scaling-ladders is a matter of regular routine for a fireman, like jumping from a fourth story down to a net, or making a bridge of his body. It is part of the business. But to have one foot in the air reaching for a lower rung of a swaying, flimsy ladder, to feel another rung break under you and your struggling burden, and to fall two feet and catch safely, that is a feat not every fireman can do; but McDermott did it, and he brought the woman unharmed to the ground — and the dog, too. ANDREW FITZGERALD Andrew Fitzgerald, of Hook and Ladder 4, off on sick leave with pneumonia, had shown the true fireman spirit as he came from the doctors. His instructions were to go home and stay there. He was not on duty at all. He was scarcely strong enough to be out of bed, but when he heard that there were lives in peril down the avenue he forgot everything, and ran to the place of danger. There was need of him here; sick-leave or not, pneumonia or not, he would do what he could. What he did was to carry out the last people taken alive from the ill-fated hotel three women whom he bore in his arms from the fourth floor through roaring hallways, then up a fire-escape, then back into the building, with the flames singeing him and a shattering blast of exploding gas pursuing him, and finally out on a balcony whence, with the help of a policeman, he got them over safely to an adjoining house-top. No wonder the Bonner medal was awarded Fitzgerald for conspicuous courage. BILL BROWN The great test for Fire Engine 29 and her crew, the test of life or death that firemen wait years for (to see what stuff is in them), came on a mild autumn afternoon, not soon to be forgotten. This was the day of the great explosions, when it rained red-hot stones and blazing timbers, when whole blocks shivered with the concussion. "When the first explosion came," said Captain Devanny, telling the story weeks afterward, "I was inside the building, up one flight, at the bottom of a well of fire. McArthur and Buckley were with me, playing a stiff stream to protect the back windows. There's where people in the building had to run, men and girls; we could see 'em crowding on the balconies, and we wanted to give 'em a chance on the fire-escapes. You see, a red-hot ladder isn't much use to anybody. "Well, they got down, every soul of 'em, but by that time big chunks of fire were dropping all around us, and our helmets were crumpling and our clothes were burning. Besides that, we kept hearing little explosions overhead, louder than the fire crackle, louder than pistol shots, and when you hear those in a drug-house you don't feel any too safe. I went to the front, and saw fire breaking out everywhere on the fourth and fifth floors. Then I knew it was all up, and ran back to order the boys out. "On the stairs I met Gillon, and was just yelling, 'Save yourselves!' when the crash came. It was like a cannon, sir, and sounded in my ears for a long time, as I lay in the wreck, with tongues of blue flames licking down over me. I'd been blown clean off the second-floor landing and dropped in the hallway, twenty feet back from the door. McArthur and Gillon were down the elevator shaft, where they'd jumped. Nobody dared lift a head, for a cyclone of fire was all over us." It is not my purpose to detail the sufferings and final rescue of these flame-bound men. They had some vivid glimpses of death and some cruel burns, but firemen count these nothing. Nor is McArthur's act in turning back through the fire to save a fallen comrade more than ordinary fireman's pluck, nor Devanny's experience when caught in the second explosion and blown through a shop on Washington Street more than an ordinary hazard of the business. Indeed, this fire should have but little of my attention were there not something in it beyond noise and house-smashing. In it, overlooked by newspaper reports, yet vastly important, was the behavior of Bill Brown, to whom came the great test I spoke of, the rare test which nothing but the highest courage can satisfy. All firemen have courage, but it cannot be known until the test how many have this particular kind — Bill Brown's kind. The odd part of it is that what he did seems a little thing; it took only a minute to do and it saved no life and made no difference whatever in the outcome of the fire; yet to the few who know or care it stands in the memories of the department as a fine and unusual bit of heroism. What happened was this: Engine 29, pumping and pounding her prettiest, stood so close to the blazing drug-house that Driver Marks thought it wasn't safe there for the three horses, and led them away. That was fortunate, but it left Brown alone, right against the cheek of the fire, watching his boiler, stoking in coal, keeping his steam-gauge at 75. As the fire gained, chunks of red-hot sandstone began to smash down on the engine. Brown ran his pressure up to 80, and watched anxiously the door through which his comrades had gone. Then the explosion came, and a blue flame, wide as a house, curled its tongue half-way across the street, enwrapping engine and man, setting fire to the elevated railway station overhead, or such wreck of it as the shock had left. Bill Brown stood by his engine, with a wall of fire before him and a sheet of fire above him. He heard quick footsteps on the pavements, and voices, that grew fainter and fainter, crying: "Run for your lives!" He heard the hose-wagon horses somewhere back in the smoke go plunging away, mad with fright and burns. He was alone with the fire; and the skin was hanging in shreds on his hands, face, and neck. Only a fireman knows how one blast of flame can shrivel up a man, and the pain over the bared surfaces was - well, there is no pain worse than that of fire scorching in upon the quick flesh seared by fire. Here, I think, was a crisis to make a very brave man quail. Bill Brown knew perfectly well why every one was running; there was going to be another explosion in a moment or two, maybe sooner, out of this hell in front of him. The order had come for every man to save himself, and every man had done so, except the lads inside. The question was, should he run or should he stay and die? It was tolerably certain that he would die if he stayed. On the other hand, the boys of old 29 were in the building. His friends, his chums; he had seen them drag the hose in through that door- there it was now, a long, throbbing snake of it — and they had not come out. Perhaps they were dead. Yes, but perhaps they were not. If they were alive, they needed water now more than they ever needed anything before. They could not get water if he quit his engine. Bill Brown pondered this a long time, perhaps four seconds; then he fell to shoveling in coal. After screwing the engine up another notch, he eased her running parts with the oiler. Explosion or not, pain or not, alone or not, he was going to stay and make that engine hum. He had done the greatest thing a man can do he had offered his life for his friends. It is pleasant to know that this sacrifice was averted. A quarter of a minute or so before the second and terrible explosion, the men came staggering from the building. Then it was, but not until then, that Bill Brown left Engine 29 to her fate (she was crushed by the falling walls), and ran for his life with his comrades. He had waited for them; he had stood the great test. It were easy to multiply stories of the firemen, stories of the captains, stories of the chiefs there is no end to them. However many may be told or written, they are but fragments of fragments. Our cities have hundreds of fire companies and hook-and-ladder companies; there is not one of these but has its proud record of courage and self-sacrifice. Other lives show bravery for gain, bravery for show, bravery for sport; these show bravery for the public good and for no other reason-unselfish bravery. They give up regular sleep, they give up home life, they bear every exposure, they face death in many forms as a matter of daily routine, they never refuse an order, lead where it may, and they do all this for modest pay and scant glory. A few dollars a day will cover their earnings, and as for the glory, what is it? For some a medal, a tattered paper with roll-of-honor mention, a picture in the newspapers; for most of them nothing. Yet they are cheerful, happy men. CLASS ACTIVITIES TEST IN JUDGING Adapted. 1. Let a committee of two count the votes of the class. (See p. 233.) 2. If you had three medals to give, a first, a second, and a third, to what three firemen, and in what order, would you award them? Write on your ballot the name of the man after the award. First award:. Second award:. Third award:.. 3. Let a second committee of two count the votes of the class to determine the award of the first, the second, and the third medals. To find the winners, count votes as follows: For a first place, 5 points; for a second place, 3 points; for a third place, I point. 4. ENGINE NO. 8 CAROLINE DUER Have you ever seen a fire-engine going to a fire? Does this poem give you something of the thrill you felt? FIRE! Over the bridge, through the steam of the trains, Through the mist and the rains And the black, oil street With the sound, hoarse and shrill, of the whistle blown first, And the sudden wild burst Of the galloping feet — A swerve round the corner, a shout to the horses, |