"How are we going to get it home?" asked Cole, as he and Bert, with the Jamesville fire chief, went out to look at the hand engine. It was in a shed, back of the place where the new chemical machine was housed.
"Can't you borrow a horse and drive it over?" asked the chief.
"No; let's get the fellows over here and pull it back to Lakeville," proposed Bert. "That'll be fun. We'll wake up our old town by parading through it."
"That's the idea," agreed the chief. "Your citizens need stirring up, anyhow. That was quite a fire you had over there the other night. If you'd had a chemical engine like ours that blaze could have been put out."
"That's what it could," replied Cole.
"I had a visit from one of your men the other day," went on the chief.
"Who?"
"Mr. Sagger. He wanted to know, in case they had a bad fire inLakeville, if we'd lend 'em our engine."
"What did you tell him?" asked Bert.
"I said we were always willing to help our neighbors, but that we wouldn't lend our new engine. I asked him why they didn't have some sort of a department, instead of a bucket brigade, but he said they were poor, and couldn't afford it."
"Why, he's worth lots of money," declared Cole. "He could support a department himself, and never miss the cash!"
"Did he say anything about our boys' department?" asked Bert.
"Yes, he mentioned it; but he laughed at it. Said it was only a lark of you lads, and would never amount to anything."
"We'll show him!" exclaimed Cole. "Maybe he'll be glad of our service, some day."
"I like the spirit you boys show," went on the chief. "If I can help you, give you advice, or anything like that, why, don't hesitate to call on me."
They thanked him, and promised that they would. Then they again began to discuss how to get the engine back, and finally decided to get their chums, make a trip for it, and haul it back in triumph that afternoon.
A hand fire engine, as probably many of my young readers know, is just what the name implies. In the days before steam engines were invented, one manner of putting out fires was by hand engines.
The hand engines of those days, and the one which the Lakeville boys had purchased, was nothing more or less than a big tank on wheels, with a pump to force the water from the tank through a hose. The water was poured into the tank by pails, so that a sort of bucket brigade was really necessary. Then there was needed many pairs of strong arms to work the pump handles, or "brakes," as they were sometimes called.
These handles were quite long, and usually there were two of them, arranged something like those on a hand-car, used by construction gangs on a railroad. There was thus room enough for several men or boys to take hold of the poles on either side of the engine.
Sometimes those working the handles stood on the ground, or, in case of a large engine, like the one the boys had purchased, on top of the water tank. The water was poured into the tank at one end and forced out at the opposite end, through the hose. On some engines there were two lines of hose, and very powerful pumps, but, of course, the efficiency of the engine depended on the amount of water it could throw, and this, in turn, depended on how fast the bucket brigade could fill the tank.
When the tank was full and sturdy arms were working the long handles up and down, there was a steady clank-clank to the pump, and a stream could be thrown for some distance. The engine was hauled to fires by means of a long double rope, which, when not in use, could be reeled up, as could also the hose.
Some of those old hand engines were very elaborate affairs, with brass work and shiny lamps on them, and they were gaily painted. The one the boys had purchased had been a fine machine in its day, but was rather battered now. Still, it was in good working order, and had a long length of hose.
"I'll tell you what let's do," suggested Cole, as he and Bert were on their way to Lakeville, to get their chums; "let's wait until after dark to bring it into town, and then we can light the lanterns on the machine," for there were four, one on each corner.
"Good idea!" replied Bert. "We'll do it. And we'll march down the main street, singing. I guess that will make a stir."
The plan met with instant endorsement on the part of their chums. They got together as many boys as they could, and late that afternoon the crowd went to Jamesville. The engine, which had been put in good shape, was ready for them.
"Look out you don't lose the buckets," cautioned the chief. "They're hanging underneath the tank. Now, boys, good luck, and may your first run be a success."
They thanked him for his good wishes, and the lads, having grasped the long rope, set out, dragging the engine after them. They made good time, and soon were on the outskirts of Lakeville.
"Now, wait until I light the lamps," said Bert, as it was getting dark. "Then we'll start through the town, singing. Sing for all you're worth!"
The boys needed no urging. They were full of enthusiasm over the new plan, and when the lamps were lighted on the old engine they gleamed on the brass work, making it sparkle brightly.
"It looks almost as good as new!" exclaimed Cole. "And them pumps is fine. They're almost as good as my force pump."
"Oh, let up on that force pump, can't you!" asked Tom Donnell. "You'd think it was the only pump in town!"
"It's the only one of that kind," declared Cole, a little hurt that his "patent" should thus be spoken of.
"All ready, now, boys?" asked Bert.
"All ready," was the general response.
They started off. Above the rumble of the wheels of the engine rose their voices in song, and, as they entered the main street of the village, people began to come out to see what the unusual excitement was about, for the purchase of the engine was not generally known, few persons believing the boys were serious in organizing a department. "It's a circus!" exclaimed a little girl.
"Naw, it's one of them Indian medicine shows," declared Moses Sagger, who stood on the steps of his butcher shop.
"Why, it's a fire engine!" exclaimed several men. "However in the world did the boys get it? They must have borrowed it to have some fun with!"
"More likely took it without permission," said Mr. Sagger. "Somebody ought to tell Constable Stickler."
Down the street marched the proud boys, singing at the tops of their voices, the lamps showing off the engine to good advantage.
"Well, I must say those young chaps have a lot of gumption!" declaredMr. Appelby. "I wonder if they're going to keep the engine?"
"I wish there was a fire—I mean a little one, that wouldn't do much damage," said Cole. "I'd like to show 'em how she works."
"We might have arranged a bonfire in some lot and given an exhibition," suggested Bert, "We'll do that, after we have our company regularly organized."
But the boys were destined to give an exhibition before they anticipated it.
From down toward the end of the village street there came a cry.
"Fire! Fire! Fire!"
It was Constable Stickler's voice.
"Fire! Fire!" he yelled. "Kimball's haystack is on fire! Turn out the brigade!"
It was a quiet evening, and his voice carried a long distance. The boys heard it plainly.
"Come on, fellows!" cried Bert. "Here's our chance! The engine is in good working order, and we'll have our first run!"
The boys needed no further call. With whoops and yells they began to haul the engine rapidly in the direction of the fire, the reflection of which could already be seen.
"Come on!" cried Mr. Sagger, to several of the bucket brigade. "We must put out the fire. Come on, men!"
He caught up his bucket from the corner where he kept it. Other villagers did likewise, and soon there was quite a throng headed for the burning haystack.
"Leg it, boys! Leg it!" cried Tom Donnell. "Don't let those fellows of the bucket brigade get ahead of us!"
"If-they-do-we-can-beat-'em-by-squirting-more-water," panted ColeBishop. "But-say-fellows-go-a little slower-I can't-run-much farther."
Indeed, he was out of breath, for the long tramp from Jamesville had tired him.
"Jump up on the engine, Cole," proposed Bert. "We can pull you. We'll make you engineer, and the engineer always rides on the machine."
"All—right," responded Cole, gratefully. He scrambled up on the apparatus, and, with a shout and cheer, the boys were off faster than before, for Cole had been a hindrance rather than a help, in pulling the apparatus, as he could not go fast.
"Fire! Fire!" shouted many voices, taking up the cry of the constable.
This brought out nearly all the members of the bucket brigade. The blaze was now brighter.
"Where we going to get our water?" asked John Boll of Bert, as he raced alongside of his chum, both dragging on the rope.
"In the brook. It runs right past Kimball's place, and we can form a line of buckets right down to it and up to the engine."
Mr. Kimball's place was on a side street. He had a house and a small barn. The latter building was not large enough to store his hay in, so he kept the stuff in a stack outside.
"Come on! Come on!" Constable Stickler could be heard yelling. "The barn'll catch pretty soon."
"We're coming!" replied Bert.
"For th' love of tripe! What's that?" cried the constable, as he caught sight of the engine.
"The Lakeville Fire Department!" responded several boys.
"Humph!" exclaimed the constable. "Don't you boys go to interferin' with the bucket brigade. I won't have it. The bucket brigade is the regular department for this town."
"The only thing the matter with it is that it can't put out any fires," was the retort from John Boll. "Let's show 'em how we do it, boys."
On the way from Jamesville, Bert and Cole, who had been instructed by the chief of that department how to operate the engine, imparted this information to their chums. So, though the lads had never before worked a hand engine, they felt that they could make a good showing.
"We'll have to hustle, boys," called Bert to his little force. "That bucket brigade will have it in for us, and they can handle a haystack fire pretty good. Let's show 'em how we do it."
By this time they had turned down the side street to where the burning hay was. The flames had mostly enveloped it, and Mr. Kimball and his two sons were vainly dashing pails of water at the base of the ignited pile.
"Run the engine right down to the brook," said Bert. "We won't have to pass the water so far then. As soon as it stops I'll unreel the hose and Cole will call for some fellows to jump up and work the handles. Don't have any disputes. The rest will pass buckets, and John Boll and Tom Donnell can handle the nozzles. I'll pass water, this time."
The post of honor, of course, was at the nozzles, of which there were two. Next to that came being at the handles, or brakes, while the hardest work and probably the least spectacular was passing the water. Bert deliberately selected this, as he knew putting out the fire depended entirely on the water, and he did not want it said that he chose the best position, as he wanted plenty of lads to assist him with the buckets.
"This way, bucket brigade!" called Mr. Sagger, who acted as a sort of chief at times.
"Here you are with the engine," cried Bert, in opposition. "Right down to the brook, boys!"
"Form lines!" directed Mr. Sagger. "Pass buckets."
Bert and his chums ran the engine close to the stream of water. Then Burt unreeled the two lines of hose, and gave them in charge of Tom and John. Cole was busy oiling the brake bearings and calling for ten boys to assist him. The others, with Bert, grabbed the buckets from where they hung underneath the tank, and ran toward the brook.
In less than three minutes from the time they had the engine in place, the boys at the handles could pump water, so quickly was the tank partly filled.
"Now, boys, keep her as near full as you can," advised Bert.
There were many willing hands. Into the tank splashed pail after pail of water. Up and down went the long handles, with a "clank-clank." The flattened lines of hose filled out as the water squirted through them, and an instant later, out from the nozzles spurted vigorous streams, which Tom and John aimed at the blazing stack.
There was a loud hissing, as the water struck the hot embers, and a great cloud of steam arose.
"That's the stuff!" cried Bert, from his position near the brook."We'll have it out in a few minutes."
"Pass the buckets faster!" cried Mr. Sagger. "Douse out the fire!"
The members of the brigade had not been idle. They had formed two lines, one for the empty and one for the filled pails, and the end man at the latter line was kept busy tossing gallon after gallon of water on the fire. But his was slow work compared with that of even the primitive hand engine. He had to stop, momentarily, after each bucketful, to reach for another and to toss aside the empty one.
Then, again, he could only throw water on one spot at a time, and this only a short distance above the ground, whereas most of the fire was near the top. But the hose lines could be aimed to send the water high into the air, whence it descended in a shower, wetting the stack all over.
Such vigorous treatment could have but one effect. In a little while the fire was under control, save at one place, and this was opposite the line formed by the bucket brigade. The young firemen had refrained from directing water from their lines there, as they did not want to wet the men.
"Douse the blaze there!" cried Mr. Kimball, as he saw that in spite of the good work of the boys much of his hay might yet be burned.
"Don't you dare do it!" cried Mr. Sagger to John and Tom. "We can put this out."
"Why don't you do it, then?" inquired the owner of the hay. "You've been long enough at it. Here, I'll do it."
He made a grab for the nozzle Tom held, and in doing so doused Mr.Sagger.
"I'll have you arrested for that!" cried the butcher. "You done it on purpose!"
"Wa'al, I'm going to have this fire out!" replied Mr. Kimball, and a few seconds later, with the aid from the other nozzle, the blaze was comparatively out. It still smouldered a bit on top, but a few sprinkles from a hose quenched that.
"Fire's out!" cried Cole, from his place on top of the engine. "How's that for the new department?"
"Boys, you're all right!" exclaimed Mr. Kimball. "There ain't more than half my hay burned. If I'd waited for that bucket brigade it would all be gone!"
"That's not so!" cried Mr. Sagger. "We'd have had it out in five minutes, if those lads hadn't interfered with us."
"That's right," added several men, who did not like the praise accorded to the young fellows.
In spite of the good work they had done, there was not the best of feeling toward the boys on the part of the members of the bucket brigade. But on unprejudiced observers the work of the young firemen made a good impression, and they were warmly praised.
Quite a crowd had collected around the engine, examining it by the light of the four lanterns. All the boys were there save Bert, and he had remained near the brook to gather up some of the engine buckets that had been dropped there.
As he was picking them up he saw some one crossing the little bridge that spanned the stream, over a hole that was quite deep. The bridge had no side rails, and the figure, which was that of a man, seemed to be unfamiliar with this fact.
As Bert watched he saw the man sway toward the edge, and, an instant later, topple over into the water, where there was quite a swift current.
"Help! Help!" the man cried. "I'm drowning!"
[Illustration: "Caught the man by his long hair"]
Bert hesitated only long enough to toss off his coat and in he plunged. He could just make out the head of the man, being swept under the bridge, and he swam rapidly toward it. An instant later he had caught the man by his rather long hair and was pulling him toward shore.
"You—you saved my life!" gasped the rescued one, as soon as he was on the bank and could speak, for he had swallowed some water. "I can't swim."
"Oh, I guess you'd have been all right," said Bert. "It is shallow a short distance below here, and you could have waded out."
"No," said the man, rather solemnly; "I'd have gone to the bottom and stayed there. I'm that unlucky."
He seemed quite affected and spoke sadly. Then, by the distant gleam of the lanterns on the engine, Bert saw that the man was ragged and quite unkempt. In short, he was a tramp.
"Where are you from?" asked Bert.
"From New York. I was asleep under that haystack, and I woke up to find it on fire."
"Were you smoking there?" asked Bert, suspiciously.
"No," replied the tramp, so earnestly that Bert believed him. "I don't smoke. But I was traveling with a fellow who did. Maybe it was his pipe that set the fire. He ran off, and I stayed around to see you boys put out the fire. You did it in great shape. I started to cross the bridge and I fell off. I'm weak, I guess. I haven't had anything to eat all day."
"Where are you going?" asked Bert, for he felt a sympathy for the man. No one else had been attracted to the scene, as every one was too much interested in the new engine to leave it.
"I don't know," replied the man, despondently, "I'm looking for work."
"What do you do."
"I'm a stenographer and typewriter, but there are so many girls at it now that a man can't get living wages. So I decided to become a tramp. I wanted to get out doors, because my health is not good. But I can't get anything to do, except very heavy tasks, and I'm not able to do them."
"I'll see if I can't help you," proposed Bert. "Come with me. I can give you a bed for the night."
"No, you've done enough for me. You saved my life, and I'm grateful. Some day, maybe, I can return the favor. I'll go on now. If I stayed around here they might arrest me on suspicion of setting the hay on fire. I'll keep on. Maybe something will turn up."
"Then take this money," said Bert, handing the tramp a quarter. "You can get something to eat with it."
The tramp seemed overcome by emotion. He held the quarter which Bert had given him as though he did not know what to do with it.
"It's a good one," said the lad, with a smile.
"Oh, I wasn't thinking that," was the answer. "It—it seems queer to have any one decently civil to me, that's all. I tell you, I appreciate it, young fellow. I've had a hard time of it. Maybe it was mostly my own fault, but I certainly have had hard luck. I can't afford to work for the wages they pay girls, and since I had to give up my job I've been down and out. Nobody had a decent word to say to me—especially since my clothes got to looking so bad."
"I wish I could do something else for you," said Bert. "But I haven't any more money. You see, we boys are trying to pay for that engine."
"Oh, I wouldn't accept any more of your money. It makes me ashamed to take this, when I'm a grown man, and you're but a lad. I tell you, when I fell in the water I didn't much care whether I came up again or not."
"That's a wrong way to feel."
"I know it, and I'm going to get over it. I'm going to make a new start, thanks to you. I'll not forget you. Maybe you'll see me when you least expect it."
With this the tramp turned away, crossed the little bridge, this time in safety, and hurried off across the fields, as he saw several of the boys coming down toward the brook.
"That's a queer tramp," thought Bert. "I wonder if I ever shall see him again?"
He was destined to, and under strange circumstances.
"Hello, Bert!" cried Cole, who was one of the group of boys. "What are you doing here? The fire's all out."
"I know it. I was gathering up the buckets. Guess we'd better get the engine back home—that's another thing we hadn't thought of. Where are we going to keep it?"
"My barn's a good place," replied Cole. "That will give me a chance to fix some of the pump valves. They didn't work just right to-night. Why—hello! You're all wet!" he added, as he came close to his chum, and saw that his clothes were dripping water.
"Yes-er-I-er-I got in the brook," replied Bert, not caring to tell about the tramp just yet.
"I should say you did get in. Some of the fellows must have left the buckets too close to the edge. But, come on, let's haul the engine back."
Most of the crowd had now dispersed, a few members of the bucket brigade lingering to further examine the engine, while some of them made slighting remarks about it. The boys paid no attention to them, but, taking hold of the long rope, pulled the machine through the main street of the village. The lads found their new fire department increased largely as they advanced, for not a youngster in town, whether or not he had before this taken an interest in the organization, but who was now glad to get hold of the rope and pull.
"Guess we could organize two companies with this crowd," remarkedCole, looking at the throng.
"Yes. We'll have to get together to-morrow or next day and elect officers. Then we'll have to arrange some sort of a plan for answering alarms."
The engine was run into Cole's barn, and the boys crowded around for another observation of it. They actually seemed to hate to leave it to go home to bed. "Say, I guess it isn't going to run away," remarked John Boll, at length. "It'll be here tomorrow and the next day. I'm going home."
This started the boys to moving, and soon Cole shut up the barn, taking extra good care to see that the doors were locked.
"Maybe some members of that jealous bucket brigade might take a notion to run our engine off," he said to himself.
But no such calamity happened, and the machine was safe in the barn in the morning when Cole overhauled the valves and fixed them. Bert and some of his chums called around after breakfast, and they talked fires and engine to their hearts' content.
In the next few days several meetings were held, and the Boys' Volunteer Fire Department of Lakeville was formally organized. Because of his part in starting it, Herbert was unanimously elected captain. There was a little contest as to who should be the lieutenant, but the honor went to Vincent in recognition of his good work at the Stimson barn fire.
Of course, Cole was made engineer, chief mechanic and everything else that pertained to the actual operation of the engine. He was about the only boy who could qualify, for only he could take the pumps apart and get them together again. Tom Donnell was made chief of the "bucket corps," as the boys decided to call that part of the fire-fighting force whose duty it was to keep the engine tank filled with water. The other boys, to the number of a score or more, were made ordinary firemen, to help haul the engine, pass the buckets or work the handles.
There was some dispute as to who would be in charge of the hose, at the nozzle ends, during a fire, and, to get around this, as it was considered a post of honor, Bert decided the boys could take turns. There was something fascinating about directing a stream of water upon a blaze, and it is no wonder that every boy but Cole wanted the place. That is, excepting Bert, and he had all he could take care of with his duties as captain.
It was decided to keep the engine permanently in Cole's barn, as that was near the centre of the village.
"We ought to have some sort of an alarm bell," suggested John Boll."We can't always depend on Constable Stickler."
"That's so," admitted Bert. "I wonder if we couldn't get permission to have the church bell rung?"
This seemed a good idea, and Bert and Cole interviewed the minister on the subject. He readily agreed to let the bell on the edifice be rung whenever there was a fire, and it was arranged that a long rope would hang from the belfry to the ground outside, where it could be reached by the constable and pulled to give an alarm. Mr. Stickler was delighted with his new office and increased duties.
"I'll have a regular signal system," he explained to the boys, after studying over the matter at some length. He had lost all his antipathy to the engine, and now favored the new fire department more than he did the bucket brigade. "I'll ring the bell once when there's a fire in the northern part of the town," he said; "twice when it's in the east, three times when it's in the south, and four strokes when the blaze is on the west side."
The boys were pleased with this plan, and also delighted that the old constable took such an interest in their work. As for the members of the bucket brigade, they, for the most part, sneered whenever the new department was mentioned.
"Wait 'till they get up against a real fire," said Moses Sagger. "Then we'll see what good their old second-hand engine is. They'll have to depend on the bucket brigade then."
The matter of paying the remaining forty dollars due on the engine worried Bert and his chums not a little, until Cole's father suggested that they charge a small sum weekly for each boy who belonged. As every youth in town was anxious for the honor, it was figured that they could collect at least a dollar a week in this way, since they charged each boy five cents, and there were over twenty. Then, too, at Mr. Bishop's suggestion, they decided to ask a donation from every person whose property they helped save from the flames.
Mr. Kimball, whose haystack was partly saved, heard about this, and sent the boys five dollars. Mr. Stimson, in view of the good work of Bert and Vincent, sent the new department ten dollars, so they began to see their way clear, especially as the Jamesville authorities voted to give the boys as long as they needed to pay for the engine.
For a week or more after the haystack fire there was no occasion to use the engine. It had been put in good shape by Cole, and parts of it had been given a fresh coat of paint, until it looked almost as good as new. Constable Stickler had practiced sending the signals, and the bell could be heard by the boys living in the farthest part of the town. As soon as members of the new fire department heard the signal they were to dress quickly, and hurry to Cole's barn. Thus, with the constable on the watch to detect the first sign of a blaze, the boys were ready to tackle the biggest kind of a conflagration.
One pleasant summer day, Bert and several of his chums were out in a rowboat on the lake. They frequently spent much time on the water, for there was good fishing in it and in the river which flowed into the lake, and they also had much fun swimming.
"Let's row over toward the big cove and have a dip," proposed Bert, who, with Tom Donnell, was at the oars. "It's getting too hot out here in the sun."
All agreed, and soon they were in a secluded part of the sheet of water. Big Cove, as it was locally called, was a sort of bay, almost out of sight from the main part of the lake. To reach it the boys had to row around a point, which extended for quite a distance out into the water. On this point was a boathouse, which was part of the property on which stood an old and what at one time had been a handsome residence. This was on a bluff, overlooking the lake, and was known as the Stockton mansion.
As the rowboat turned this point the boys were surprised to see a small motor craft shoot out from the boathouse.
"Look at that!" exclaimed Bert. "I didn't know there was one of those gasolene jiggers on the lake."
"Me either," added Tom. "Must be a new one. Wonder who's in it?"
"Must be somebody from the Stockton house," said Vincent; "though I didn't know anybody was living there now."
"Yes, there's somebody in it," added John Boll, "but I never knew they had a boat."
"Look out!" suddenly exclaimed Bert. "It's coming right for us!"
Sure enough the motor boat was headed straight for the rowing craft, and it was coming on at top speed. No one could be seen in it, though the engine could be heard puffing.
"It's running away!" cried Tom. "Let's catch it!"
"Let's get out of the way, you mean," called Bert. "Do you want to be sunk in the deepest part of the lake? Pull on your left oar, Tom! Pull! Pull!"
The motor boat was now almost upon the other craft.
"Give a yell!" suggested Vincent.
"What for?" panted Bert, as he struggled with the oars, trying to swing the boat out of danger. "There's nobody aboard to steer the boat out of the way."
But Vincent yelled anyhow, and, to the surprise of the boys, a figure suddenly showed itself in the motor boat. It was that of a man, and he had been lying down in the craft, adjusting some of the machinery while the engine was running.
His sudden exclamation, as he sat up on hearing Vincent's yell, showed that he was not aware how close he was to a collision. He jumped to his feet, leaped forward to the wheel, and with a few quick turns sent his boat to one side.
And it was only just in time, for the freeboard of his craft grazed the extended oars that Tom and Bert had thrust out to dip in the water, in order to further swing their boat around.
"I didn't see you!" exclaimed the man, as his boat rushed past. "I was fixing my engine. I'm sorry!"
"Whose boat is that?" asked Bert.
But the man returned no answer, and in a few seconds he was too far off to enable the boys to repeat the question.
"Do any of you fellows know him?" asked Bert of his chums.
"Seems to me I saw him in the village the other day," replied Tom. "He was buying some stuff in the drug store. He's a stranger in town."
"Wonder what he's doing around here?" asked Vincent. "It's a good thing I hollered when I did, or he'd have punched a hole in us."
"You're right," agreed Bert. "I didn't think there was anybody in the boat. But didn't he come out of the Stockton boathouse?"
"He sure did," replied Tom. "But there hasn't been a boat there in several years. We've been in swimming around here lots of times, and I never saw one before."
"Me either," chimed in several lads.
"And that's a new power boat," went on Bert. "It's a dandy, too. We ought to have a gasolene engine to work our fire apparatus."
"No, we shouldn't!" exclaimed Cole. "Those valves on our pumps wouldn't stand being worked too fast. Our engine is good enough as it is."
"Of course it is. We haven't had much use of it lately, have we?"
"No; but it's all ready when we get an alarm. I oiled her up good yesterday. And I guess the constable is on the job every night. He's as anxious for a fire as we are, for he wants to ring the bell."
"Still, I don't believe any one really wants a blaze," remarked Bert, and then he added: "We can make another payment on the engine this week, and then we'll only owe twenty-six dollars."
"Oh, we'll soon have it paid for," declared Vincent.
By this time the boys had reached the "swimming hole," and, tying up their boat, they soon were undressed and splashing about in the water.
The lads had great fun, playing all sorts of games and tricks, but soon the descending sun warned them that it was time to start for home, and after a "last dive" they donned their garments and began rowing back around the point. They kept a watch for the motor boat, but saw nothing of it, nor did there appear to be any signs of life about the old mansion up on the bluff.
The Stockton house was a source of some mystery to the villagers. The mansion, which, years before, had been the scene of much life and gaiety, was owned by Harris Stockton, who was reputed to be quite wealthy. But one day he had disappeared, saying good-bye to no one, and it was generally supposed he had gone abroad, as he was rather eccentric, and given to going and coming most unexpectedly.
It was thought that the house was deserted, but neighbors frequently saw an old woman about it, after Mr. Stockton had disappeared, and she announced that she was the housekeeper, Sarah Blarcum by name. There was also a young man seen about the premises, and, in answer to questions from inquisitive persons, Mrs. Blarcum stated that the young man was Mr. Stockton's nephew, Alfred Muchmore, who was running the place during his uncle's absence. As to where Mr. Stockton had gone, Mrs. Blarcum did not know, though she said the nephew had given her to understand his uncle was traveling in Europe.
Muchmore was not known to any of the village people, and seemed to keep pretty much to the mansion. He was seen about the grounds occasionally, but Mrs. Blarcum attended to all the marketing.
"Well, Herbert," said his mother that night, "you haven't had much use of your new engine, have you?"
"Not yet; but we will."
"Oh, I hope you don't have to go to any dangerous fires. I'm so afraid you'll get hurt."
"A fireman has to take chances, mother. Father had to do it, remember."
"But you are only a volunteer."
"That's the best kind. I think I'll get the boys together and have a practice run. We need a little drilling. But I'd just as soon an alarm wouldn't come in to-night. I'm dead tired, and I can sleep like a top, after my swim."
"Then if I hear an alarm from the church bell I suppose you don't want me to call you?"
"Of course, I do, mother. But I guess I'll hear the bell if it rings."
But Bert did not, and it was not until his mother had shaken him vigorously, several hours later, that he became aware of the frantic sounding of the fire alarm.
"Herbert! Herbert!" called his mother. "The fire bell is ringing!"
"Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong!"
The bell gave out four quick strokes. Then a pause.
"Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong!"
"It's on the west side of town!" exclaimed the boy, as he reached out and made a grab for his clothes. They were arranged on a chair near his bed, in readiness for quickly putting on; a practice observed by all the young members of the volunteer department.
"Look out of the window, mother, and see if you can discover a blaze, please," directed Bert, as he began to dress.
"Yes, I can see a light off in the west."
"That must be it. Did the bell ring long before you called me?"
"Only once. I was awake and heard it. Now, do be careful, Herbert.Don't get into danger."
"I'll not, mother," and, with a kiss for his parent, Bert dashed down the stairs, and ran at top speed for Cole's barn. He saw several of his chums in the street, headed in the same direction.
"Where is it?" asked Bert, of Tom Donnell, whom he joined, almost as soon as he came out of the house.
"I don't know. I heard the four bells. Old Stickler is ringing yet. He didn't lose any time."
"No, he didn't. Say, Vincent, do you know where it is?"
"I heard Simon Pierson say, as I ran past his house, a few minutes ago, that he thought it was the Stockton mansion. He can see it from his third floor."
"The Stockton mansion! If that gets going we can't put that out with our little engine."
"Maybe it's only a small blaze."
"I hope so," replied Bert. "But come on. We must run faster than this."
They found quite a crowd of the young firemen at Cole's barn when they got there. Cole had jumped out of bed at the first signal from the bell, and had lighted the lamps on the engine.
"Run her out!" he cried, as Bert and his chums came in sight.
"No, wait a few minutes," directed the captain. "We will need a few more fellows to haul her up the hill, and there's no use going off short-handed.
"But the fire will get too much of a start."
"Can't help it. Might as well not go at all as to go with not enough to work the engine. The bucket brigade would only laugh at us then."
"There's some of 'em now!" exclaimed Cole.
Out in the village street could be heard the tramp of running feet, and a man's voice crying:
"Come on, bucket brigade! We'll beat the new department!"
"Why don't the fellows hurry!" exclaimed Cole. "We'll get left!"
"Here they are!" shouted Tom Donnell, as about ten lads rushed into the barn. They lived on the far side of town, and had come in a bunch to respond to the alarm.
"Grab the rope, boys!" cried Bert. "Don't let the bucket brigade beat us!"
The long double line was run off the reel, and a two-score of ready hands grasped it. Cole, as was his privilege, jumped on the engine to steer, for he had rigged up a tiller wheel on it, since it had been in his barn, and this made it easier to pull, even with his added weight.
"Let her go!" he called, and with a rumble over the barn floor, the apparatus was hauled out, the bell on the engine clanging out a warning.
In the street in front of Cole's house, were several members of the bucket brigade, trying to catch up with the foremost men, who, under the leadership of Moses Sagger, were running toward the blaze.
These stragglers the young firemen shortly left behind, and soon they were almost up to the head of the line of the older fire-fighters.
"It's the Stockton mansion, all right!" cried Cole, as they got to the foot of the hill on which the big house stood. It could be plainly seen now, and flames were shooting from a side window.
"It hasn't got much of a start yet," shouted Bert. "Maybe we can put it out, boys, and save the house. Come on, for all you're worth!"
The lads needed no urging. They reached the burning house almost as soon as did the first contingent of the bucket brigade. Out in the yard was an old woman, wringing her hands, and crying:
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! We'll all be burned up! The house will be destroyed! Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"
"Where is a well or cistern?" asked Bert, as he signalled his company to halt the engine.
"A cistern? Oh, dear! Here's one! But be careful you don't fall in.It's very deep. Oh, dear! This fire is terrible!"
The flames were gaining headway, but seemed to be only in one part of the house, on the east side.
"Run the engine close to the cistern," directed Bert. "Tom, you and John cut down the clothes line. Fasten some lengths to the buckets. We'll have to dip up the water from the cistern, and pour it into the engine tank. Vincent, you take charge here, and see to the buckets. Cole, get your fellows to the handles! Tom, you and Charlie Sanders take the nozzles! Lively now!"
His orders were promptly executed. In a short time several buckets had long pieces of rope attached to them, by which they could be dropped down into the cistern, when the cover was removed. They could then be pulled up full, and the fluid emptied into the tank.
The hose was unreeled, and with the nozzles in charge of Tom andCharlie, Bert hurried into the house.
"Show us the way to where the fire is," he said to the old housekeeper.
"Right this way! Right this way!" she cried, hurrying into the side door of the house as fast as her tottering legs would carry her. "The fire's in an unused part of the mansion. It's near a chimney flue. Oh, dear! It's awful!"
Bert and his two chums followed her. Meanwhile, the bucket corps was rapidly dipping up water and filling the tank. The boys had not yet begun to work the handles, as Bert had arranged to give a signal, on a whistle he carried, when he wanted the water to begin to flow.
The tank was almost full, and Cole was beginning to wonder when the young captain would signal for the streams. The flames were becoming brighter and brighter, and were now shooting from windows on the side of the house, a big chimney, built up from outside, jutting out between the casements.
"Here, you boys git away from here, and let us git some water!" cried Moses Sagger, as, followed by several men he pushed his way to the cistern. He had been searching all about the premises for a well which the bucket brigade might use, but had not been successful.
"We were here first, and we're going to stay!" declared Vincent.
"That's what!" added Cole. "Besides, you men can't dip up any water unless you put some ropes on your buckets."
"Where are the ropes?" asked the butcher, as he saw the truth of that statement.
"You'll have to find 'em, same as we did," replied Vincent, as he and his chums continued to dip and fill. But the clothes line was all cut up, and there was no more rope in sight, save that by which the engine was hauled.
"Take that rope," suggested one member of the bucket brigade.
"Don't you dare touch that!" cried Cole. "Reel it up, boys, and if they try to take it, douse 'em with water."
"No, we haven't any right to take their rope," spoke a cooler-headed member of the men's fire department. "Come on to the lake, men. We've got enough men to make a long bucket line. There's plenty of water there."
Just then there came a blast from the whistle Bert carried.
"Pump!" yelled Cole. "Pump, boys!"
The lads, who had mounted to the top of the engine tank, began to work the handles with vigor, the flat hose bulged out, and, from the sound of the pumps, the young firemen knew they were sending out two vigorous streams.
"Now, boys, lively!" cried Vincent. "Give 'em all the water they can use!"
Thus it became a good-natured race between the two divisions of the department, one trying to pump as much water as possible, and the other seeing to it that the tank did not become empty. Because of the closeness of the engine to the cistern, and the fact that there was plenty of water in it, the tank was kept more than half full all the while.
Meanwhile, the bucket brigade had been formed, and was passing water from the lake. But, as it had to go, hand by hand in the buckets, up a flight of stairs, very little of the fluid reached the blaze. The fire had been gaining headway. Bert and his two chums had entered a long hall with their hose, and they saw where the floor and woodwork, adjoining the chimney, were on fire.
"Douse her out, boys!" cried Bert, as he signalled for the water. A moment later two big streams spurted from the brass nozzles, and fell with a hiss on the leaping flames.
"I'll take a look around and see if it's breaking out anywhere else," said Herbert. "One stream is almost enough there."
He turned aside, and started to run down another hall, that was at right angles to the one where the fire was. Suddenly a man confronted him, and, even in the excitement, Bert knew him for the individual who had been in the motor boat that nearly ran the boys down.
"Where are you going?" the man asked.
"To look and see if there is a blaze anywhere else," replied Bert.
"Who are you?" inquired the man, who appeared very much excited, more so than the occasion called for, since, as yet, the fire was not beyond control.
"I'm captain of the Boys' Volunteer Fire Department," replied Bert."Who are you?"
"I'm Mr. Muchmore. I'm in possession of this house, and you can't pass here!"
"But I only want to see if there's another place on fire. We have two lines of hose, and one is enough back there."
"I don't care! You can't pass here!"
Bert wondered at the man's mysterious action, but the boy had no right to dispute the peremptory orders.
"Put out that fire back there," went on Mr. Muchmore, motioning to where Bert had come from. "That is all there is in the house. And don't you dare pass into this hall."
"Very well," replied the young captain, quietly, as he returned to Tom and Charlie.
Just then he thought he saw a flicker of flame beyond where Muchmore was standing. He started forward to investigate.
"Keep back, I tell you!" cried the man, and he thrust Bert to one side so violently that the young fireman hit the wall with considerable force.
"There's no need for you to do that!" Bert exclaimed, highly indignant. "I only want to help put out the fire!"
"You can't come in this hall!" declared the man, and then, before Bert could answer, he turned and ran along it at full speed.
"Well, he certainly acts queer," thought the boy, but, as a second look convinced him that there was no blaze in that part of the house, he returned to his chums.
In spite of their efforts the fire seemed to be gaining.
"See if they can't give us a bit more water!" cried Charlie.
Bert leaned out of a window, and whistled a signal that had been agreed upon, whenever more pressure was needed. The boys at the handles, who had lagged a bit, increased their strokes, and more water was available. A few seconds later Vincent, who had turned his supervision of the bucket corps over to John Boll, came into the smoke-filled hall.
"Can I help you, Bert?" he asked.
"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Mrs. Blarcum, the aged housekeeper, as she stood some distance back, out of the smoke. "There are some valuable paintings in that room, and they ought to be saved. Can you boys get them out?" and she pointed to the door of an apartment just back of where the two lads, with the hose nozzles, stood.
"Sure we will!" replied Vincent. "Come on, Bert. That will be easier than saving horses."
The flames seemed to be eating back, in spite of the efforts of the young firemen, and the aid given by the bucket brigade, which last was not much. They had run up ladders on the outside of the house, near where the flames were, and were throwing water on in that way.
"Why, the door's locked!" exclaimed Vincent, as he tried the knob."Where's the key?"
"Locked!" repeated Mrs. Blarcum. "I didn't know that. The paintings will be burned, and Mr. Stockton was very fond of them. They cost a lot of money."
"We can break the door in!" cried Bert. "Come on, Vincent!"
The boys prepared to rush at the portal.
"Stop!" cried a ringing voice, and they looked up to see Muchmore hastening toward them. "Don't you dare go into that room!"
For a moment the boys hardly knew what to do. They stood looking atMuchmore, who seemed very angry, and also intensely excited.
"We're going to save the pictures," said Vincent.
"There are no pictures in there!" declared the man.
"The housekeeper said so," put in Bert.
"Yes, yes! The valuable paintings belonging to Mr. Stockton!" exclaimed Mrs. Blarcum. "They'll be burned up! The fire is coming this way!"
"I don't care if it is!" fairly shouted Muchmore. "Let the pictures burn. As for you, old woman, if I find you meddling any more, with what doesn't concern you, I'll find a way to stop you! Now clear out!"
The woman shrank back, mumbling to herself, and hastened down the stairs.
"You boys are too fresh!" went on Muchmore. "Why don't you mind your own business?"
"Our business is to put out fires!" declared Herbert. "And that's what we're doing here."
"Then keep out of places where you have no right to enter! There is no fire here!"
"But it may get here soon, and we wanted to save the things," addedVincent.
"Get out!" exclaimed Muchmore, in an angry voice. "Don't you attempt to go into that room. You'd better pay more attention to the blaze."
"The blaze is being attended to all right," replied Herbert. "We've got two streams on it. But if you don't want us to save any goods, I'm sure we don't mind. Come, Vincent, we'll leave."
The two boys, puzzled by Muchmore's queer actions, went back to where their companions were still playing water on the flames.
The fire was now under control, the boys having prevented its spread beyond a small area. Quite a hole was burned in the floor, and the flames had eaten through the side of the house, and burned out two windows. A little more water served to put out the last sparks.
"Guess we're done," said Charlie. "You can signal 'em to stop pumping, Captain Bert," and he laughed, for he was well pleased with his role of fireman. Bert blew the prearranged blasts on his whistle, and the boys at the brakes were glad enough to cease, for their arms ached with the strain. Those drawing water from the cistern likewise welcomed the respite.
"Take up the hose," ordered Herbert, with as much importance as if he was a battalion chief of a big city department.
Tom and Charlie went through the hall, dragging the two lines with them, and the hose was soon reeled back on the engine.
"Guess we've done our share," declared Mr. Sagger, as he called to his men of the bucket brigade. "The fire's out!"
"Well, I can't say that we did it all," Confessed Mr. Appelby. "The boys did the most of it."
"We could have done it without them," asserted the butcher. "They were only in the way. We couldn't use the cistern."
"I guess it's just as well they got there first," went on the mayor of Lakeville. "This looked like a bad blaze, and if it had got beyond control the whole house would have gone. It's as dry as tinder, and a regular death-trap."
"Did you hear what started it, Mr. Appelby?" asked Cole, as he trimmed the lamps on the engine.
"Overheated flue, according to the housekeeper. I was talking to her, but a young fellow came along and ordered her to stop. I wonder who he was?"
"That's Muchmore," declared Herbert "He's in charge since Mr. Stockton has been away. He didn't want us to do anything toward saving some pictures, and he kept me from going in a certain hall. He's a queer chap."
"I should say so," commented Mr. Appelby. "Maybe he lost his head on account of the fire."
"And he lost his manners, too," added Vincent, at the recollection ofMuchmore's mean words.
"Well, the house is safe now," went on Mr. Appelby. "I guess we can leave. I suppose Muchmore can attend to things now. Let's gather up the buckets, Sagger, and go home. I'd like to get a little more sleep."
The bucket brigade soon left, and, a little while later, the young firemen, pulling their engine, moved off down the hill, talking over the events of the night. They all agreed that they had been more successful than might have been expected of a new organization.
"I think Muchmore might have at least thanked us," said Tom Donnell."He didn't show up after his queer actions."
"There's something funny about that man," declared Bert. "I never saw a person act so suspiciously. He seemed afraid that we would discover something."
"Maybe he was," said George Perkins.
"What?" asked several of his companions.
"Why, I heard that he was a regular gambler," went on George. "He makes a profession of it. Maybe he had a gambling outfit in some of those rooms, and didn't want you to discover it."
"Who told you he was a gambler?" asked Vincent.
"The station agent. He sees him taking the train to the city every once in a while, and one day he saw him in a car, with a man he knows to be a gambler of the worst kind. Oh, Muchmore is a gambler, all right."
"Do you suppose he has gambling games in that house?" inquired TomDonnell. "I shouldn't be surprised."
"I wonder if Mr. Stockton knows it?" ventured Bert. "I heard my mother say Mr. Stockton was a very fine man, and I don't believe he would allow that if he knew it."
"Nobody's liable to tell him," went on George. "He seems to have disappeared. That's another queer part of it. The station agent, who knows Mr. Stockton quite well, doesn't remember his going away, and he'd have to go from here to New York, if he sailed for Europe, which is the story Muchmore tells in the village."
"Boys," said Bert suddenly, "I believe there is something mysterious about that house. I thought so when I saw how queer Muchmore acted. Now, with what George tells me, I am more than ever inclined to that belief."
"What can we do about it?" asked Vincent.
"Maybe we can investigate," went on Herbert, "I'd like to find out more about the place."
"We might make an excuse for going there tomorrow, by asking if the fire did much damage," suggested Cole.
"And be put out for our pains," objected Vincent. "No, I'm going to stay away from there."
"I guess that will be best, for a time," decided Bert.