Fighting the Flames Part 44

Among these last was the "Angel," belonging to Gorman.

That worthy was peculiarly active on this occasion. He never neglected an opportunity of turning an honest penny, and, accordingly, had been engaged from an early hour in his boat collecting tallow; of which plunder a considerable amount had been already conveyed to his abode.

Besides Gorman, several of the other personages of our tale found their way to the great centre of attraction, London Bridge, on that night.

Among them was John Barret, who, on hearing of the fire, had left his snug little villa and pretty little wife to witness it.

He had already made one or two cheap trips on one of the omnibuses, and, about midnight, got down and forced his way to a position near the south side of the bridge. Here he was attracted to a ginger-beer barrow which an unusually adventurous man had pushed through the crowd into a sheltered corner. He forced his way to it, and, to his amazement, found the owner to be his former friend Ned Hooper.

"Hallo! Barret."

"Why, Ned!" were the exclamations that burst simultaneously from their lips.

"This is a strange occupation," said Barret with a smile.

"Ah, it may seem strange to you, no doubt, but it's familiar enough to me," replied Ned, with a grin.

The demand for beer was so great at this time that Ned could not continue the conversation.

"Here, boy," he said to an urchin who stood near, "you draw corks as fast as you can and pour out the beer, and I'll give you a copper or two and a swig into the bargain."

The boy accepted the post of salesman with alacrity, and Ned turned to his friend and seized his hand.

"Barret," said he, in a low, earnest voice, "if I succeed in holding out, I own my salvation, under G.o.d, to you. I've tasted nothing but ginger-beer for many a long day, and I really believe that I have got my enemy down at last. It's not a lucrative business, as you may see," he added with a sad smile, glancing at his threadbare garments, "nor a very aristocratic one."

"My dear Ned," cried Barret, interrupting, and suddenly thrusting his hand into his pocket.

"No, Barret, no," said Ned firmly, as he laid his hand on the other's, arm; "I don't want money; I've given up begging. You gave me your advice once, and I have taken that--it has been of more value to me than all the wealth that is being melted into thin air, John, by yonder fire--"

Ned was interrupted at this point by a burst of laughter from the crowd.

The cause of their mirth was the appearance of a tall, thin, and very lugubrious-looking man who had come on the bridge to see the fire. He had got so excited that he had almost fallen over the parapet, and a policeman had kindly offered to escort him to a place of safety.

"Why, what d'ye mean?--what d'ye take me for?" cried the tall man angrily; "I'm an honest man; my name is David Boone; I've only come to see the fire; you've no occasion to lay hold o' _me_!"

"I know that," said the policeman; "I only want to get you out of danger. Come along now."

Just then a thickset man with a red handkerchief tied round his head came forward to the stall and demanded a gla.s.s of beer. The moment his eyes encountered those of Boone he became pale as death and staggered back as if he had received a deadly blow.

"Is that you, Gorman?" cried David, in a voice and with an expression of amazement.

Gorman did not reply, but gazed at his former friend with a look of intense horror, while his chest heaved and he breathed laboriously.

Suddenly he uttered a loud cry and rushed towards the river.

Part of the crowd sprang after him, as if with a view to arrest him, or to see what he meant to do. In the rush Barret and Boone were carried away.

A few moments later a deep murmur of surprise rose from the thousands of spectators on the bridge, for a boat was seen to dash suddenly from the sh.o.r.e and sweep out on the river. It was propelled by a single rower--a man with a red kerchief tied round his head. The murmur of the crowd suddenly increased to a shout of alarm, for the man was rowing, his boat straight towards a ma.s.s of tallow which floated and burned on the water.

"Hold on!" "Lookout ahead!" shouted several voices, while others screamed "Too late!" "He's gone!" and then there arose a wild cry, for the man rowed straight into the centre of the burning ma.s.s and was enveloped in the flames. For one moment he was seen to rise and swing his arms in the air--then he fell backwards over the gunwale of his boat and disappeared in the blazing flood.

Fiercer and fiercer raged the fire. The night pa.s.sed--the day came and went, and night again set in--yet still the flames leaped and roared in resistless fury, and still the firemen fought them valiantly. And thus they fought, day and night, hand to hand, for more than a fortnight, before the battle was thoroughly ended and the victory gained.

How the firemen continued to do their desperate work, day and night, almost without rest, it is impossible to tell. Frank Willders said that, after the first night, he went about his work like a man in a dream. He scarcely knew when, or how, or where he rested or ate. He had an indistinct remembrance of one or two brief intervals of oblivion when he supposed he must have been asleep, but the only memory that remained strong and clear within him was that of constant, determined fighting with the flames. And Willie Willders followed him like his shadow! clad in a coat and helmet borrowed from a friend in the Salvage Corps. Willie fought in that great fight as if he had been a trained fireman.

On the fourth day, towards evening, Frank was ordered down into a cellar where some tar-barrels were burning. He seized the branch, and was about to leap down the stair when Dale stopped him.

"Fasten the rope to your belt," he said.

Frank obeyed without speaking and then sprang forward, while Dale himself followed, ordering Corney, Baxmore, and one or two others, to hold on to the ropes. Willie Willders also ran in, but was met by such a dense cloud of smoke that he was almost choked. Rushing back, he shouted, "Haul on the ropes!"

The men were already hauling them in, and in a few seconds Dale and Frank were dragged by their waist-belts into the open air, the former nearly, and the latter quite, insensible.

In a few minutes they both recovered, and another attempt was made to reach the fire in the cellar, but without success.

The public did not witness this incident. The firemen were almost surrounded by burning ruins, and none but comrades were there.

Indeed, the public seldom see the greatest dangers to which the fireman is exposed. It is not when he makes his appearance on some giddy height on a burning and tottering house, and is cheered enthusiastically by the crowd, that his courage is most severely tried. It is when he has to creep on hands and knees through dense smoke, and hold the branch in the face of withering heat, while beams are cracking over his head, and burning rubbish is dropping around, and threatening to overwhelm him--it is in such circ.u.mstances, when the public know nothing of what is going on, and when no eye sees him save that of the solitary comrade who shares his toil and danger, that the fireman's nerve and endurance are tested to the uttermost.

After leaving the cellar, Dale and his men went to attempt to check the fire in a quarter where it threatened to spread, and render this--the greatest of modern conflagrations--equal to the great one of 1666.

"We might reach it from that window," said Dale to Frank, pointing to a house, the sides of which were already blistering, and the gla.s.s cracking with heat.

Frank seized the branch and gained the window in question, but could not do anything very effective from that point. He thought, however, that from a window in an adjoining store he might play directly on a house which was in imminent danger. But the only means of reaching it was by pa.s.sing over a charred beam, thirty feet beneath which lay a ma.s.s of smouldering ruins. For one moment he hesitated, uncertain whether or not the beam would sustain his weight. But the point to be gained was one of great importance, so he stepped boldly forward, carrying the branch with him. As he advanced, the light of the fire fell brightly upon him, revealing his tall figure clearly to the crowd, which cheered him heartily.

At that moment the beam gave way. Willie, who was about to follow, had barely time to spring back and gain a firm footing, when he beheld his brother fall headlong into the smoking ruins below.

In another moment he had leaped down the staircase, and was at Frank's side. Baxmore, Dale, Corney, and others, followed, and, in the midst of fire and smoke, they raised their comrade in their arms and bore him to a place of safety.

No one spoke, but a stretcher was quickly brought, and Frank was conveyed in a state of insensibility to the nearest hospital, where his manly form--shattered, burned, and lacerated--was laid on a bed. He breathed, although he was unconscious and evinced no sign of feeling when the surgeons examined his wounds.

A messenger was despatched for Mrs Willders, and Willie remained to watch beside him while his comrades went out to continue the fight.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THE LAST.

For many months Frank Willders lay upon his bed unable to move, and scarcely able to speak. His left leg and arm had been broken, his face and hands were burned and cut, and his once stalwart form was reduced to a mere wreck.

During that long and weary time of suffering he had two nurses who never left him--who relieved each other day and night; smoothed his pillow and read to him words of comfort from G.o.d's blessed book. These were, his own mother and Emma Ward.

For many weeks his life seemed to waver in the balance, but at last he began to mend. His frame, however, had been so shattered that the doctors held out little hope of his ever being anything better than a helpless cripple, so, one day, he said to Emma:

"I have been thinking, Emma, of our engagement." He paused and spoke sadly--as if with great difficulty.

"And I have made up my mind," he continued, "to release you."

"Frank!" exclaimed Emma.