after. Where are the rest o’ the lads?”“They’re out wi’ both engines,” said Baxmore, who was busy making a memorandum on a slate.“With both engines!” said Frank.“Ay, both,” replied Baxmore, with a laugh, as he sat down in front of the fire. “Let me see; it’s now nine o’clock, so they’ve bin off an hour; one to Walton Street, Brompton; the other to Porchester Terrace, Bayswater. The call was the queerest I’ve seen for many a day. We was all sittin’ here smokin’ our pipes, as usual, when two fellers came to the door, full split, from opposite pints o’ the compass, an’ run slap into each other. They looked like gentlemen; but they was in such a state it wasn’t easy to make out what sort o’ fish they was. One had his coat torn and his hat gone; the other had his tile pretty well knocked down on his eyes—I s’pose by the people he run into on the way—an’ both were half-mad with excitement. They both stuttered, too—that was the fun o’ the thing, and they seemed to think each was takin’ off the other, and got into a most awful rage. My own opinion is, that one stuttered by nature, an’ the other stuttered from fright. Anyhow, they both stuttered together, and a precious mess they made of it.“‘F–F–F–Fire!’ roared one.“‘F–F–F–Fire!’ yelled the other.“‘Where away?’ asked Mr Dale, looking quietly at the two men, who were gasping for breath.“‘B–B–B–Brompton,’ ‘B–B–B–Bayswater!’ they shouted together; and then, turnin’ fiercely on each other, the one said ‘N–N–N–No!’ and the other said ‘N–N–N–No!’ ‘Now,whichis it?’ said Dale, ‘an’bequick—do.’“‘B–B–B–Brompton!’“‘B–B–B–Bayswater!’ in a breath; then says one, ‘I—I s–s–sayBrompton!’ an’ the other, he says, ‘I—I s–s–sayBayswater!’“At this they grew furious, and Dale tried to calm them and settle the question by asking the name of the street.“‘W–W–Walton S–Street!’ cried one.“‘P–P–P–Porchester T–T–Terrace!’ shouted the other.“‘N–N–No!’ ‘Y–Y–Yes!’ ‘N–No!’ an’ with that, one up fist an’ hit the other a crack between the eyes. T’other returned on the nob, and then they closed.“Before this Mr Dale had ordered out one o’ the engines, an’ when he heard the two streets named it occurred to him that there might betwofires, so he ordered out the other engine; and before we got the stutterers separated both engines were off full swing, one to Brompton, the other to Bayswater; but whether there are two fires or no is yet to be seen.”Just as Baxmore concluded, the rattle of a returning engine was heard. Next moment it dashed up to the door, and the firemen, leaping off, streamed into the station, where; amid much comment and some laughter at the scene they had so recently witnessed, they hung up their helmets and crowded round the fire.“So itwasin Brompton, after all,” said Jack Williams, stirring the coals; “but it was a small affair in a baker’s shop, and we soon got it out.”“Is the other engine back?” inquired Moxey.“Here she comes to answer for herself,” said Mason, as the second engine dashed up to the station, and the men were joined by their comrades.“We’ve got it out,” said Dale, sitting down before the desk to enter the particulars in his diary; “it was a private house, and well alight when we got there, but the Paddington engine was playing on it, and we soon got it under.”“Faix, it’s well them stutterers didn’t kape us longer, else the whole house would have bin burnt out intirely,” observed Joe Corney, binding up a slight wound in his thumb, which he had received from a splinter.Most of the men were more or less begrimed with charcoal and smoke, and otherwise bore marks of their recent sharp though short skirmish, but none of them deemed it necessary to remove these evidences of devotion to duty until they had refreshed themselves with a pipe.“Were there people in the house?” inquired Frank.“Ay, but Pickford was there with the escape, an’ got ’em all out before we came up,” said one.“Pickford said he couldn’t help laughing after he got ’em out, at the remembrance o’ their faces. When he first went in they was all sound asleep in the top floor, for the smoke was only beginnin’ to show there, an’ the surprise they got when he jump in among ’em an’ shouted was wonderful to behold.”“Not so wonderful,” observed Bill Moxey, “as the surprise I seed a whole man-o’-war’s crew get by consequence o’ the shout o’ one of her own men.”“When was that? Let’s hear about it, Bill,” said Corney, stuffing down the tobacco in his pipe, and firing a battery of cloudlets into the air.“We was in the Red Sea at the time,” said Moxey, clearing his throat, “layin’ at anchor, and a precious hot time we had of it. There was never a cloud a’most in the sky, and the sun was nigh hot enough to fry the decks off the ship. Cook said he’d half a mind to try to roast a junk o’ beef at it, but I never heard that he managed that. We slep’ on deck o’ nights, ’cause you might as well have tried to sleep in a baker’s oven as sleep below. The thing that troubled us most at that time was a tiger we had on board. It did kick up such a shindy sometimes! We thought it would break its cage an make a quid o’ some of us. I forget who sent it to us—p’raps it was the Pasha of Egypt; anyhow we weren’t sorry when the order was given to put the tiger ashore.“Well, the same day that we got rid o’ the tiger we was sent aboard a Malay ship to flog one o’ the men. He’n bin up to some mischief, an’ his comrades were afraid, I s’pose, to flog him; and as the offence he had committed was against us somehow (I never rightly understood it myself), some of us went aboard the Malay ship, tied him up, an’ gave him two dozen.“That night the whole ship’s company slep’ on deck as usual—officers as well—all but the cap’n, who had gone ashore. It was atremendoushot night, an’ a good deal darker than usual. There was one man in the ship named Wilson; but we called him Bob Roarer, because of a habit he had of speakin’ an’ sometimes roarin’ in his sleep. Bob lay between me an’ the purser that night, an’ we slep’ on all right till it was getting pretty late, though there was two or three snorers that got their noses close to the deck an’ kep’ up a pretty fair imitation of a brass band. Suddenly Bob began to dream, or took a nightmare or somethin’, for he hit straight out with both fists, givin’ the purser a tap on the nob with his left, an’ diggin’ his right into my bread-basket with such good will that he nearly knocked all the wind out o’ me, at the same time he uttered a most appallin’ yell.“The confusion that followed is past description.“Some of us thought it was the tiger had broke loose,—forgettin’ that it had been sent ashore. Bob sneaked off the moment he found what he’d done, and the purser, thinkin’ it was pirates, grabbed the first he could lay hold of by the throat, and that was me, so to it we went tooth an’ nail, for I had no notion who was pitchin’ into me, it was so dark. Two of the men in their fright sprang up the main shrouds. Two others, who were asleep in the main-top, were awoke by the row, looked down on the starboard side, an’ saw the two comin’ up. Thinking it was the friends of the Malay who had been flogged coming to be revenged, they ran down the port shrouds like mad, and one o’ them rushed along the port-deck, stickin’ his feet into the bread-baskets of all the sleepers that hadn’t been woke by the yell, rousin’ them up an’ causin’ them to roar like bo’suns. The row woke the cook, who was a nigger; he, thinkin’ it was a sudden jollification, seized one o’ the coppers an’ began to beat it with an iron spoon. This set up the quartermaster, who rushed along the starboard deck, trampin’ upon the breasts and faces of all and sundry. The gunner thought it was the tiger, and took to the top of the awning; while the doctor and bo’s’n’s-mate they jumped over the side, and hung on by ropes up to their waists in water!“At the worst o’ the confusion the cap’n came aboard. We didn’t see him, but he ordered silence, an’ after a while we discovered that there was no reason whatever for the shindy. It wasn’t till a long time afterwards that we found out the real cause of the false alarm; but the only man that got no fright that night, and kep’ quite cool, was the man who set it all agoin’—Bob Roarer.”“Whata feller you are, Bill, to talk blarney,” said Corney, rising and knocking the ashes out of his pipe; “sure, aither yer father or yer mother must have bin an Irishman.”“Blarney or no blarney, them’s the facts,” said Moxey, yawning, “an’ I’m off to bed.”“Ditto,” said Frank, stretching himself.The two tressels, which were always removed from the room during the day, had been brought in, and were by this time occupied by Mason and Williams, whose duty it was to keep watch that night. Baxmore, the sub-engineer of the station, sat down at the desk to read over the events of the day, and the others rose to leave.“By the way, Baxmore,” said Dale, “what was that false alarm at 2 p.m. when I was down at Watling Street?”“Only a chemist in Kensington, who, it seems, is mad after makin’ experiments, and all but blew the roof off his house with one of ’em.”“Ah! only smoke, I suppose,” said Dale.“That was all,” said Baxmore, “but there was sitch a lot of it that some fellows thought it was a fire, an’ came tearin’ down here wi’ the news, so we had a ride for nothing.”“If I’m not mistaken you’ll have a ride for something ere long,” observed Dale, turning his head aside, while he listened attentively. “Hold on, lads, a minute!”There was a sound of wheels in the distance, as if some vehicle were approaching at a furious pace. On it came, louder and louder, until it turned the corner of the street, and the horses’ feet rattled on the stones as they were pulled up sharp at the station. Instantly the bell was rung violently, and a severe kicking was bestowed on the door.It is needless to say that the summons was answered promptly. Some of the men quietly resumed the helmets they had just hung up, well knowing that work lay before them.A cabman darted through the door the instant it was opened, shouting—“Fire!”“Where?” asked Dale.“Forth Street, Holborn, sir!” cried the cabman. Again, for the third time that night, the order was given to “get her out.” While this was being done, Baxmore took a leathern purse from the cupboard, and gave the cabman a shilling for being first to “give the call.”As the men were already accoutred, the engine left the station on this occasion in less than five minutes. The distance was short, so the pace was full speed, and in an incredibly short space of time they drew up in front of a large, handsome shop, from the first-floor windows of which thick smoke and a few forked flames were issuing.
One night, not long after the events narrated in the last chapter, Frank Willders was standing with the fireman-in-charge in the King Street Station. He had just removed his helmet, and the perspiration on his brow showed that he had been but recently engaged in some active duty; as indeed was the case, for he had just returned from a “walk” to a fire in Whitechapel.
“It was only a small affair,” said Frank, hanging up his helmet and axe, and sitting down to fill his pipe; “a low beer-shop in Brook Street; the taproom burnt out, and the rest of the house damaged by smoke. It was pretty well over before I got there, and I left half an hour after. Where are the rest o’ the lads?”
“They’re out wi’ both engines,” said Baxmore, who was busy making a memorandum on a slate.
“With both engines!” said Frank.
“Ay, both,” replied Baxmore, with a laugh, as he sat down in front of the fire. “Let me see; it’s now nine o’clock, so they’ve bin off an hour; one to Walton Street, Brompton; the other to Porchester Terrace, Bayswater. The call was the queerest I’ve seen for many a day. We was all sittin’ here smokin’ our pipes, as usual, when two fellers came to the door, full split, from opposite pints o’ the compass, an’ run slap into each other. They looked like gentlemen; but they was in such a state it wasn’t easy to make out what sort o’ fish they was. One had his coat torn and his hat gone; the other had his tile pretty well knocked down on his eyes—I s’pose by the people he run into on the way—an’ both were half-mad with excitement. They both stuttered, too—that was the fun o’ the thing, and they seemed to think each was takin’ off the other, and got into a most awful rage. My own opinion is, that one stuttered by nature, an’ the other stuttered from fright. Anyhow, they both stuttered together, and a precious mess they made of it.
“‘F–F–F–Fire!’ roared one.
“‘F–F–F–Fire!’ yelled the other.
“‘Where away?’ asked Mr Dale, looking quietly at the two men, who were gasping for breath.
“‘B–B–B–Brompton,’ ‘B–B–B–Bayswater!’ they shouted together; and then, turnin’ fiercely on each other, the one said ‘N–N–N–No!’ and the other said ‘N–N–N–No!’ ‘Now,whichis it?’ said Dale, ‘an’bequick—do.’
“‘B–B–B–Brompton!’
“‘B–B–B–Bayswater!’ in a breath; then says one, ‘I—I s–s–sayBrompton!’ an’ the other, he says, ‘I—I s–s–sayBayswater!’
“At this they grew furious, and Dale tried to calm them and settle the question by asking the name of the street.
“‘W–W–Walton S–Street!’ cried one.
“‘P–P–P–Porchester T–T–Terrace!’ shouted the other.
“‘N–N–No!’ ‘Y–Y–Yes!’ ‘N–No!’ an’ with that, one up fist an’ hit the other a crack between the eyes. T’other returned on the nob, and then they closed.
“Before this Mr Dale had ordered out one o’ the engines, an’ when he heard the two streets named it occurred to him that there might betwofires, so he ordered out the other engine; and before we got the stutterers separated both engines were off full swing, one to Brompton, the other to Bayswater; but whether there are two fires or no is yet to be seen.”
Just as Baxmore concluded, the rattle of a returning engine was heard. Next moment it dashed up to the door, and the firemen, leaping off, streamed into the station, where; amid much comment and some laughter at the scene they had so recently witnessed, they hung up their helmets and crowded round the fire.
“So itwasin Brompton, after all,” said Jack Williams, stirring the coals; “but it was a small affair in a baker’s shop, and we soon got it out.”
“Is the other engine back?” inquired Moxey.
“Here she comes to answer for herself,” said Mason, as the second engine dashed up to the station, and the men were joined by their comrades.
“We’ve got it out,” said Dale, sitting down before the desk to enter the particulars in his diary; “it was a private house, and well alight when we got there, but the Paddington engine was playing on it, and we soon got it under.”
“Faix, it’s well them stutterers didn’t kape us longer, else the whole house would have bin burnt out intirely,” observed Joe Corney, binding up a slight wound in his thumb, which he had received from a splinter.
Most of the men were more or less begrimed with charcoal and smoke, and otherwise bore marks of their recent sharp though short skirmish, but none of them deemed it necessary to remove these evidences of devotion to duty until they had refreshed themselves with a pipe.
“Were there people in the house?” inquired Frank.
“Ay, but Pickford was there with the escape, an’ got ’em all out before we came up,” said one.
“Pickford said he couldn’t help laughing after he got ’em out, at the remembrance o’ their faces. When he first went in they was all sound asleep in the top floor, for the smoke was only beginnin’ to show there, an’ the surprise they got when he jump in among ’em an’ shouted was wonderful to behold.”
“Not so wonderful,” observed Bill Moxey, “as the surprise I seed a whole man-o’-war’s crew get by consequence o’ the shout o’ one of her own men.”
“When was that? Let’s hear about it, Bill,” said Corney, stuffing down the tobacco in his pipe, and firing a battery of cloudlets into the air.
“We was in the Red Sea at the time,” said Moxey, clearing his throat, “layin’ at anchor, and a precious hot time we had of it. There was never a cloud a’most in the sky, and the sun was nigh hot enough to fry the decks off the ship. Cook said he’d half a mind to try to roast a junk o’ beef at it, but I never heard that he managed that. We slep’ on deck o’ nights, ’cause you might as well have tried to sleep in a baker’s oven as sleep below. The thing that troubled us most at that time was a tiger we had on board. It did kick up such a shindy sometimes! We thought it would break its cage an make a quid o’ some of us. I forget who sent it to us—p’raps it was the Pasha of Egypt; anyhow we weren’t sorry when the order was given to put the tiger ashore.
“Well, the same day that we got rid o’ the tiger we was sent aboard a Malay ship to flog one o’ the men. He’n bin up to some mischief, an’ his comrades were afraid, I s’pose, to flog him; and as the offence he had committed was against us somehow (I never rightly understood it myself), some of us went aboard the Malay ship, tied him up, an’ gave him two dozen.
“That night the whole ship’s company slep’ on deck as usual—officers as well—all but the cap’n, who had gone ashore. It was atremendoushot night, an’ a good deal darker than usual. There was one man in the ship named Wilson; but we called him Bob Roarer, because of a habit he had of speakin’ an’ sometimes roarin’ in his sleep. Bob lay between me an’ the purser that night, an’ we slep’ on all right till it was getting pretty late, though there was two or three snorers that got their noses close to the deck an’ kep’ up a pretty fair imitation of a brass band. Suddenly Bob began to dream, or took a nightmare or somethin’, for he hit straight out with both fists, givin’ the purser a tap on the nob with his left, an’ diggin’ his right into my bread-basket with such good will that he nearly knocked all the wind out o’ me, at the same time he uttered a most appallin’ yell.
“The confusion that followed is past description.
“Some of us thought it was the tiger had broke loose,—forgettin’ that it had been sent ashore. Bob sneaked off the moment he found what he’d done, and the purser, thinkin’ it was pirates, grabbed the first he could lay hold of by the throat, and that was me, so to it we went tooth an’ nail, for I had no notion who was pitchin’ into me, it was so dark. Two of the men in their fright sprang up the main shrouds. Two others, who were asleep in the main-top, were awoke by the row, looked down on the starboard side, an’ saw the two comin’ up. Thinking it was the friends of the Malay who had been flogged coming to be revenged, they ran down the port shrouds like mad, and one o’ them rushed along the port-deck, stickin’ his feet into the bread-baskets of all the sleepers that hadn’t been woke by the yell, rousin’ them up an’ causin’ them to roar like bo’suns. The row woke the cook, who was a nigger; he, thinkin’ it was a sudden jollification, seized one o’ the coppers an’ began to beat it with an iron spoon. This set up the quartermaster, who rushed along the starboard deck, trampin’ upon the breasts and faces of all and sundry. The gunner thought it was the tiger, and took to the top of the awning; while the doctor and bo’s’n’s-mate they jumped over the side, and hung on by ropes up to their waists in water!
“At the worst o’ the confusion the cap’n came aboard. We didn’t see him, but he ordered silence, an’ after a while we discovered that there was no reason whatever for the shindy. It wasn’t till a long time afterwards that we found out the real cause of the false alarm; but the only man that got no fright that night, and kep’ quite cool, was the man who set it all agoin’—Bob Roarer.”
“Whata feller you are, Bill, to talk blarney,” said Corney, rising and knocking the ashes out of his pipe; “sure, aither yer father or yer mother must have bin an Irishman.”
“Blarney or no blarney, them’s the facts,” said Moxey, yawning, “an’ I’m off to bed.”
“Ditto,” said Frank, stretching himself.
The two tressels, which were always removed from the room during the day, had been brought in, and were by this time occupied by Mason and Williams, whose duty it was to keep watch that night. Baxmore, the sub-engineer of the station, sat down at the desk to read over the events of the day, and the others rose to leave.
“By the way, Baxmore,” said Dale, “what was that false alarm at 2 p.m. when I was down at Watling Street?”
“Only a chemist in Kensington, who, it seems, is mad after makin’ experiments, and all but blew the roof off his house with one of ’em.”
“Ah! only smoke, I suppose,” said Dale.
“That was all,” said Baxmore, “but there was sitch a lot of it that some fellows thought it was a fire, an’ came tearin’ down here wi’ the news, so we had a ride for nothing.”
“If I’m not mistaken you’ll have a ride for something ere long,” observed Dale, turning his head aside, while he listened attentively. “Hold on, lads, a minute!”
There was a sound of wheels in the distance, as if some vehicle were approaching at a furious pace. On it came, louder and louder, until it turned the corner of the street, and the horses’ feet rattled on the stones as they were pulled up sharp at the station. Instantly the bell was rung violently, and a severe kicking was bestowed on the door.
It is needless to say that the summons was answered promptly. Some of the men quietly resumed the helmets they had just hung up, well knowing that work lay before them.
A cabman darted through the door the instant it was opened, shouting—
“Fire!”
“Where?” asked Dale.
“Forth Street, Holborn, sir!” cried the cabman. Again, for the third time that night, the order was given to “get her out.” While this was being done, Baxmore took a leathern purse from the cupboard, and gave the cabman a shilling for being first to “give the call.”
As the men were already accoutred, the engine left the station on this occasion in less than five minutes. The distance was short, so the pace was full speed, and in an incredibly short space of time they drew up in front of a large, handsome shop, from the first-floor windows of which thick smoke and a few forked flames were issuing.
Chapter Thirteen.Wild Doings and Daring Deeds.Quick though they were, however, in reaching the scene of the fire, the escape was there before them. It had a shorter way to travel, and was already pitched, with its head resting against a window of the second floor, and the fly ladder raised to the third.The people who had crowded round the building at the first alarm of fire, were looking on as if in suspense, and the firemen knew that Conductor Forest, or one of his lion-hearted comrades, was inside, doing his noble and dangerous work. But they had no time to pay attention to what was going on.While some of the firemen got the engine into play, the others ran in a body to the front-door of the burning house, the lower part of which was a coach-builder’s warehouse. It was a heavy double door, locked and barred, and the owner had not yet arrived with the key. It was evident that the fire had originated in one of the upper floors, for there was no light in the wareroom.“Get the pole-axe,” said Dale, as soon as he found the door was fast.Frank Willders sprang off at the word, and returned with an axe of the largest size attached to a handle nearly four feet long.“Drive it in, Willders,” said Dale.Frank’s powerful blows at once thundered on the massive door; but they fell on it in vain, for it was unusually strong. Seeing this, Dale ran back to the engine, and got out the pole.“Come, lay hold some of you!” said he. Immediately eight firemen, Frank and Dale being at the front, charged the door like a thunderbolt with this extemporised battering-ram. It gave way with a prodigious crash, and the whole party fell over each other into the warehouse.There was a burst of laughter from themselves, as well as from the crowd; but in another moment they were up and swarming through the premises among the smoke, searching for a point of attack.“Send the branch up here,” cried Mason, coughing violently.“Sure, my peepers is out entirely!” gasped Corney, rushing to the window for air; while showers of water fell on his head, for the engine was already in full play.Just then there was a noise outside, as if men were disputing violently. Dale guessed at once what it was, and ran down the staircase, calling out as he passed: “Here, Willders, Corney, Baxmore, lend a hand, will you?”On reaching the engine, they found about a dozen roughs of the lowest character, disputing fiercely as to which of them was to pump the engine! As each man received one shilling an hour for this work, it became a desirable means of earning a good night’s wages to these broad-shouldered rascals; who, in their anger, and in spite of the police, and the solitary fireman who superintended the engine, had actually caused the men already at work to cease pumping.We may remark in passing, that this would not have been the case, but for the police force, from some unknown cause, being not very strong at that fire, and having an excited and somewhat turbulent crowd to keep in order. As a general rule, the police of London are of the most essential service at fires; and not a few of them have obtained the medals of the Society for the protection of life from fire, and other rewards for gallantry displayed in saving life at the risk of their own lives.On the present occasion, however, the few policemen present could barely hold their ground against such a band of stalwart desperadoes, so the firemen came to the rescue. In the front of the roughs stood a man who was stronger made and better dressed than the others. He had not been pugnacious at first; but having got involved in the riot, he struck out with the rest. Dale sprang at this man, who was none other than the half-nautical individual already introduced to the reader by the name of Gorman, and launched a left-hander at his head; but Gorman stepped aside, and one of his comrades was felled instead. At this, the others made a rush in a body at Dale; but Frank, Corney, and Baxmore come up at the moment, and each knocked down a man. Instantly Dale seized an instrument from the engine, named a “preventer,” like a large boat-hook, and, raising it at the full stretch of his powerful arms, he brought it swoop down on the heads of the roughs—six of whom, including Gorman, measured their length on the ground.Meanwhile, Bill Moxey and Jack Williams, who had charge of the branch—which is considered the post of honour at a fire—had paid no attention whatever to this little episode; but the instant the order was given, had conveyed their branch into the building, and up to the first floor, where they thought they could reach the fire more directly; for it is an axiom in fire brigades to get into a burning buildingwithout delay, and attack the fire at its heart.They got the hose up a staircase, and began to play through a doorway at the head of it; but, to their surprise, did not make any impression whatever. Two other engines, however, were at work by this time—so the fire was kept in check.“Something wrong here,” said Moxey, speaking with difficulty, owing to the dense smoke.Owing to the same cause, it was impossible to see what was wrong.“I’ll go in an’ see,” said Mason, dropping on his hands and knees, and creeping into the room with his mouth as close to the ground as possible. This he did, because in a room on fire there is always a current of comparatively fresh air at the floor.Presently the sound of Mason’s small hatchet was heard cutting up woodwork, and in a few seconds he rushed out almost choking.“There,” said he, “stick the branch through that hole. You’ve bin playin’ all this time up agin’ a board partition!”Moxey and Williams advanced, put the branch through the partition, and the result was at once obvious in the diminution of smoke and increase of steam.While these incidents were occurring outside and inside the building, the crowd was still waiting in breathless expectation for the re-appearance of Conductor Forest of the fire-escape; for the events just narrated, although taking a long time to tell, were enacted in a few minutes.Presently Forest appeared at the window of the second floor with two infants in his arms. Instead of sending these down the canvas trough of the escape in the usual way—at the risk of their necks, for they were very young—he clasped them to his breast, and plunging into it himself head-foremost, descended in that position, checking his speed by spreading out his knees against the sides of the canvas. Once again he sprang up the escape amid the cheers of the people, and re-entered the window.At that moment the attention of the crowd was diverted by the sudden appearance of a man at one of the windows of the first floor.He was all on fire, and had evidently been aroused to his awful position unexpectedly, for he was in such confusion that he did not observe the fire-escape at the other window. After shouting wildly for a few seconds, and tossing his arms in the air, he leaped out and came to the ground with stunning violence. Two policemen extinguished the fire that was about him, and then, procuring a horse-cloth lifted him up tenderly and carried him away.It may perhaps surprise the reader that this man was not roused sooner by the turmoil and noise that was going on around him, but it is a fact that heavy sleepers are sometimes found by the firemen sound asleep, and in utter ignorance of what has been going on, long after a large portion of the houses in which they dwell have been in flames.When Forest entered the window the second time he found the smoke thicker than before, and had some difficulty in groping his way—for smoke that may be breathed with comparative ease is found to be very severe on the eyes. He succeeded, however, in finding a woman lying insensible on the floor of the room above. In carrying her to the window he fell over a small child, which was lying on the floor in a state of insensibility. Grasping the latter with his left hand, he seized its night-dress with his teeth, and, with the woman on his shoulder, appeared on the top of the fly-ladder, which he descended in safety.The cheers and shouts of the crowd were deafening as Forest came down; but the woman, who had begun to recover, said that her brother was in a loft above the room in which she had been found.The Conductor, therefore, went up again, got on the roof of the house, broke through the tiles, and with much difficulty pulled the man through the aperture and conveyed him safely to the ground. (See note 1).The firemen were already at Forest’s heels, and as soon as he dragged the man through the hole in the roof, Frank and Baxmore jumped into it with the branch, and immediately attacked the fire.By this time all the engines of the district in which the fire had occurred, and one from each of the two adjoining districts, had arrived, and were in full play, and one by one the individual men from the distant stations came dropping in and reported themselves to Dale, Mr Braidwood not being present on that occasion. There was thus a strong force of fresh firemen on the ground, and these, as they came up, were sent—in military parlance—to relieve skirmishers. The others were congregated in front of the door, moving quietly about, looking on and chatting in undertones.Such of the public as arrived late at the fire no doubt formed a very erroneous impression in regard to these men, for not only did they appear to be lounging about doing nothing, but they were helped by one of their number to a glass of brandy—such of them at least as chose to take it. But those who had witnessed the fire from the beginning knew that these men had toiled, with every nerve and muscle strained, for upwards of an hour in the face of almost unbearable heat, half-suffocated by smoke, and drenched by hot water. They were resting now, and they had much need of rest, for some of them had come out of the burning house almost fainting from exposure to heat and smoke. Indeed, Masonhadfainted; but the fresh air soon revived him, and after a glass of brandy he recovered sufficiently to be fit for duty again in half an hour.Frank and Baxmore were the last to be relieved. When two fresh men came up and took the branch they descended the stairs, and a strange descent it was. The wooden stair, or flight of open steps, which they had to descend first, was burnt to charcoal, and looked as if it would fall to pieces with a touch.“I hope it’ll bear,” said Frank to Baxmore, who went first.“Bear or not bear, wemustgo down,” said Baxmore.He went unhesitatingly upon it, and although the steps bent ominously, there was enough of sound wood to sustain him.The second stair, also of wood, had not been quite so much charred; but so great was the quantity of water poured continuously into the house, that it formed a regular water-course of the staircase, down which heaps of plaster and bricks and burnt rubbish had been washed, and had stuck here and there, forming obstructions on which the water broke and round which it roared in the form of what might have been a very respectable mountain-torrent, with this striking difference, that the water which rushed down it washot, in consequence of its having passed through such glowing materials.The lower staircase was a stone one—the worst of all stairs in a fire, owing to its liability to crack at its connection with the wall, from the combined influence of heat and cold water. Just as the two men reached the head of it, it fell, without warning, in a mass of ruins.“Never mind,” said Baxmore, “the fire-escape is still at the window.”So saying, he ran through the smoke and reached it. Frank was about to follow, when he observed a shut door. Without having any definite intention, he laid hold of the handle, and found that it was locked on the inside—he knew that, for he saw the end of the key sticking through the key-hole. At once he threw his weight on it, and burst it open. To his amazement, he found a little old lady sitting quietly, but in great trepidation, in an easy-chair, partially clothed in very scanty garments, which she had evidently thrown on in great haste.“Go away, young man!” she screamed, drawing a shawl tightly round her. “Go away, I say! howdareyou, sir?”“Why, ma’am,” cried Frank, striding up to her; “the house is on fire! Come, I’ll carry you out.”“No—No!” she cried, pushing him resolutely away. “What! carry me—me outthus! I know it’s on fire. Leave me, sir, I command you—I entreat you; I will die rather than appear as I am—in public.”The poor lady finished off with a loud shriek; for Frank, seeing how matters stood, and knowing there was not a moment to lose, plucked a blanket from the bed, overwhelmed her in it, and exclaiming, “Forgive me, ma’am,” lifted her gently in his arms, bore her through the smoke, down the escape, to the street; carried her into a neighbouring house (the door of which was opportunely open), and laid her like a bundle on one of the beds, where he left her, with strict injunctions to the people of the house to take care of her! Frank then went out to rejoin his comrades, and refreshed himself with a glass of beer; while Baxmore, being a teetotaller, recruited his energies with a glass of water.By this time the fire had been pretty well subdued; but there were some parts smouldering about the roof and upper floor, that rendered it necessary to keep the engines going, while the firemen hunted their foe from room to room, and corner to corner—extinguishing him everywhere; not, however, before he had completely gutted the whole house, with the exception of part of the ground floor.“Keep away from the walls, men,” said Dale, coming up to the group, who were resting.At that moment there was a cry raised that some one was in the cellars.At the word, Baxmore ran into the house, and descended to the basement. There was little smoke here; but from the roof, water was running down in a thick, warm shower, which drenched him in a few minutes. He ran through the whole place, but found no one, until he opened the door of a closet, when he discovered two old women who had taken refuge there; one being deaf and the other lame, as her crutches testified. They were up to the knees in water, and the same element was pouring in continuous streams on their heads—yet, like the old lady up-stairs, they refused to move or be moved.Finding that persuasion was useless, Baxmore ran up for a horse-cloth, and, returning, threw it over the head of the deaf old woman, whom he bore, kicking violently, into the street. The other was carried out in the same fashion—only that she screamed violently, being unable to kick.Soon after that, the fire was completely extinguished, and the engines and men returned to their several stations, leaving London once again in comparative repose.Note 1. It is perhaps right to state here, that a deed similar to this in nearly every point was performed by Conductor Samuel Wood, a member of the London Fire-Escape Brigade, for which he received a testimonial signed by the then Lord Mayor, and a silver watch with 20 pounds from the inhabitants of Whitechapel. Wood saved nearly 200 lives by his own personal exertions. Many of his brave comrades have also done deeds that are well worthy of record, but we have not space to do more than allude to them here.
Quick though they were, however, in reaching the scene of the fire, the escape was there before them. It had a shorter way to travel, and was already pitched, with its head resting against a window of the second floor, and the fly ladder raised to the third.
The people who had crowded round the building at the first alarm of fire, were looking on as if in suspense, and the firemen knew that Conductor Forest, or one of his lion-hearted comrades, was inside, doing his noble and dangerous work. But they had no time to pay attention to what was going on.
While some of the firemen got the engine into play, the others ran in a body to the front-door of the burning house, the lower part of which was a coach-builder’s warehouse. It was a heavy double door, locked and barred, and the owner had not yet arrived with the key. It was evident that the fire had originated in one of the upper floors, for there was no light in the wareroom.
“Get the pole-axe,” said Dale, as soon as he found the door was fast.
Frank Willders sprang off at the word, and returned with an axe of the largest size attached to a handle nearly four feet long.
“Drive it in, Willders,” said Dale.
Frank’s powerful blows at once thundered on the massive door; but they fell on it in vain, for it was unusually strong. Seeing this, Dale ran back to the engine, and got out the pole.
“Come, lay hold some of you!” said he. Immediately eight firemen, Frank and Dale being at the front, charged the door like a thunderbolt with this extemporised battering-ram. It gave way with a prodigious crash, and the whole party fell over each other into the warehouse.
There was a burst of laughter from themselves, as well as from the crowd; but in another moment they were up and swarming through the premises among the smoke, searching for a point of attack.
“Send the branch up here,” cried Mason, coughing violently.
“Sure, my peepers is out entirely!” gasped Corney, rushing to the window for air; while showers of water fell on his head, for the engine was already in full play.
Just then there was a noise outside, as if men were disputing violently. Dale guessed at once what it was, and ran down the staircase, calling out as he passed: “Here, Willders, Corney, Baxmore, lend a hand, will you?”
On reaching the engine, they found about a dozen roughs of the lowest character, disputing fiercely as to which of them was to pump the engine! As each man received one shilling an hour for this work, it became a desirable means of earning a good night’s wages to these broad-shouldered rascals; who, in their anger, and in spite of the police, and the solitary fireman who superintended the engine, had actually caused the men already at work to cease pumping.
We may remark in passing, that this would not have been the case, but for the police force, from some unknown cause, being not very strong at that fire, and having an excited and somewhat turbulent crowd to keep in order. As a general rule, the police of London are of the most essential service at fires; and not a few of them have obtained the medals of the Society for the protection of life from fire, and other rewards for gallantry displayed in saving life at the risk of their own lives.
On the present occasion, however, the few policemen present could barely hold their ground against such a band of stalwart desperadoes, so the firemen came to the rescue. In the front of the roughs stood a man who was stronger made and better dressed than the others. He had not been pugnacious at first; but having got involved in the riot, he struck out with the rest. Dale sprang at this man, who was none other than the half-nautical individual already introduced to the reader by the name of Gorman, and launched a left-hander at his head; but Gorman stepped aside, and one of his comrades was felled instead. At this, the others made a rush in a body at Dale; but Frank, Corney, and Baxmore come up at the moment, and each knocked down a man. Instantly Dale seized an instrument from the engine, named a “preventer,” like a large boat-hook, and, raising it at the full stretch of his powerful arms, he brought it swoop down on the heads of the roughs—six of whom, including Gorman, measured their length on the ground.
Meanwhile, Bill Moxey and Jack Williams, who had charge of the branch—which is considered the post of honour at a fire—had paid no attention whatever to this little episode; but the instant the order was given, had conveyed their branch into the building, and up to the first floor, where they thought they could reach the fire more directly; for it is an axiom in fire brigades to get into a burning buildingwithout delay, and attack the fire at its heart.
They got the hose up a staircase, and began to play through a doorway at the head of it; but, to their surprise, did not make any impression whatever. Two other engines, however, were at work by this time—so the fire was kept in check.
“Something wrong here,” said Moxey, speaking with difficulty, owing to the dense smoke.
Owing to the same cause, it was impossible to see what was wrong.
“I’ll go in an’ see,” said Mason, dropping on his hands and knees, and creeping into the room with his mouth as close to the ground as possible. This he did, because in a room on fire there is always a current of comparatively fresh air at the floor.
Presently the sound of Mason’s small hatchet was heard cutting up woodwork, and in a few seconds he rushed out almost choking.
“There,” said he, “stick the branch through that hole. You’ve bin playin’ all this time up agin’ a board partition!”
Moxey and Williams advanced, put the branch through the partition, and the result was at once obvious in the diminution of smoke and increase of steam.
While these incidents were occurring outside and inside the building, the crowd was still waiting in breathless expectation for the re-appearance of Conductor Forest of the fire-escape; for the events just narrated, although taking a long time to tell, were enacted in a few minutes.
Presently Forest appeared at the window of the second floor with two infants in his arms. Instead of sending these down the canvas trough of the escape in the usual way—at the risk of their necks, for they were very young—he clasped them to his breast, and plunging into it himself head-foremost, descended in that position, checking his speed by spreading out his knees against the sides of the canvas. Once again he sprang up the escape amid the cheers of the people, and re-entered the window.
At that moment the attention of the crowd was diverted by the sudden appearance of a man at one of the windows of the first floor.
He was all on fire, and had evidently been aroused to his awful position unexpectedly, for he was in such confusion that he did not observe the fire-escape at the other window. After shouting wildly for a few seconds, and tossing his arms in the air, he leaped out and came to the ground with stunning violence. Two policemen extinguished the fire that was about him, and then, procuring a horse-cloth lifted him up tenderly and carried him away.
It may perhaps surprise the reader that this man was not roused sooner by the turmoil and noise that was going on around him, but it is a fact that heavy sleepers are sometimes found by the firemen sound asleep, and in utter ignorance of what has been going on, long after a large portion of the houses in which they dwell have been in flames.
When Forest entered the window the second time he found the smoke thicker than before, and had some difficulty in groping his way—for smoke that may be breathed with comparative ease is found to be very severe on the eyes. He succeeded, however, in finding a woman lying insensible on the floor of the room above. In carrying her to the window he fell over a small child, which was lying on the floor in a state of insensibility. Grasping the latter with his left hand, he seized its night-dress with his teeth, and, with the woman on his shoulder, appeared on the top of the fly-ladder, which he descended in safety.
The cheers and shouts of the crowd were deafening as Forest came down; but the woman, who had begun to recover, said that her brother was in a loft above the room in which she had been found.
The Conductor, therefore, went up again, got on the roof of the house, broke through the tiles, and with much difficulty pulled the man through the aperture and conveyed him safely to the ground. (See note 1).
The firemen were already at Forest’s heels, and as soon as he dragged the man through the hole in the roof, Frank and Baxmore jumped into it with the branch, and immediately attacked the fire.
By this time all the engines of the district in which the fire had occurred, and one from each of the two adjoining districts, had arrived, and were in full play, and one by one the individual men from the distant stations came dropping in and reported themselves to Dale, Mr Braidwood not being present on that occasion. There was thus a strong force of fresh firemen on the ground, and these, as they came up, were sent—in military parlance—to relieve skirmishers. The others were congregated in front of the door, moving quietly about, looking on and chatting in undertones.
Such of the public as arrived late at the fire no doubt formed a very erroneous impression in regard to these men, for not only did they appear to be lounging about doing nothing, but they were helped by one of their number to a glass of brandy—such of them at least as chose to take it. But those who had witnessed the fire from the beginning knew that these men had toiled, with every nerve and muscle strained, for upwards of an hour in the face of almost unbearable heat, half-suffocated by smoke, and drenched by hot water. They were resting now, and they had much need of rest, for some of them had come out of the burning house almost fainting from exposure to heat and smoke. Indeed, Masonhadfainted; but the fresh air soon revived him, and after a glass of brandy he recovered sufficiently to be fit for duty again in half an hour.
Frank and Baxmore were the last to be relieved. When two fresh men came up and took the branch they descended the stairs, and a strange descent it was. The wooden stair, or flight of open steps, which they had to descend first, was burnt to charcoal, and looked as if it would fall to pieces with a touch.
“I hope it’ll bear,” said Frank to Baxmore, who went first.
“Bear or not bear, wemustgo down,” said Baxmore.
He went unhesitatingly upon it, and although the steps bent ominously, there was enough of sound wood to sustain him.
The second stair, also of wood, had not been quite so much charred; but so great was the quantity of water poured continuously into the house, that it formed a regular water-course of the staircase, down which heaps of plaster and bricks and burnt rubbish had been washed, and had stuck here and there, forming obstructions on which the water broke and round which it roared in the form of what might have been a very respectable mountain-torrent, with this striking difference, that the water which rushed down it washot, in consequence of its having passed through such glowing materials.
The lower staircase was a stone one—the worst of all stairs in a fire, owing to its liability to crack at its connection with the wall, from the combined influence of heat and cold water. Just as the two men reached the head of it, it fell, without warning, in a mass of ruins.
“Never mind,” said Baxmore, “the fire-escape is still at the window.”
So saying, he ran through the smoke and reached it. Frank was about to follow, when he observed a shut door. Without having any definite intention, he laid hold of the handle, and found that it was locked on the inside—he knew that, for he saw the end of the key sticking through the key-hole. At once he threw his weight on it, and burst it open. To his amazement, he found a little old lady sitting quietly, but in great trepidation, in an easy-chair, partially clothed in very scanty garments, which she had evidently thrown on in great haste.
“Go away, young man!” she screamed, drawing a shawl tightly round her. “Go away, I say! howdareyou, sir?”
“Why, ma’am,” cried Frank, striding up to her; “the house is on fire! Come, I’ll carry you out.”
“No—No!” she cried, pushing him resolutely away. “What! carry me—me outthus! I know it’s on fire. Leave me, sir, I command you—I entreat you; I will die rather than appear as I am—in public.”
The poor lady finished off with a loud shriek; for Frank, seeing how matters stood, and knowing there was not a moment to lose, plucked a blanket from the bed, overwhelmed her in it, and exclaiming, “Forgive me, ma’am,” lifted her gently in his arms, bore her through the smoke, down the escape, to the street; carried her into a neighbouring house (the door of which was opportunely open), and laid her like a bundle on one of the beds, where he left her, with strict injunctions to the people of the house to take care of her! Frank then went out to rejoin his comrades, and refreshed himself with a glass of beer; while Baxmore, being a teetotaller, recruited his energies with a glass of water.
By this time the fire had been pretty well subdued; but there were some parts smouldering about the roof and upper floor, that rendered it necessary to keep the engines going, while the firemen hunted their foe from room to room, and corner to corner—extinguishing him everywhere; not, however, before he had completely gutted the whole house, with the exception of part of the ground floor.
“Keep away from the walls, men,” said Dale, coming up to the group, who were resting.
At that moment there was a cry raised that some one was in the cellars.
At the word, Baxmore ran into the house, and descended to the basement. There was little smoke here; but from the roof, water was running down in a thick, warm shower, which drenched him in a few minutes. He ran through the whole place, but found no one, until he opened the door of a closet, when he discovered two old women who had taken refuge there; one being deaf and the other lame, as her crutches testified. They were up to the knees in water, and the same element was pouring in continuous streams on their heads—yet, like the old lady up-stairs, they refused to move or be moved.
Finding that persuasion was useless, Baxmore ran up for a horse-cloth, and, returning, threw it over the head of the deaf old woman, whom he bore, kicking violently, into the street. The other was carried out in the same fashion—only that she screamed violently, being unable to kick.
Soon after that, the fire was completely extinguished, and the engines and men returned to their several stations, leaving London once again in comparative repose.
Note 1. It is perhaps right to state here, that a deed similar to this in nearly every point was performed by Conductor Samuel Wood, a member of the London Fire-Escape Brigade, for which he received a testimonial signed by the then Lord Mayor, and a silver watch with 20 pounds from the inhabitants of Whitechapel. Wood saved nearly 200 lives by his own personal exertions. Many of his brave comrades have also done deeds that are well worthy of record, but we have not space to do more than allude to them here.
Chapter Fourteen.Joe Corney’s Adventure with Ghosts.When we said that the firemen returned to their respective stations, it must not be supposed that the house which had been burnt was left in forlorn wretchedness. No; one of the firemen remained to watch over it, and guard against the upstarting of any sneaking spark that might have managed to conceal itself.The man selected for this duty was Joe Corney.Unfortunately for Joe, this was the only part of a fireman’s duty that he did not relish.Joe Corney was, both by nature and education, very superstitious. He believed implicitly in ghosts, and knew an innumerable host of persons, male and female, who had seen people who said they had seen ghosts. He was too honest to say he had ever seen a ghost himself; but he had been “very near seein’ wan two or three times,” and he lived in perpetual expectation and dread of meeting one face to face before he died. Joe was as brave as a lion, and faced danger, and sometimes even what appeared to be certain death, with as much unflinching courage as the bravest of his comrades. Once, in particular, he had walked with the branch in his hands along the burning roof of a tottering warehouse, near the docks, in order to gain a point from which he could play on the flames so as to prevent them spreading to the next warehouse, and so check a fire which might have easily become one of the “great fires of London.”Joe was therefore a man who could not be easily frightened; yet Joe trembled in his shoes when he had the most distant prospect of meeting with a ghost!There was no help for it, however. He had been appointed to watch the ruin; and, being a man who cherished a strong sense of duty, he set himself doggedly to make the most of his circumstances.It was past one o’clock when the fire was finally extinguished. A few night-birds and late revellers still hung about it, as if in the hope that it would burst forth again, and afford them fresh excitement; but before two o’clock, everyone had gone away, and Joe was left alone with his “preventer” and lantern. Even the policeman on the beat appeared to avoid him; for, although he passed the ruin at regular intervals in his rounds, he did not stop at it beyond a few moments, to see that the fireman’s lantern was burning and all right.“Corney, me lad,” said Joe to himself, “it’s bad luck has befallen ye this night; but face yer luck like a man now, and shame it.”Encouraging himself thus, he grasped his preventer, and pulled about thedébrisin various places of which he had some suspicion; but the engines had done their work so effectually that not a spark remained. Then Joe walked up and down, and in and out for an hour; studied the half-consumed pictures that still hung on the walls of one of the lower rooms, which had not been completely destroyed; moralised on the dire confusion and ruin that could be accomplished in so short a space of time; reflected on the probable condition of the unfortunates who had been burnt out; on the mutability of human affairs in general, and wondered what his “owld mother” would think of him, if she saw him in his forlorn situation.This latter thought caused his mind to revert to ghosts; but he was comforted by hearing the slow, distant foot-fall of the policeman. On it came, not unlike the supposed step of an unearthly visitant, until the guardian of the night stood revealed before him on the other side of the road.“It’s a cowld night intirely,” cried Corney.“It is,” responded the policeman.“How goes the inimy?” inquired the fireman.“Just gone three,” replied the other.The policeman’s voice, although gruff, was good-humoured and hearty; but he was evidently a strict disciplinarian, for he uttered no other word, and passed on.“Faix, I’m gettin’ slaipy,” remarked Joe to himself, with a loud yawn. “I’ll go and rest a bit.”So saying, he re-entered the ruin, and with the aid of his lantern sought about for the least uncomfortable apartment on the ground floor. He selected one which was comparatively weather-tight. That is to say, only one of the windows had been dashed out, and the ceiling was entire, with the exception of a hole about four feet wide, through which the charred beams above could be seen depicted against the black sky. There was about an inch of water on the floor; but this was a small matter, for Joe’s boots were thick and strong. The door, too, had been burst off its hinges, and lay on the floor; but Joe could raise this, and place it in its original position.The room had been a parlour and there were several damaged prints hanging on the walls, besides a quantity of detached paper hanging from them. Most of the furniture had been removed at the commencement of the fire; but a few broken articles remained, and one big old easy-chair, which had either been forgotten, or deemed unworthy of removal, by the men of the Salvage Corps. (See note 1.)Joe wheeled the chair to the fireplace—not that there was any fire in it; on the contrary, it was choked up with fallen bricks and mortar, and the hearth was flooded with water; but, as Joe remarked to himself, “it felt more homelike an’ sociable to sit wid wan’s feet on the finder!”Having erected the door in front of its own doorway, Joe leaned his preventer against the wall, placed his lantern on the chimney-piece, and sat down to meditate. He had not meditated long, when the steady draught of air from the window at his back began to tell upon him.“Och! but it’s a cowld wind,” said he. “I’ll try the other side. There’s nothin’ like facin’ wan’s inimies.”Acting on this idea, he changed his position, turning his face to the window and his back to the door.“Well,” he remarked on sitting down again, “there’s about as much draught from the door; but, sure, ye’ve improved yer sitivation, Corney, for haven’t ye the illigant prospect of over the way through the windy?”Not long after this, Joe’s mind became much affected with ghostly memories. This condition was aggravated by an intense desire to sleep, for the poor man had been hard worked that day, and stood much in need of repose. He frequently fell asleep, and frequently awoke. On falling asleep, his helmet performed extremely undignified gyrations. On awaking, he always started, opened his eyes very wide, looked round inquiringly, then smiled, and resumed a more easy position. But, awake or asleep, his thoughts ran always in the same channel.During one of those waking moments, Joe heard a sound which rooted him to his seat with horror; and would doubtless have caused his hair to stand on end, if the helmet would have allowed it. The sound was simple enough in itself, however; being slight, slow, and regular, and was only horrible in Joe’s mind, because of his being utterly unable to account for it, or to conceive what it could be.Whatever the sound was, it banished sleep from his eyes for at least a quarter of an hour. At last, unable to stand the strain of uncertainty, he arose, drew his hatchet, took down his lantern, and, coughing loudly and sternly—as though to say:“Have a care, I’m coming!”—removed the door and went cautiously into the passage, where the sound appeared to come from. It did not cease on his appearing; but went on slowly and steadily, and louder than before. It appeared to be at his very elbow; yet Joe could see nothing, and a cold perspiration broke out on him.“Och! av I could onlyseeit!” he gasped.Just as he said this hedidsee it, for a turn of his lantern revealed the fact that a drop of water fell regularly from one of the burnt beams upon a large sheet of paper which had been torn from the passage wall. This, resting on the irregular rubbish, formed a sort of drum, which gave forth a hollow sound.“Ah, then, but yearea goose, Joe Corney, me boy!” said the fireman, as he turned away with an amiable smile and resumed his seat after replacing the door.About this time the wind began to rise, and came in irregular gusts. At each gust the door was blown from the wall an inch or so, and fell back with a noise that invariably awoke Joe with a start. He looked round each time quickly; but as the door remained quiet he did not discover the cause of his alarm. After it had done this several times Joe became, so to speak, desperately courageous.“Git out wid ye!” he cried angrily on being startled again, “wasn’t the last wan all a sham? an’ sure ye’re the same. Go ’long in pace—an’ goodnight!”As he said this the over-taxed man fell asleep; at the same moment a heavy gust of wind drove the door in altogether, and dashed it down on his head. Fortunately, being somewhat charred, the panel that struck his helmet was driven out, so that Joe came by no greater damage than the fright, which caused his heart to bound into his throat, for he really believed that the ghost had got him at last!Relieving himself of the door, which he laid on the floor lest it should play him the same prank over again, Joe Corney once more settled himself in the easy-chair and resolved to give his mind to meditation. Just then the City clocks pealed forth the hour of four o’clock.This is perhaps the quietest hour of the twenty-four in London. Before this most of the latest revellers have gone home, and few of the early risers are moving.There was one active mind at work at that hour, however—namely, that of Gorman—who, after recovering from the blow given him by Dale, went to his own home on the banks of the Thames, in the unaristocratic locality of London Bridge.Gorman owned a small boat, and did various kinds of business with it. But Gorman’s occupations were numerous and not definite. He was everything by turns, and nothing long. When visible to the outward eye (and that wasn’t often), his chief occupations were loafing about and drinking. On the present occasion he drank a good deal more than usual, and lay down to sleep, vowing vengeance against firemen in general, and Dale in particular.Two or three hours later he awoke, and leaving his house, crossed London Bridge, and wended his way back to the scene of the fire without any definite intention, but with savage desires in his breast. He reached it just at that point where Joe Corney had seated himself to meditate, as above described.Joe’s powers of meditation were not great at any time. At that particular time they were exerted in vain, for his head began to sway backward and forward and to either side, despite his best efforts to the contrary.Waiting in the shadow of a doorway until the policeman should pass out of sight and hearing, and cautiously stepping over the débris that encumbered the threshold of the burnt house, Gorman peeped into the room, where the light told him that some one kept watch. Great was his satisfaction and grim his smile when he saw that a stalwart fireman sat there apparently asleep. Being only able to see his back, he could not make certain who it was,—but from the bulk of the man and breadth of the shoulders he concluded that it was Dale. Anyhow it was one of his enemies, and that was sufficient, for Gorman’s nature was of that brutal kind that he would risk his life any day in order to gratify his vengeance, and it signified little to him which of his enemies fell in his way, so long as it was one of them.Taking up a brick from the floor, he raised himself to his full height, and dashed it down on the head of the sleeping man. Just at that moment Corney’s nodding head chanced to fall forward, and the brick only hit the comb of his helmet, knocking it over his eyes. Next moment he was grappling with Gorman.As on previous occasions, Joe’s heart had leaped to his throat, and that the ghost was upon him “at last” he had no manner of doubt; but no sooner did he feel the human arm of Gorman and behold his face than his native courage returned with a bound. He gave his antagonist a squeeze that nearly crushed his ribs together, and at the same time hurled him against the opposite wall. But Gorman was powerful and savage. He recovered himself and sprang like a tiger on Joe, who received him in a warm embrace with an Irish yell!The struggle of the two strong men was for a few moments terrible, but not doubtful, for Joe’s muscles had been brought into splendid training at the gymnastics. He soon forced Gorman down on one knee; but at the same moment a mass of brickwork which had been in a toppling condition, and was probably shaken down by the violence of their movements, fell on the floor above, broke through it, and struck both men to the ground.Joe lay stunned and motionless for a few seconds, for a beam had hit him on the head; but Gorman leaped up and made off a moment or two before the entrance of the policeman, who had run back to the house on hearing Joe’s war-whoop.It is needless to add that Joe spent the remainder of his vigil that night in an extremely wakeful condition, and that he gave a most graphic account of his adventure with the ghosts on his return to the station!Note 1. The Salvage Corps is a body of men appointed by the insurance offices to save and protect goods at fires, and otherwise to watch over their interests. They wear a uniform and helmets, something like those of the firemen, and generally follow close in their wake—in their own vans—when fires break out.
When we said that the firemen returned to their respective stations, it must not be supposed that the house which had been burnt was left in forlorn wretchedness. No; one of the firemen remained to watch over it, and guard against the upstarting of any sneaking spark that might have managed to conceal itself.
The man selected for this duty was Joe Corney.
Unfortunately for Joe, this was the only part of a fireman’s duty that he did not relish.
Joe Corney was, both by nature and education, very superstitious. He believed implicitly in ghosts, and knew an innumerable host of persons, male and female, who had seen people who said they had seen ghosts. He was too honest to say he had ever seen a ghost himself; but he had been “very near seein’ wan two or three times,” and he lived in perpetual expectation and dread of meeting one face to face before he died. Joe was as brave as a lion, and faced danger, and sometimes even what appeared to be certain death, with as much unflinching courage as the bravest of his comrades. Once, in particular, he had walked with the branch in his hands along the burning roof of a tottering warehouse, near the docks, in order to gain a point from which he could play on the flames so as to prevent them spreading to the next warehouse, and so check a fire which might have easily become one of the “great fires of London.”
Joe was therefore a man who could not be easily frightened; yet Joe trembled in his shoes when he had the most distant prospect of meeting with a ghost!
There was no help for it, however. He had been appointed to watch the ruin; and, being a man who cherished a strong sense of duty, he set himself doggedly to make the most of his circumstances.
It was past one o’clock when the fire was finally extinguished. A few night-birds and late revellers still hung about it, as if in the hope that it would burst forth again, and afford them fresh excitement; but before two o’clock, everyone had gone away, and Joe was left alone with his “preventer” and lantern. Even the policeman on the beat appeared to avoid him; for, although he passed the ruin at regular intervals in his rounds, he did not stop at it beyond a few moments, to see that the fireman’s lantern was burning and all right.
“Corney, me lad,” said Joe to himself, “it’s bad luck has befallen ye this night; but face yer luck like a man now, and shame it.”
Encouraging himself thus, he grasped his preventer, and pulled about thedébrisin various places of which he had some suspicion; but the engines had done their work so effectually that not a spark remained. Then Joe walked up and down, and in and out for an hour; studied the half-consumed pictures that still hung on the walls of one of the lower rooms, which had not been completely destroyed; moralised on the dire confusion and ruin that could be accomplished in so short a space of time; reflected on the probable condition of the unfortunates who had been burnt out; on the mutability of human affairs in general, and wondered what his “owld mother” would think of him, if she saw him in his forlorn situation.
This latter thought caused his mind to revert to ghosts; but he was comforted by hearing the slow, distant foot-fall of the policeman. On it came, not unlike the supposed step of an unearthly visitant, until the guardian of the night stood revealed before him on the other side of the road.
“It’s a cowld night intirely,” cried Corney.
“It is,” responded the policeman.
“How goes the inimy?” inquired the fireman.
“Just gone three,” replied the other.
The policeman’s voice, although gruff, was good-humoured and hearty; but he was evidently a strict disciplinarian, for he uttered no other word, and passed on.
“Faix, I’m gettin’ slaipy,” remarked Joe to himself, with a loud yawn. “I’ll go and rest a bit.”
So saying, he re-entered the ruin, and with the aid of his lantern sought about for the least uncomfortable apartment on the ground floor. He selected one which was comparatively weather-tight. That is to say, only one of the windows had been dashed out, and the ceiling was entire, with the exception of a hole about four feet wide, through which the charred beams above could be seen depicted against the black sky. There was about an inch of water on the floor; but this was a small matter, for Joe’s boots were thick and strong. The door, too, had been burst off its hinges, and lay on the floor; but Joe could raise this, and place it in its original position.
The room had been a parlour and there were several damaged prints hanging on the walls, besides a quantity of detached paper hanging from them. Most of the furniture had been removed at the commencement of the fire; but a few broken articles remained, and one big old easy-chair, which had either been forgotten, or deemed unworthy of removal, by the men of the Salvage Corps. (See note 1.)
Joe wheeled the chair to the fireplace—not that there was any fire in it; on the contrary, it was choked up with fallen bricks and mortar, and the hearth was flooded with water; but, as Joe remarked to himself, “it felt more homelike an’ sociable to sit wid wan’s feet on the finder!”
Having erected the door in front of its own doorway, Joe leaned his preventer against the wall, placed his lantern on the chimney-piece, and sat down to meditate. He had not meditated long, when the steady draught of air from the window at his back began to tell upon him.
“Och! but it’s a cowld wind,” said he. “I’ll try the other side. There’s nothin’ like facin’ wan’s inimies.”
Acting on this idea, he changed his position, turning his face to the window and his back to the door.
“Well,” he remarked on sitting down again, “there’s about as much draught from the door; but, sure, ye’ve improved yer sitivation, Corney, for haven’t ye the illigant prospect of over the way through the windy?”
Not long after this, Joe’s mind became much affected with ghostly memories. This condition was aggravated by an intense desire to sleep, for the poor man had been hard worked that day, and stood much in need of repose. He frequently fell asleep, and frequently awoke. On falling asleep, his helmet performed extremely undignified gyrations. On awaking, he always started, opened his eyes very wide, looked round inquiringly, then smiled, and resumed a more easy position. But, awake or asleep, his thoughts ran always in the same channel.
During one of those waking moments, Joe heard a sound which rooted him to his seat with horror; and would doubtless have caused his hair to stand on end, if the helmet would have allowed it. The sound was simple enough in itself, however; being slight, slow, and regular, and was only horrible in Joe’s mind, because of his being utterly unable to account for it, or to conceive what it could be.
Whatever the sound was, it banished sleep from his eyes for at least a quarter of an hour. At last, unable to stand the strain of uncertainty, he arose, drew his hatchet, took down his lantern, and, coughing loudly and sternly—as though to say:
“Have a care, I’m coming!”—removed the door and went cautiously into the passage, where the sound appeared to come from. It did not cease on his appearing; but went on slowly and steadily, and louder than before. It appeared to be at his very elbow; yet Joe could see nothing, and a cold perspiration broke out on him.
“Och! av I could onlyseeit!” he gasped.
Just as he said this hedidsee it, for a turn of his lantern revealed the fact that a drop of water fell regularly from one of the burnt beams upon a large sheet of paper which had been torn from the passage wall. This, resting on the irregular rubbish, formed a sort of drum, which gave forth a hollow sound.
“Ah, then, but yearea goose, Joe Corney, me boy!” said the fireman, as he turned away with an amiable smile and resumed his seat after replacing the door.
About this time the wind began to rise, and came in irregular gusts. At each gust the door was blown from the wall an inch or so, and fell back with a noise that invariably awoke Joe with a start. He looked round each time quickly; but as the door remained quiet he did not discover the cause of his alarm. After it had done this several times Joe became, so to speak, desperately courageous.
“Git out wid ye!” he cried angrily on being startled again, “wasn’t the last wan all a sham? an’ sure ye’re the same. Go ’long in pace—an’ goodnight!”
As he said this the over-taxed man fell asleep; at the same moment a heavy gust of wind drove the door in altogether, and dashed it down on his head. Fortunately, being somewhat charred, the panel that struck his helmet was driven out, so that Joe came by no greater damage than the fright, which caused his heart to bound into his throat, for he really believed that the ghost had got him at last!
Relieving himself of the door, which he laid on the floor lest it should play him the same prank over again, Joe Corney once more settled himself in the easy-chair and resolved to give his mind to meditation. Just then the City clocks pealed forth the hour of four o’clock.
This is perhaps the quietest hour of the twenty-four in London. Before this most of the latest revellers have gone home, and few of the early risers are moving.
There was one active mind at work at that hour, however—namely, that of Gorman—who, after recovering from the blow given him by Dale, went to his own home on the banks of the Thames, in the unaristocratic locality of London Bridge.
Gorman owned a small boat, and did various kinds of business with it. But Gorman’s occupations were numerous and not definite. He was everything by turns, and nothing long. When visible to the outward eye (and that wasn’t often), his chief occupations were loafing about and drinking. On the present occasion he drank a good deal more than usual, and lay down to sleep, vowing vengeance against firemen in general, and Dale in particular.
Two or three hours later he awoke, and leaving his house, crossed London Bridge, and wended his way back to the scene of the fire without any definite intention, but with savage desires in his breast. He reached it just at that point where Joe Corney had seated himself to meditate, as above described.
Joe’s powers of meditation were not great at any time. At that particular time they were exerted in vain, for his head began to sway backward and forward and to either side, despite his best efforts to the contrary.
Waiting in the shadow of a doorway until the policeman should pass out of sight and hearing, and cautiously stepping over the débris that encumbered the threshold of the burnt house, Gorman peeped into the room, where the light told him that some one kept watch. Great was his satisfaction and grim his smile when he saw that a stalwart fireman sat there apparently asleep. Being only able to see his back, he could not make certain who it was,—but from the bulk of the man and breadth of the shoulders he concluded that it was Dale. Anyhow it was one of his enemies, and that was sufficient, for Gorman’s nature was of that brutal kind that he would risk his life any day in order to gratify his vengeance, and it signified little to him which of his enemies fell in his way, so long as it was one of them.
Taking up a brick from the floor, he raised himself to his full height, and dashed it down on the head of the sleeping man. Just at that moment Corney’s nodding head chanced to fall forward, and the brick only hit the comb of his helmet, knocking it over his eyes. Next moment he was grappling with Gorman.
As on previous occasions, Joe’s heart had leaped to his throat, and that the ghost was upon him “at last” he had no manner of doubt; but no sooner did he feel the human arm of Gorman and behold his face than his native courage returned with a bound. He gave his antagonist a squeeze that nearly crushed his ribs together, and at the same time hurled him against the opposite wall. But Gorman was powerful and savage. He recovered himself and sprang like a tiger on Joe, who received him in a warm embrace with an Irish yell!
The struggle of the two strong men was for a few moments terrible, but not doubtful, for Joe’s muscles had been brought into splendid training at the gymnastics. He soon forced Gorman down on one knee; but at the same moment a mass of brickwork which had been in a toppling condition, and was probably shaken down by the violence of their movements, fell on the floor above, broke through it, and struck both men to the ground.
Joe lay stunned and motionless for a few seconds, for a beam had hit him on the head; but Gorman leaped up and made off a moment or two before the entrance of the policeman, who had run back to the house on hearing Joe’s war-whoop.
It is needless to add that Joe spent the remainder of his vigil that night in an extremely wakeful condition, and that he gave a most graphic account of his adventure with the ghosts on his return to the station!
Note 1. The Salvage Corps is a body of men appointed by the insurance offices to save and protect goods at fires, and otherwise to watch over their interests. They wear a uniform and helmets, something like those of the firemen, and generally follow close in their wake—in their own vans—when fires break out.
Chapter Fifteen.A New Phase of Life.“Mother,” said Master William Willders one night to his parent, as he sat at supper—which meal consisted of bread and milk; “he’s the jolliest old feller, that Mr Tippet, I ever came across.”“I’m glad you like him, Willie,” said Mrs Willders, who was busy patching the knees of a pair of small unmentionables; “but I wish, dear, that you would not use slang in your speech, and remember that fellow is not spelt with an e-r at the end of it.”“Come now, mother, don’t you go an’ get sarcastic. It don’t suit you; besides, there’s no occasion for it,—for I do my best to keep it down, but I’m so choke full of it that a word or two will spurt up now and then in spite o’ me.”Mrs Willders smiled and continued her patching; Willie grinned and continued his supper.“Mother,” said Willie, after an interval of silence.“Well, my son?”“What d’ye think the old feller—ah! I mean fellow—is up to just now?”“I don’t know, Willie.”“He’s inventin’ a calc’latin’ machine, as is to do anythin’ from simple addition to fractions, an’ he says if it works well he’ll carry it on to algebra an’ mathematics, up to the fizmal calc’lus, or somethin’ o’ that sort. Oh, you’ve no notion how he strains himself at it. He sits down in his shirt-sleeves at a writin’-table he’s got in a corner, an’ tears away at the little hair he has on the sides of his head (I do believe he tore it all off the top with them inventions), then he bangs up an’ seizes his tools, and shouts, ‘Look here, Willie, hold on!’ an’ goes sawin’ and chisellin’ and hammerin’ away like a steam-engine. He’s all but bu’st himself over that calc’latin’ machine, and I’m much afraid that he’ll clap Chips into the sausage-machine some day, just to see how it works. I hope he won’t, for Chips an’ I are great friends, though we’ve only bin a month together.”“I hope he’s a good man,” said Mrs Willders thoughtfully.“Well, I’m sure he must be!” cried Willie with enthusiasm, “for he is very kind to me, and also to many poor folk that come about him regularly. I’m gettin’ to know their faces now, and when to expect ’em. He always takes ’em into his back room—all sorts, old men and old women an’ children, most of ’em seedy enough, but some of ’em well off tolookat. What he says to ’em I don’t know, but they usually come out very grave, an go away thankin’ him, and sayin’ they won’t forget his advice. If the advice is to come back soon they certainlydon’tforget it! And he’s a great philosopher, too, mother, for he often talks to me about my int’lec’s. He said jist t’other day, ‘Willie,’ said he, ‘get into a habit o’ usin’ yer brains, my boy. The Almighty put us into this world well-made machines, intended to be used in all our parts. Now, you’ll find thousands of people who use their muscles and neglect their brains, and thousands of others who use their brains and neglect their muscles. Both are wrong, boy; we’re machines, lad—wonderful machines—and the machines won’t work well if they’re not usedallover.’ Don’t that sound grand, mother?”Willie might have received an answer if he had waited for one, but he was too impatient, and went rattling on.“And who d’ye think, mother, came to see old Tippet the other day, but little Cattley, the clown’s boy. You remember my tellin’ you about little Cattley and the auction, don’t you?”“Yes, Willie.”“Well, he came, and just as he was goin’ away I ran out an’ asked him how the fairy was. ‘She’s very ill,’ he said, shakin’ his head, and lookin’ so mournful that I had not the heart to ask more. But I’m goin’ to see them, mother.”“That’s right, my boy,” said Mrs Willders, with a pleased look; “I like to hear you talk of going to see people in distress. ‘Blessed are they that consider the poor,’ Willie.”“Oh, as to that, you know, I don’t know that theyarepoor. Only I feel sort o’ sorry for ’em, somehow, and I’m awful anxious to see a real live fairy, even though sheisill.”“When are you going?” inquired Mrs Willders.“To-morrow night, on my way home.”“Did you look in at Frank’s lodging in passing to-night?”“Yes, I did, and found that he was in the station on duty again. It wasn’t a bad sprain, you see, an’ it’ll teach him not to go jumpin’ out of a first-floor window again.”“He couldn’t help it,” said the widow. “You know his escape by the stair had been cut off, and there was no other way left.”“No other way!” cried Willie; “why didn’t hedrop? He’s so proud of his strength, is Blazes, that he jumped off-hand a’ purpose to show it! Ha! he’d be the better of some o’ my caution. Now, mother, I’m off to bed.”“Get the Bible, then,” said Mrs Willders.Willie got up and fetched a large old family Bible from a shelf, and laid it on the table before his mother, who read a chapter and prayed with her son; after which Willie gave her one of his “roystering” kisses and went to bed.The lamps had been lighted for some time next night, and the shop-windows were pouring forth their bright rays, making the streets appear as light as day, when Willie found himself in the small disreputable street near London Bridge in which Cattley the clown dwelt.Remembering the directions given to him by little Jim Cattley, he soon found the underground abode near the burnt house, the ruins of which had already been cleared away and a considerable portion of a new tenement erected.If the stair leading to the clown’s dwelling was dark, the passage at the foot of it was darker; and as Willie groped his way carefully along, he might have imagined it to be a place inhabited only by rats or cats, had not gleams of light, and the sound of voices from sundry closed doors, betokened the presence of human beings. Of the compound smells peculiar to the place, those of beer and tobacco predominated.At the farther end of this passage, there was an abrupt turn to the left, which brought the boy unexpectedly to a partially open door, where a scene so strange met his eyes that he involuntarily stood still and gazed.In a corner of the room, which was almost destitute of furniture, a little girl, wan, weary, and thin, lay on a miserable pallet, with scanty covering over her. Beside her stood Cattley—not, as when first introduced, in a seedy coat and hat; but in full stage costume—with three balls on his head, white face, triangular roses on his cheeks, and his mouth extended outward and upward at the corners, by means of red paint. Little Jim sat on the bed beside his sister, clad in pink skin-tights, with cheeks and face similar to his father, and a red crest or comb of worsted on his head.“Ziza, darling, are you feeling better, my lamb?” said the elder clown, with a gravity of expression in his real mouth that contrasted strangely with the expression conveyed by the painted corners.“No, father, not much; but perhaps I’m gettin’ better, though I don’t feel it,” said the sweet, faint voice of the child, as she opened her large hollow eyes, and looked upward.“So, that’s the fairy!” thought Willie sadly, as he gazed on the child’s beautiful though wasted features.“We’ll have done d’rectly, darling,” said the clown tenderly; “only one more turn, and then we’ll leave you to rest quietly for some hours. Now, then, here we are again!” he added, bounding into the middle of the room with a wild laugh. “Come along, Jim, try that jump once more.”Jim did not speak; but pressing his lips to his sister’s brow, leaped after his sire, who was standing an a remarkably vigorous attitude, with his legs wide apart and his arms akimbo, looking back over his shoulder.“Here we go,” cried Jim in a tiny voice, running up his father’s leg and side, stepping lightly on his shoulder, and planting one foot on his head.“Jump down,” said the clown gravely.Jim obeyed.“That won’t do, Jim. You must do it all in one run; no pausing on the way—but, whoop! up you go, and both feet on my head at once. Don’t be afeard; you can’t tumble, you know.”“I’m not afeard, father,” said Jim; “but I ain’t quite springy in my heart to-night. Stand again and see if I don’t do it right off.”Cattley the elder threw himself into the required attitude; and Cattley junior, rushed at him, ran up him as a cat runs up a tree, and in a moment was standing on his father’s head with his arms extended. Whoop!—next moment he was turning round in the air; and whoop! in another moment he was standing on the ground, bowing respectfully to a supposed audience.To Jim’s immense amazement, the supposed audience applauded him heartily; and said, “Bravyo! young ’un,” as it stepped into the room, in the person of William Willders.“Why! who mayyoube?” inquired the clown senior, stepping up to the intruder.Before Willie could answer the clown junior sprang on his father’s shoulders, and whispered in his ear. Whatever he said, the result was an expression of benignity and condescension on the clown’s face—as far as paint would allow of such expression.“Glad to meet you, Master Willders,” he said. “Proud to know anyone connected with T. Tippet, Esquire, who’s a trump. Give us your flipper. What may be the object of your unexpected, though welcome visit to this this subterraneous grotto, which may be said to be next door to the coral caves, where the mermaids dwell.”“Yes, and there’s one o’ the mermaids singing,” remarked the clown junior, with a comical leer, as a woman’s voice was heard in violent altercation with some one. “She’s a sayin’ of her prayers now; beseechin’ of her husband to let her have her own way.”Willie explained that, having had the pleasure of meeting with Jim at an auction sale some weeks ago, he had called to renew his acquaintance; and Jim said he remembered the incident—and that, if he was not mistaken, a desire to see a live fairy in plain clo’se, with her wings off, had something to do with his visit.“Here she is;—by the way, what’s your name?”“Bill Willders.”“Here she is, Bill; this is the fairy,” he said, in quite an altered tone, as he went to the bed, and took one of his sister’s thin hands in both of his. “Ziza, this is the feller I told ye of, as wanted to see you, dear; b’longs to Mr Tippet.”Ziza smiled faintly, as she extended her hand to Willie, who took it and pressed it gently.Willie felt a wonderfully strong sensation within his heart as he looked into the sufferer’s large liquid eyes; and for a few seconds he could not speak. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Well, you ain’t one bit like what I expected to see. You’re more like a angel than a fairy.”Ziza smiled again, and said she didn’t feel like either the one or the other.“My poor lamb,” said the clown, sitting down on the bed, and parting the dark hair on Ziza’s forehead, with a hand as gentle as that of a mother, “we’re goin’ now. Time’s up. Shall I ask Mrs Smith to stay with you again, till we come back?”“Oh, no, no!” cried the child hurriedly, and squeezing her fingers into her eyes, as if to shut out some disagreeable object. “Not Mrs Smith. I’d rather be alone.”“IwishI could stay with you, Ziza,” said Jim earnestly.“It’s of no use wishin’, Jim,” said his father, “you can’t get off a single night. If you was to fail ’em you’d lose your engagement, and we can’t afford that just at this time, you know; but I’ll try to get Mrs James to come. She’s a good woman, I know, and—”“Mister Cattley,” interrupted Willie, “if you’ll allow a partic’larly humble individual to make a observation, I would say there’s nothin’ in life to prevent me from keeping this ’ere fairy company till you come back. I’ve nothin’ particular to do as I knows on, an’ I’m raither fond of lonely meditation; so if the fairy wants to go to sleep, it’ll make no odds to me, so long’s it pleases her.”“Thankee, lad,” said the clown; “but you’ll git wearied, I fear, for we won’t be home till mornin’—”“Ah!” interrupted Willie, “till daylight does appear. But that’s no odds, neither—’cause I’m not married yet, so there’s nobody awaitin’ for me—and” (he winked to Jim at this point) “my mother knows I’m out.”The clown grinned at this. “You’d make one ofus, youngster,” said he, “if ye can jump. Howsever, I’m obliged by your offer, so you can stay if Ziza would like it.”Ziza said shewouldlike it with such goodwill, that Willie adored her from that moment, and vowed in his heart he would nurse her till she—he did not like to finish the sentence; yet, somehow, the little that he had heard and seen of the child led him irresistibly to the conclusion that she was dying.This having been satisfactorily arranged, the Cattleys, senior and junior, threw cloaks round them, exchanged their wigs for caps; and, regardless of the absurd appearance of their faces, hurried out to one of the minor theatres, with heavy hearts because of the little fairy left so ill and comfortless at home.In a few minutes they were tumbling on the stage, cracking their jokes, and convulsing the house with laughter.
“Mother,” said Master William Willders one night to his parent, as he sat at supper—which meal consisted of bread and milk; “he’s the jolliest old feller, that Mr Tippet, I ever came across.”
“I’m glad you like him, Willie,” said Mrs Willders, who was busy patching the knees of a pair of small unmentionables; “but I wish, dear, that you would not use slang in your speech, and remember that fellow is not spelt with an e-r at the end of it.”
“Come now, mother, don’t you go an’ get sarcastic. It don’t suit you; besides, there’s no occasion for it,—for I do my best to keep it down, but I’m so choke full of it that a word or two will spurt up now and then in spite o’ me.”
Mrs Willders smiled and continued her patching; Willie grinned and continued his supper.
“Mother,” said Willie, after an interval of silence.
“Well, my son?”
“What d’ye think the old feller—ah! I mean fellow—is up to just now?”
“I don’t know, Willie.”
“He’s inventin’ a calc’latin’ machine, as is to do anythin’ from simple addition to fractions, an’ he says if it works well he’ll carry it on to algebra an’ mathematics, up to the fizmal calc’lus, or somethin’ o’ that sort. Oh, you’ve no notion how he strains himself at it. He sits down in his shirt-sleeves at a writin’-table he’s got in a corner, an’ tears away at the little hair he has on the sides of his head (I do believe he tore it all off the top with them inventions), then he bangs up an’ seizes his tools, and shouts, ‘Look here, Willie, hold on!’ an’ goes sawin’ and chisellin’ and hammerin’ away like a steam-engine. He’s all but bu’st himself over that calc’latin’ machine, and I’m much afraid that he’ll clap Chips into the sausage-machine some day, just to see how it works. I hope he won’t, for Chips an’ I are great friends, though we’ve only bin a month together.”
“I hope he’s a good man,” said Mrs Willders thoughtfully.
“Well, I’m sure he must be!” cried Willie with enthusiasm, “for he is very kind to me, and also to many poor folk that come about him regularly. I’m gettin’ to know their faces now, and when to expect ’em. He always takes ’em into his back room—all sorts, old men and old women an’ children, most of ’em seedy enough, but some of ’em well off tolookat. What he says to ’em I don’t know, but they usually come out very grave, an go away thankin’ him, and sayin’ they won’t forget his advice. If the advice is to come back soon they certainlydon’tforget it! And he’s a great philosopher, too, mother, for he often talks to me about my int’lec’s. He said jist t’other day, ‘Willie,’ said he, ‘get into a habit o’ usin’ yer brains, my boy. The Almighty put us into this world well-made machines, intended to be used in all our parts. Now, you’ll find thousands of people who use their muscles and neglect their brains, and thousands of others who use their brains and neglect their muscles. Both are wrong, boy; we’re machines, lad—wonderful machines—and the machines won’t work well if they’re not usedallover.’ Don’t that sound grand, mother?”
Willie might have received an answer if he had waited for one, but he was too impatient, and went rattling on.
“And who d’ye think, mother, came to see old Tippet the other day, but little Cattley, the clown’s boy. You remember my tellin’ you about little Cattley and the auction, don’t you?”
“Yes, Willie.”
“Well, he came, and just as he was goin’ away I ran out an’ asked him how the fairy was. ‘She’s very ill,’ he said, shakin’ his head, and lookin’ so mournful that I had not the heart to ask more. But I’m goin’ to see them, mother.”
“That’s right, my boy,” said Mrs Willders, with a pleased look; “I like to hear you talk of going to see people in distress. ‘Blessed are they that consider the poor,’ Willie.”
“Oh, as to that, you know, I don’t know that theyarepoor. Only I feel sort o’ sorry for ’em, somehow, and I’m awful anxious to see a real live fairy, even though sheisill.”
“When are you going?” inquired Mrs Willders.
“To-morrow night, on my way home.”
“Did you look in at Frank’s lodging in passing to-night?”
“Yes, I did, and found that he was in the station on duty again. It wasn’t a bad sprain, you see, an’ it’ll teach him not to go jumpin’ out of a first-floor window again.”
“He couldn’t help it,” said the widow. “You know his escape by the stair had been cut off, and there was no other way left.”
“No other way!” cried Willie; “why didn’t hedrop? He’s so proud of his strength, is Blazes, that he jumped off-hand a’ purpose to show it! Ha! he’d be the better of some o’ my caution. Now, mother, I’m off to bed.”
“Get the Bible, then,” said Mrs Willders.
Willie got up and fetched a large old family Bible from a shelf, and laid it on the table before his mother, who read a chapter and prayed with her son; after which Willie gave her one of his “roystering” kisses and went to bed.
The lamps had been lighted for some time next night, and the shop-windows were pouring forth their bright rays, making the streets appear as light as day, when Willie found himself in the small disreputable street near London Bridge in which Cattley the clown dwelt.
Remembering the directions given to him by little Jim Cattley, he soon found the underground abode near the burnt house, the ruins of which had already been cleared away and a considerable portion of a new tenement erected.
If the stair leading to the clown’s dwelling was dark, the passage at the foot of it was darker; and as Willie groped his way carefully along, he might have imagined it to be a place inhabited only by rats or cats, had not gleams of light, and the sound of voices from sundry closed doors, betokened the presence of human beings. Of the compound smells peculiar to the place, those of beer and tobacco predominated.
At the farther end of this passage, there was an abrupt turn to the left, which brought the boy unexpectedly to a partially open door, where a scene so strange met his eyes that he involuntarily stood still and gazed.
In a corner of the room, which was almost destitute of furniture, a little girl, wan, weary, and thin, lay on a miserable pallet, with scanty covering over her. Beside her stood Cattley—not, as when first introduced, in a seedy coat and hat; but in full stage costume—with three balls on his head, white face, triangular roses on his cheeks, and his mouth extended outward and upward at the corners, by means of red paint. Little Jim sat on the bed beside his sister, clad in pink skin-tights, with cheeks and face similar to his father, and a red crest or comb of worsted on his head.
“Ziza, darling, are you feeling better, my lamb?” said the elder clown, with a gravity of expression in his real mouth that contrasted strangely with the expression conveyed by the painted corners.
“No, father, not much; but perhaps I’m gettin’ better, though I don’t feel it,” said the sweet, faint voice of the child, as she opened her large hollow eyes, and looked upward.
“So, that’s the fairy!” thought Willie sadly, as he gazed on the child’s beautiful though wasted features.
“We’ll have done d’rectly, darling,” said the clown tenderly; “only one more turn, and then we’ll leave you to rest quietly for some hours. Now, then, here we are again!” he added, bounding into the middle of the room with a wild laugh. “Come along, Jim, try that jump once more.”
Jim did not speak; but pressing his lips to his sister’s brow, leaped after his sire, who was standing an a remarkably vigorous attitude, with his legs wide apart and his arms akimbo, looking back over his shoulder.
“Here we go,” cried Jim in a tiny voice, running up his father’s leg and side, stepping lightly on his shoulder, and planting one foot on his head.
“Jump down,” said the clown gravely.
Jim obeyed.
“That won’t do, Jim. You must do it all in one run; no pausing on the way—but, whoop! up you go, and both feet on my head at once. Don’t be afeard; you can’t tumble, you know.”
“I’m not afeard, father,” said Jim; “but I ain’t quite springy in my heart to-night. Stand again and see if I don’t do it right off.”
Cattley the elder threw himself into the required attitude; and Cattley junior, rushed at him, ran up him as a cat runs up a tree, and in a moment was standing on his father’s head with his arms extended. Whoop!—next moment he was turning round in the air; and whoop! in another moment he was standing on the ground, bowing respectfully to a supposed audience.
To Jim’s immense amazement, the supposed audience applauded him heartily; and said, “Bravyo! young ’un,” as it stepped into the room, in the person of William Willders.
“Why! who mayyoube?” inquired the clown senior, stepping up to the intruder.
Before Willie could answer the clown junior sprang on his father’s shoulders, and whispered in his ear. Whatever he said, the result was an expression of benignity and condescension on the clown’s face—as far as paint would allow of such expression.
“Glad to meet you, Master Willders,” he said. “Proud to know anyone connected with T. Tippet, Esquire, who’s a trump. Give us your flipper. What may be the object of your unexpected, though welcome visit to this this subterraneous grotto, which may be said to be next door to the coral caves, where the mermaids dwell.”
“Yes, and there’s one o’ the mermaids singing,” remarked the clown junior, with a comical leer, as a woman’s voice was heard in violent altercation with some one. “She’s a sayin’ of her prayers now; beseechin’ of her husband to let her have her own way.”
Willie explained that, having had the pleasure of meeting with Jim at an auction sale some weeks ago, he had called to renew his acquaintance; and Jim said he remembered the incident—and that, if he was not mistaken, a desire to see a live fairy in plain clo’se, with her wings off, had something to do with his visit.
“Here she is;—by the way, what’s your name?”
“Bill Willders.”
“Here she is, Bill; this is the fairy,” he said, in quite an altered tone, as he went to the bed, and took one of his sister’s thin hands in both of his. “Ziza, this is the feller I told ye of, as wanted to see you, dear; b’longs to Mr Tippet.”
Ziza smiled faintly, as she extended her hand to Willie, who took it and pressed it gently.
Willie felt a wonderfully strong sensation within his heart as he looked into the sufferer’s large liquid eyes; and for a few seconds he could not speak. Suddenly he exclaimed, “Well, you ain’t one bit like what I expected to see. You’re more like a angel than a fairy.”
Ziza smiled again, and said she didn’t feel like either the one or the other.
“My poor lamb,” said the clown, sitting down on the bed, and parting the dark hair on Ziza’s forehead, with a hand as gentle as that of a mother, “we’re goin’ now. Time’s up. Shall I ask Mrs Smith to stay with you again, till we come back?”
“Oh, no, no!” cried the child hurriedly, and squeezing her fingers into her eyes, as if to shut out some disagreeable object. “Not Mrs Smith. I’d rather be alone.”
“IwishI could stay with you, Ziza,” said Jim earnestly.
“It’s of no use wishin’, Jim,” said his father, “you can’t get off a single night. If you was to fail ’em you’d lose your engagement, and we can’t afford that just at this time, you know; but I’ll try to get Mrs James to come. She’s a good woman, I know, and—”
“Mister Cattley,” interrupted Willie, “if you’ll allow a partic’larly humble individual to make a observation, I would say there’s nothin’ in life to prevent me from keeping this ’ere fairy company till you come back. I’ve nothin’ particular to do as I knows on, an’ I’m raither fond of lonely meditation; so if the fairy wants to go to sleep, it’ll make no odds to me, so long’s it pleases her.”
“Thankee, lad,” said the clown; “but you’ll git wearied, I fear, for we won’t be home till mornin’—”
“Ah!” interrupted Willie, “till daylight does appear. But that’s no odds, neither—’cause I’m not married yet, so there’s nobody awaitin’ for me—and” (he winked to Jim at this point) “my mother knows I’m out.”
The clown grinned at this. “You’d make one ofus, youngster,” said he, “if ye can jump. Howsever, I’m obliged by your offer, so you can stay if Ziza would like it.”
Ziza said shewouldlike it with such goodwill, that Willie adored her from that moment, and vowed in his heart he would nurse her till she—he did not like to finish the sentence; yet, somehow, the little that he had heard and seen of the child led him irresistibly to the conclusion that she was dying.
This having been satisfactorily arranged, the Cattleys, senior and junior, threw cloaks round them, exchanged their wigs for caps; and, regardless of the absurd appearance of their faces, hurried out to one of the minor theatres, with heavy hearts because of the little fairy left so ill and comfortless at home.
In a few minutes they were tumbling on the stage, cracking their jokes, and convulsing the house with laughter.