CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
AT THE POST OF DUTY.
Fire! There is something appalling in the cry to most ears; somethingdeadly in the sound; something that tells of imminent danger and urgenthaste. After David Boone's first alarm was given, other voices took itup; passers-by became suddenly wild, darted about spasmodically andshouted it; late sitters-up flung open their windows and proclaimed it;sleepers awoke crying, "What! where?" and, huddling on their clothes,rushed out to look at it; little boys yelled it; frantic femalesscreamed it, and in a few minutes the hubbub in Poorthing Lane swelledinto a steady roar.
Among the sound sleepers in that region was Miss Deemas. The fair headof that lady reposed on its soft pillow all unconscious of the fact thatshe was even then being gently smoked before being roasted alive.
Miss Tippet, on the very first note of alarm, bounced out of bed with anemphatic "There!" which was meant to announce the triumphant fulfilmentof an old prophecy which she had been in the habit of making for sometime past; namely, that Matty Merryon would certainly set the house onfire if she did not take care!
The energy with which Miss Tippet sprang to the floor and exclaimed"There!" caused Emma Ward to open her eyes to the utmost possibleextent, and exclaim, "Where?"
Without waiting for a reply she too bounded out of bed like anindiarubber ball, and seeing (for there was always a night-light in theroom) that Miss Tippet's face was as white as her night-dress, sheattempted to shriek, but failed, owing to a lump of some kind that hadgot somehow into her throat, and which refused to be swallowed on anyterms.
The repetition of the cry, "Fire! fire!" outside, induced both ladies atonce to become insane. Miss Tippet, with a touch of method even in hermadness, seized the counterpane, wrapped it round her, and rushed out ofthe room and downstairs. Emma followed her example with a blanket, andalso fled, just as Matty Merryon, who slept in an attic room above,tumbled down her wooden staircase and burst into the room by anotherdoor, uttering a wild exclamation that was choked in the bud partly byterror, partly by smoke. Attempting in vain to wrap herself in abolster, Matty followed her mistress. All three had utterly forgottenthe existence of Miss Deemas. That strong-minded lady being, as we havehinted, a sound sleeper, was not awakened by the commotion in thestreet. In fact, she was above such weaknesses. Becoming aware of acrackling sound and a sensation of smoke, she smiled sweetly in herslumbers, and, turning gently on her other side, with a sigh, dreamedardently of fried ham and eggs--her usual breakfast.
While these events were occurring the cry of fire had reached the earsof one of London's guardians; our friend Samuel Forest. Thatstout-hearted man was seated at the time rapping the sides of hissentry-box with his head, in a useless struggle with sleep. He had justsuccumbed, and was snoring out his allegiance to the great conqueror,when the policeman on the beat dashed open his door and shouted "Fire!"
Sam was a calm, self-possessed man. He was no more flurried by thissudden, unexpected, and fierce shout of "Fire," than he would have beenif the policeman had in a mild voice made a statement of water. But,although self-possessed and cool, Sam was not slow. With one energeticeffort he tripped up and floored the conqueror with one hand, as itwere, while he put on his black helmet with the other, and in threeminutes more the fire-escape was seen coming up the lane like a rampantmonster of the antediluvian period.
It was received by the crowd with frantic cheers, because they had justbecome aware that a lady was asleep in one of the upper rooms, whichwere by that time unapproachable, owing to the lower part of thestaircase having caught fire.
The fact was made known with a sudden look of horror by Miss Tippet,who, with Emma Ward, had been rescued from the first-floor window by agallant policeman. This man, having procured a ladder, entered thehouse at considerable personal risk, and carried the ladies out insafety, one after the other; an event, we may remark in passing, whichis not of rare occurrence at London fires, where the police are notedfor their efficient services and for the daring of some of the membersof the force, many of whom have received medals and other rewards foracts of personal daring in attempting to save life before the firemenhad arrived on the ground.
Having put Miss Tippet and Emma in a place of security, the policemanwas about to make a desperate attempt to reach the upper floor byrushing through the flames, when the escape came up and rendered itunnecessary.
Dozens of tongues and hundreds of voices directed Sam Forest to theright window. He pointed his escape towards it, but so vigorous was theuninvited assistance lent by the crowd that the head of the machine wentcrashing through it and dashed the frame into the middle of the room.
To say that Miss Deemas was horror-struck by such an awakening would beto use a mild expression. Her strong mind was not strong enough toprevent her strong body from trembling like an aspen leaf, as she layfor a few moments unable to cry or move. Suddenly she believed that shewas dreaming, and that the instrument which had burst through her windowwas a nightmare or a guillotine, and she made dreadful efforts to pinchherself awake without success. Next moment a man's head, looking verygrim in the light of a bull's-eye lamp, appeared at the top of theguillotine. So far this was in keeping with her idea; but when the headleapt into the room, followed by its relative body, and made a rush ather, Miss Deemas cast courage and philosophy to the dogs, gave herselfover to abject fear, uttered a piercing shriek, dipped her head underthe bedclothes, and, drawing her knees up to her mouth, clasped herhands over them in agony.
"Come, ma'am, don't take on so; no time to lose; floor's goin' down!"said Sam. He coughed as he said it, for the smoke was getting thickerevery moment.
Shriek upon shriek was the only answer vouchsafed by the terrifiedEagle. A wild cheer from the mob outside seemed to be a reply ofencouragement to her; but it was not so; it was called forth by thesudden appearance of a fire-engine dashing round the corner of the lane.
"Be quiet, my good lady," said Sam Forest in a voice of tenderness; butif his voice was tender his actions were the reverse, for it was now amatter of life or death; so he grasped the Eagle, bedclothes and all, inhis arms, and bore her to the window.
It is probable that this act revived in Miss Deemas some reminiscencesof her childhood, for she suddenly straightened herself out andstruggled violently, after the manner of those sweet little ones who_won't_ be made to sit on nurse's knees. Being a tall, heavy woman, shestruggled out of Sam's grasp and fell to the floor; but her victory wasshort-lived. Another moment and that bold man had her round the waist,in a grasp from which she could not free herself. Sam was considerate,however, and polite even in this extremity. He begged pardon as hewrapped the bedclothes round his victim, and lifting her into the headof the escape, let her go.
No swoop that the Eagle ever made (mentally) down upon base, unworthy,arrogant man, was at all comparable to the descent which she made(physically) on that occasion into the arms of an expectant fireman!She held her breath, also the blankets, tightly, as she went down like alightning-flash, and felt that she was about to be dashed to pieces, butto her surprise soft cushions received her, and she was immediatelyborne, by another of these desperate men in helmets, into an adjoininghouse, and left unhurt in the arms of her sympathetic friend MissTippet.
"Oh, my dear, _dear_ Julia!" exclaimed Miss Tippet, shutting the door ofthe room into which they had been ushered, and assisting her friend todisentangle herself from the bedclothes. "Oh! what a mercy we've notall been roasted alive like beef steaks--or--oh! _what_ a sight you are,my darling! You must have got it coming down that dreadful thing--thewhat's-'is-name, you know. Shall I ring for water?"
"Tut, nonsense!" exclaimed the Eagle, panting as well from nervousexcitement as exhaustion; "you are always so fussy, Emelina. Pleaseassist me to tie this string, Miss Ward."
"Yes, I know I'm fussy, dear Julia!" exclaimed Miss Tippet, bustlingnervously about the room; "but I can't help it, and I'm so thankfulfor--; but it was so bold in these noble fellows to risk their
livesto--"
"Noble fellows!" shouted Miss Deemas, with flashing eyes, "d'you call itnoble to pull me out of bed, and roll me in a blanket and shoot me downa--a--I don't know what, like a sack of coals? Noble fellows, indeed!Brutes!"
Here Miss Deemas clasped her hands above her head in a passion ofconflicting feelings, and, being unable to find words for utterance,burst into a flood of tears, dropped into a chair, and covered her facewith both hands.
"Dear, dear, _darling_ Julia!" said Miss Tippet soothingly.
"Don't speak to me!" sobbed the Eagle passionately, and stamping herfoot; "I can't bear to think of it."
"But you know, dear," persevered her friend, "they could not helpbeing--being--what d'you call it?--energetic, you know, for it was notrough. We should all have been roasted to death but for them, and Ifeel very, _very_ grateful to them. I shall respect that policeman aslong as I live."
"Ah, sure an' he _is_ a dacent boy now," said Matty Merryon, who enteredthe room just then; "the way he lifted you an' Miss Emma up an' flung yeover his showlder, as aisy as if ye was two bolsters, was beautiful tolook at; indade it was. Shure it remimbered me o' the purty pottery yewas readin' just the other night, as was writ by O'Dood or O'Hood--"
"Hood," suggested Miss Tippet.
"P'r'aps it was," said Matty; "he'd be none the worse of an O before hisname anyhow. But the pottery begood with--`Take her up tinderly, lifther with care,' if I don't misremimber."
"_Will_ you hold your tongue!" cried the Eagle, looking up suddenly anddrying her eyes.
"Surely, miss," said Matty, with a toss of her head; "anything to plaizeye."
It is due to Matty to say that, while the policeman was descending theladder with her mistress, she had faithfully remained to comfort andencourage Emma; and after Emma was rescued she had quietly descended theladder without assistance, having previously found time to clotheherself in something a little more ample and appropriate than a bolster.
But where was David Boone all this time? Rather say, where was he not?Everywhere by turns, and nowhere long, was David to be seen, in thefrenzy of his excitement. Conscience-smitten, for what he had done, orrather intended to do, he ran wildly about, making the most desperateefforts to extinguish the fire.
No one knows what he can do till he is tried. That is a proverb (atleast if it is not it ought to be) which embraces much deep truth. Theway in which David Boone set personal danger at defiance, and seemed toregard suffocation by smoke or roasting by fire as terminations of lifeworth courting, was astounding, and rendered his friends and neighboursdumb with amazement.
David was now on the staircase among the firemen, fighting his way upthrough fire and smoke, for the purpose of saving Miss Tippet, until hewas hauled forcibly back by Dale or Baxmore--who were in the thick of itas usual. Anon, down in the basement, knee-deep in water, searching forthe bodies of his two shopmen, both of whom were standing comfortablyoutside, looking on. Presently he was on the leads of the adjoininghouse, directing, commanding, exhorting, entreating, the firemen thereto point their branch at the "blue bedroom." Soon after he was in thestreet, tearing his hair, shouting that it was all his fault; that hedid it, and that it would kill him.
Before the fire was put out, poor Boone's eyelashes and whiskers weresinged off; little hair was left on his head, and that little was shortand frizzled. His clothes, of course, were completely soaked; inaddition to which, they were torn almost to shreds, and some of his skinwas in the same condition. At last he had to be forcibly taken incharge, and kept shut up in an adjoining house, from the window of whichhe watched the destruction of his property and his hopes.
Almost superhuman efforts had been made by the firemen to save thehouse. Many a house in London had they saved that year, partially orwholly; as, indeed, is the case every year, and many thousands ofpounds' worth of property had they rescued; but this case utterly defiedthem. So well had the plot been laid; so thoroughly had thecombustibles been distributed and lubricated with inflammable liquids,that all the engines in the metropolis would have failed to extinguishthat fire.
David Boone knew this, and he groaned in spirit. The firemen knew itnot, and they worked like heroes.
There was a shout at last among the firemen to "look out!" It wasfeared one of the partition walls was coming down, so each man beat ahasty retreat. They swarmed out at the door like bees, and were allsafe when the wall fell--all safe, but one, Joe Corney, who, being areckless man, took things too leisurely, and was knocked down by thefalling bricks.
Moxey and Williams ran back, and carried him out of danger. Then,seeing that he did not recover consciousness, although he breathed, theycarried him at once to the hospital. The flames of the burning housesprang up, just then, as if they leaped in triumph over a fallen foe;but the polished surface of poor Joe's helmet seemed to flash backdefiance at the flames as they bore him away.
After the partition wall fell, the fire sank, and in the course of a fewhours it was extinguished altogether. But nothing whatever was saved,and the firemen had only the satisfaction of knowing that they had donetheir best, and had preserved the adjoining houses, which wouldcertainly have gone, but for their untiring energy.
By this time, David Boone, besides being mad, was in a raging fever.The tenant of the house to which he had been taken was a friend, as wellas a neighbour of his own--a greengrocer, named Mrs Craw, and sheturned out to be a good Samaritan, for she insisted on keeping Boone inher house, and nursing him; asserting stoutly, and with a very red face(she almost always asserted things stoutly, and with a red face), thatMister Boone was one of 'er best an' holdest friends, as she wouldn'tsee 'im go to a hospital on charity--which she despised, so she did--aslong as there was a spare bed in her 'ouse, so there was--which itwasn't as long as could be wished, considerin' Mister Boone's height;but that could be put right by knocking out the foot-board, and twocheers, so it could--and as long she had one copper to rub on another;no, though she was to be flayed alive for her hospitality. By whichround statement, Mrs Craw was understood to imply a severe rebuke toMrs Grab--another greengrocer over the way (and a widow)--who had beenheard to say, during the progress of the fire, that it served Booneright, and that she wouldn't give him a helping hand in his distress onany account whatever.
Why Mrs Grab was so bitter and Mrs Craw so humane is a matter ofuncertainty; but it was generally believed that the former having had amatrimonial eye on Boone, and that Boone having expressed generalobjections to matrimony--besides having gone of late to Mrs Craw forhis vegetables--had something to do with it.
Next day, D. Gorman happened, quite in a casual way of course, tosaunter into Poorthing Lane; and it was positively interesting to note--as many people did note--the surprise and consternation with which hereceived the news of the fire from the people at the end of the lane whofirst met him, and who knew him well.
"Wery sad, ain't it, sir?" said a sympathetic barber. "He was sitch adroll dog too. He'll be quite a loss to the neighbourhood; won't he,sir?"
"I hope he won't," said Gorman, loud enough to be heard by severalpersons who lounged about their doors. "I hope to see him start afresh,an' git on better than ever, poor fellow; at least, I'll do all _I_ canto help him."
"Ah! you've helped him already, sir, more than once, I believe; at leastso he told me," said the barber, with an approving nod.
"Well, so I have," returned Gorman modestly, "but he may be assured thatany trifle he owes me won't be called for just now. In fact, my smallloan to him is an old debt, which I might have got any time these lastsix years, when he was flourishing; so I'm not going to press him now,poor fellow. He's ill, you say?"
"Yes, so I'm told; raither serious too."
"That's very sad; where is he?"
"With Mrs Craw, sir, the greengrocer."
"Ah, I'll go and see him. Good-day."
Gorman passed on, with as much benignity thrown into his countenance asit could contain; and the barber observed, as he re-entered his sh
op,that, "that man was a better fellow than he looked."
But Gorman's intentions, whatever they might have been, were frustratedat that time; for he found Boone in high fever, and quite delirious. Hedid not, however, quit the house without putting, as he expressed it, atleast one spoke in his wheel; for he conducted himself in such a waytowards Mrs Craw, and expressed so much feeling for her friend "andhis," that he made quite a favourable impression on that worthy woman.He also left a sovereign, wherewith to purchase any little luxuries forthe sick man, that might be conducive to his health and comfort, andwent away with the assurance that he would look in to inquire for him asoften as he could.