THE STORY OF A FIRE
Jack Hillman was a newspaper carrier before breakfast, a school-boy after breakfast, and his mother’s right-hand man generally.
On the morning of this story, Jack had finished his newspaper route—all but three papers. It was about six o’clock and daylight was just breaking through the dampness and fog. The place was a quiet back street of three-story houses.
As Jack passed the third house from the end of the row, he happened to glance at the cellar window. A thin wisp of smoke-like vapor was slipping out between the sash and the frame of the window.
“It must be fog or steam,” thought Jack to himself.
He watched it a moment, and then ran to the window. It came out in a thicker volume. Quickly he stooped down and put his nose into it.
“It’s smoke! It’s smoke!” he cried, and peered in. The whole cellar was full of smoke.
Jack looked up and down the quiet street. No one was in sight. Something must be done quickly. He ran up the steps of the house, pounded on the door with his fist and pushed the bell button; but no one answered.
Then he ran down the middle of the street and began to cry:
Fire! Fire! Fire!
By this time the smoke was pouring out of the cellar window thicker than ever.
A man put his head out of a door half way up the block. Jack ran to him and pointed back to the smoke.
Just then he remembered the red fire-alarm box on the next corner. In his excitement he did not think about telephoning.
“You get the people up!” cried Jack to the man. “I’ll turn in the alarm!” And he ran as he had never run before.
It seemed miles to the alarm box; but, as a matter of fact, he was not more than two minutes in reaching it.
Jack had never turned in an alarm, but he had often read the directions beside the little square of glass on the red alarm box
To give alarmbreak glassopen doorpull hook down onceand let go.
To give alarmbreak glassopen doorpull hook down onceand let go.
Jack looked about for a stone to break the glass; but there was no loose stone in that smooth-paved street.
Using his elbow for a hammer, as he had often done before, he struck the glass a sharp blow.
Crash went the thin glass to the pavement, and the little handle was in reach. Grasping it firmly, Jack turned it to the right and the red door flew open. Inside he saw a long curved slot and a knob or hook at the top of it, and the directions:
“Pull the hook all the way down and let go.”
For a moment Jack was frightened. Perhaps there wasn’t any fire after all, and to turn in a false alarm was against the law. Hesitating, he looked about for help; but the street was empty.
“But the house is on fire; I saw it; I know it,” he said to himself.
Trembling with excitement, Jack pulled the hook to the bottom of the slot and let go:
Instantly the bell began to ring: Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling-a-ling! Hurrah—the alarm was in!
Again, Jack looked up and down the street. To his relief, he saw his friend the policeman on the beat, about a block away, hurrying towards him.
Quickly Jack told his story. “Good work, Jack, good work! You stay right here and direct the firemen where to go;” and the policeman vanished around the corner on a run to the fire.
Still the bell in the box was ringing merrily, but no firemen were to be seen. “Will they never come?” thought Jack. It seemed hours to wait. Clang! clang! a little red automobile came dashing down the street. As a matter of fact, it was just three minutes since Jack had “pulled the box.”
Jack knew the man in the car—one of his heroes, the battalion chief. Right behind came engine number 29, smoking and puffing, and hosecart number 21, and ladder-truck number 12, crowded with men. The clanging gongs echoing through the quiet street sounded like sweet music to the anxious boy.
“Right around the corner, Seventh and Poplar!” shouted Jack, pointing the way and not waiting for the question.
“Seventh and Poplar! Seventh and Poplar!” he cried, as they dashed by; and then, his duty done, he ran after them.
When Jack arrived, breathless and panting right after the firemen, he saw that the fire was spreading so rapidly that the whole house was in danger. Thecellar was blazing and smoke was pouring out of the first and second story windows.
On the order to “search the house,” three firemen broke the door open and rushed in to search for the occupants and bring them to safety. As they entered, a thick volume of smoke came pouring out.
Already the hosemen were shooting great streams of water into the cellar. The chief in command was giving his orders in a quick, cool voice, the men obeying them almost before they were issued. There was no confusion; every man knew exactly what to do and did it.
“Is there anybody in the house?” inquired Jack eagerly of the man who lived half way up the block.
“I hardly think so; I pounded the door and shouted with all my might until the firemen came, but could not make anybody hear. Nobody seems to know whether the family is home or not,” he replied.
Just then the chief cried, “Look out! here comes Jim!” Through the flames and the stream of water one of the firemen dashed out, his clothing afire with sparks, and his coat tightly wrapped over something in his arms. He would have fallen had not the chief caught him.
Quickly the men smothered the fire on his clothing. Then he opened his coat. Inside was a plump baby, safe and clean in its little nightgown, just as it came out of its crib.
How the crowd cheered when they saw it! A woman broke through the fire lines. The brave fireman quickly placed the rescued baby in her arms andstarted for the doorway again; but the chief grasped him by the arm.
“You can’t go back, Jim! Stay here!” he ordered.
“There are a woman and two children in there; let me go!” cried Jim, pulling away from the chief.
“Shorty and Charlie can take care of them. You stay here!” commanded the chief. His practiced eye told him that no man, however brave, could go in through that blazing doorway and come out again alive.
The chief anxiously scanned the upper windows for signs of the two men who were inside, heroically fighting their way with the woman and children to the upper floors for safety.
Suddenly a whole third-story window was wrenched out with a crash of broken glass.
“There they are! There they are!” shouted the crowd.
Charlie was leaning out of the window, and beside him a woman was waving her arms wildly and shrieking, “Help! Help! Help!”
“Make a rescue!” ordered the chief.
“Rescue!” repeated the firemen.
Already the laddermen had their long three-story ladder standing erect in the air; and almost before its top swung against the window-sill a ladderman was nimbly running up, hand over hand, and a second man was following him.
Charlie could be seen lifting a small boy out of the window into the arms of the first ladderman, who quickly carried him down to safety, while the crowd hurrahed.
Now those who could see well had an interestingexhibit of one way in which a fireman carries a person down a ladder. The second ladderman grasped firmly each upright of the ladder, while Charlie lifted out a twelve-year-old girl and laid her across the life-saver’s bent arms.
Carefully he began to descend with his burden, step by step, while the mother watched fearfully out of the window, and the people below held their breath.
In less time than it takes to tell it, he reached the bottom. The people shouted in relief, and a voice cried, “All the children are saved! Hurrah!”
As the fireman again quickly ascended the ladder, the woman was seen to topple over. She had fainted when she knew that the children were safe.
In a few seconds the ladderman stood at the top, his arms bent and braced as before. Quickly Charlie laid across them a long bundle. It was the unconscious mother wrapped in a blanket. Swiftly, yet cautiously he came down.
It is no easy task to carry a heavy woman down a three-story ladder, with smoke blinding the eyes and fire scorching the face and hands. But the life-saver on the ladder does not think of that. His only thought is to save life and to put out the fire.
Soon the ladderman reached the ground and tender hands relieved him of his charge.
“Where’s Shorty?” asked the chief of the man who had just come down.
Carefully He Began To Descend
Carefully He Began To Descend
“He’s ‘all in’; lying up there on the floor unconscious. Charlie is ready to keel over, too,” he replied.
“I’ll bring Shorty down,” cried Dick, a fireman who heard the chief’s question.
As he sprang up the ladder the chief shouted up after him, “Tell Charlie to come down, Dick!”
Meanwhile, the smoke began to pour out of the rescue window at the top of the ladder, and the fire was creeping slowly up through the wooden floors, in spite of the heroic efforts of the fire-fighters. Charlie had disappeared from the window. There was not a second to lose.
As Shorty’s rescuer reached the top of the ladder, the watchers saw him jump through the smoke into the window. In a moment, he was seen pushing Charlie toward the ladder and urging him to go down; but Charlie wouldn’t budge.
“He won’t come down without Shorty,” muttered a fireman.
“Come down, Charlie! Come down!” shouted up the chief, using his hands as a trumpet.
Obeying orders, Charlie climbed out of the window on to the ladder and began slowly and painfully to descend, like a man in a daze. The smoke and flames poured out of the windows and scorched his flesh and clothing, while the firemen below played a stream of water between him and the wall for protection, and shouted words of encouragement.
His comrades reached up for him as he neared the bottom; and it is well they did, for brave Charlie could stand no more and fell unconscious into their arms.They carried him to a safe place and used first-aid treatment.
Now the citizens outside the fire lines were to see what their firemen were capable of in an emergency; a thrilling deed that takes strength, courage, presence of mind and all the qualities of true manhood to perform—the rescue of Shorty.
Through the smoke they saw Dick climb out of the window on to the ladder—but not alone. Hanging suspended over Dick’s back was the unconscious Shorty, his arms around Dick’s neck, with wrists securely tied in front.
In this manner Dick began to descend, rung by rung, bearing his heavy load. The wicked flamesshot out from the windows, and the suffocating smoke almost hid the men from view. Breathless, the people watched them on the slender ladder, high in the air, surrounded by smoke and flame, one man unconscious, a dead weight on the other man’s back.
The only sounds heard were the crackling of the flames and the swish of the water as it played and sizzled on the fire. Then the silence was broken by a great crash—one of the floors had fallen in.
But Dick came quickly down, lower and lower, nearer and nearer to safety. What if his hands and face were scorching and his clothes catching fire, his heart did not flinch. To save life—that is the fireman’s first duty, and well was Dick performing it.
But Dick was not thinking of that; he had only one thought—to get Shorty to the foot of the ladder and safely off his back.
A few steps more and the deed was done. Upstretched hands supported him; his feet touched the ground—Shorty was saved.
Then the people cheered and cheered again; and well they might, for they had witnessed a thing that makes every heart beat high with pride—the speedy rescue of lives by heroes who freely risk their own in the performance of duty.
By this time the efforts of the firemen began to tell; the water began to conquer the flames, the fire was soon under control, and the danger was over.
The chief, who now had time to look about him, spied Jack at the fire line.
“Come here,” he called.
Jack came running, proud to be thus singled out.
“Hello,” he said, “you are the boy who turned in the alarm, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Jack.
“Go to school?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good work, my boy, good work! Come around to the fire station and see me after school today.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Jack.
For the first time since the excitement began, Jack realized that he still had three papers under his arm undelivered. These he delivered quickly, and ran home to tell his mother all about the fire.