The Young Firemen of Lakeville Part 9

"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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.s buckets, and John Boll and Tom Donnell can handle the nozzles. I'll pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sing 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 a.s.sist 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. "Pa.s.s 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 a.s.sist 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."

"Pa.s.s 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!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "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 sh.o.r.e.

"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."