CHAPTER NINE.
AUCTIONS AND GYMNASTICS.
As the brothers drew near to the busy region of the City which lies tothe north of London Bridge; Frank turned aside into one of the narrowstreets that diverge from the main thoroughfare.
"Where are ye goin'?" inquired Willie.
"There was a fire here last night," said Frank; "I want to have a lookat the damage."
"A fire!" exclaimed Willie. "Why, Blazes, it strikes me there's binmore fires than usual last night in London."
"Only two, lad."
"_Only_ two! How many would you have?" asked Willie with a laugh.
"Don't you know," said Frank, "that we have about four fires _every_night? Sometimes more, sometimes fewer. Of course, we don't _all_ ofus turn out to them; but some of the brigade turn out to that number, onan average, every night of the year."
"Are ye jokin', Frank?"
"Indeed I am not. I wish with all my heart I could say that I wasjoking. It's a fact, boy. You know I have not been long in the force,yet I've gone to as many as six fires in one night, and we _often_ go totwo or three. The one we are going to see the remains of just now wastoo far from us for our engine to turn out; but we got the call to senda man on, and I was sent. When I arrived and reported myself to MrBraidwood, the two top floors were burnt out, and the fire was nearlygot under. There were three engines, and the men were up on thewindow-sills of the second-floor with the branches, playin' on the lastof the flames, while the men of the salvage-corps were getting thefurniture out of the first floor. Conductor Brown was there with hisescape, and had saved a whole family from the top floor, just before Iarrived. He had been changed from his old station at the West End thatvery day. He's a wonderful fellow, that conductor! Many a life he hassaved; but, indeed, the same may be said of most of the men in theforce, especially the old hands. Here we are, lad. This is the house."
Frank stopped, as he spoke, in front of a ruined tenement, or rather, infront of the gap which was now strewn with the charred and blackened_debris_ of what had once been a house. The street in which it stoodwas a narrow, mean one, inhabited by a poor, and, to judge fromappearance, a dissipated class. The remains of the house were guardedby policemen, while a gang of men were engaged in digging among theruins, which still smoked a little here and there.
"What are they diggin' for?" asked Willie.
"I fear they are looking for dead bodies. The house was let out tolodgers, and swarmed with people. At first it was thought that all weresaved; but just before I was ordered home after the fire was got under,some one said that an old man and his grandchild were missing. Isuppose they're looking for them now."
On inquiring of a policeman, however, Frank learned that the remains ofthe old man and his grandchild had already been found, and that theywere searching for the bodies of others who were missing. A littlebeyond the spot where the fire had occurred, a crowd was gathered rounda man who stood on a chair haranguing them, with apparently considerableeffect, for ever and anon his observations were received with cries of"Hear, hear," and laughter. Going along the middle of the narrowstreet, in order to avoid the smell of the old-clothes'-shops andpawnbrokers, as well as the risk of contact with their wares, Frank andWillie elbowed their way through the crowd to within a few yards of thespeaker.
"What is he?" inquired Frank of a rather dissipated elderly woman.
"He's a clown or a hacrobat, or somethink of that sort, in one of thetheatres or music-'alls. He's bin burnt out o' his 'ome last night,an's a-sellin' off all he's been able to save, by hauction."
"Come; now, ladies an' gents," cried the clown, taking up a ratherseedy-looking great-coat, which he held aloft with one hand, and pointedto it with the other, "Who's agoin' to bid for this 'ere garment--ahextra superfine, double-drilled, kershimere great-coat, fresh from thelooms o' Tuskany--at least it was fresh from 'em ten years ago (that waswhen my grandfather was made Lord Mayor of London), an' its bin renewingits youth (the coat, not the Lord Mayor) ever since. It's more glossy,I do assure you, ladies and gents, than w'en it fust comed from thelooms, by reason of the pile havin' worn off; and you'll obsarve thatthe glossiness is most beautiful and brightest about the elbows an' theseams o' the back. Who bids for this 'ere venerable garment? Six bob?Come now, don't all bid at once. Who said six bob?"
No reply being made to this, except a laugh, the clown (who, by the way,wore a similarly glossy great-coat, with a hat to match) protested thathis ears must have deceived him, or his imagination had been whisperinghopeful things--which was not unlikely, for his imagination was a verypowerful one--when he noticed Frank's tall figure among the crowd.
"Come now, fireman, this is the wery harticle you wants. You comed outto buy it, I know, an' 'ere it is, by a strange coincidence, ready-madeto hand. What d'ye bid? Six bob? Or say five. I know you've got awife an' a large family o' young firemen to keep, so I'll let it gocheap. P'raps it's too small for you; but that's easy put right.You've only got to slit it up behind to the neck, which is a' infalliblecure for a tight fit, an' you can let down the cuffs, which is double,an' if it's short you can cut off the collar, an' sew it on to theskirts. It's water-proof, too, and fire-proof, patent asbestos. W'enit's dirty you've got nothin' to do but walk into the fire, an' it'llcome out noo. W'en it's thoroughly wet on the houtside, turn it hinsidehout, an' there you are, to all appearance as dry as bone. What! youwon't have it at no price? Well, now, I'll tempt you. I'll make it_two_ bob."
"Say one," cried a baker, who had been listening to this, with a broadgrin on his floury countenance.
"Ladies and gents," cried the clown, drawing himself up with dignity;"there's an individual in this crowd--I beg parden, this assemblage--asasks me to say `one.' I _do_ say `one,' an' I say it with melancholyfeelin's as to the liberality of my species. One bob! A feller-man ashas bin burnt hout of 'is 'ome an' needs ready money to keep 'im fromstarvation, offers his best great-coat--a hextra superfine,double-drilled (or milled, I forget w'ich) kershimere, from the looms o'Tuskany--for one bob!"
"One-an'-six," muttered an old-clothes-man, with a black cotton sack onhis shoulder.
"One-an'-six," echoed the clown with animation; "one-an'-six bid;one-an'-six. Who said one-an'-seven? Was it the gent with the rednose?--No, one-an'-six; goin' at the ridiculously low figure ofone-an'-six--gone! as the old 'ooman said w'en her cat died o'apple-plexy. Here you are; hand over the money. I can't knock it downto you, 'cause I haven't a hauctioneer's 'ammer. Besides, it's agin' myprinciples. I've never knocked nothin' down, not even a skittle, sinceI joined the Peace Society.
"Now, ladies an' gents, the next thing I've got to hoffer is aharm-chair. Hand up the harmchair, Jim."
A very antique piece of furniture was handed up by a little boy, whomWillie recognised as the little boy who had once conversed with him infront of the chocolate-shop in Holborn Hill.
"Thank you, my son," said the clown, taking the chair with one hand andpatting the boy's head with the other; "this, ladies and gents," headded in a parenthetical tone, "is my son; _he's_ bin burnt hout of'ouse an' 'ome, too! Now, then, who bids for the old harm-chair? thewery identical harm-chair that the song was written about. In theembrace o' this 'ere chair has sat for generations past the family o'the Cattleys--that's _my_ name, ladies an gents, at your service. Heresat my great-great-grandfather, who was used to say that hisgreat-grandfather sat in it too. Here sat his son, and his son's son--the Lord Mayor as was--and his son, my father, ladies and gents, whodied in it besides, and whose son now hoffers it to the 'ighest bidder.You'll observe its antiquity, ladies an' gents. That's its beauty.It's what I may call, in the language of the haristocracy, a harticle of_virtoo_, w'ich means that it's a harticle as is surrounded by virtuousmemories in connection with the defunct. Now then, say five bob for thehold harm-chair!"
While the clown was endeavouring to get the chair disposed of, Williepushed his way to the side of Jim Cattley.
"I say, youngst
er, would you like a cup o' chocolate?" began Willie byway of recalling to the boy their former meeting.
Jim, whose face wore a sad and dispirited look, turned angrily and said,"Come, I don't want none o' your sauce!"
"It ain't sauce I'm talkin' of, it's chocolate," retorted Willie. "Butcome, Jim, I don't want to bother ye. I'm sorry to see you an yer dadin sitch a fix. Have you lost much?"
"It's not what we've lost that troubles us," said Jim, softened byWillie's sympathetic tone more than by his words; "but sister Ziza istook bad, an' she's a fairy at Drury Lane, an' takin' her down thefire-escape has well-nigh killed her, an' we've got sitch a cold dampcellar of a place to put her in, that I don't think she'll get better atall; anyhow, she'll lose her engagement, for she can't make two speechesan' go up in a silver cloud among blue fire with the 'flooenzer, an 'er'air all but singed off 'er 'ead."
Jim almost whimpered at this point, and Willie, quitting his sideabruptly, went back to Frank (who was still standing an amused auditorof the clown), and demanded a shilling.
"What for, lad?"
"Never you mind, Blazes; but give me the bob, an' I'll pay you backbefore the week's out."
Frank gave him a shilling, with which he at once returned to Jim, andthrusting it into his hand, said:
"There, Jim, your dad's hard up just now. Go you an' get physic withthat for the fairy. Them 'floo-enzers is ticklish things to play with.Where d'ye stop?"
"Well, you _are_ a queer 'un; thank'ee all the same," said Jim,pocketing the shilling. "We've got a sort o' cellar just two doors easto' the burnt 'ouse. Why?"
"'Cause I'll come an' see you, Jim. I'd like to see a live fairy inplain clo'se, with her wings off--"
The rest of the sentence was cut short by the clown, who, havingdisposed of the old arm-chair to a chimney-sweep, ordered Jim to "'andup another harticle." At the same moment Frank touched Willie on theshoulder, and said, "Let's go, lad; I'll be late, I fear, for thegymnastics."
At the period of which we write, the then Chief of the London FireBrigade, Mr Braidwood, had introduced a system of gymnastic trainingamong the firemen, which he had found from experience to be a mostuseful exercise to fit the men for the arduous work they had to perform.Before going to London to take command of and reorganise the brigadewhich then went by the name of the London Fire-Engine Establishment, andwas in a very unsatisfactory condition, Mr Braidwood had, for a longperiod, been chief of the Edinburgh Fire Brigade, which he had broughtto a state of great efficiency. Taking the requirements and conditionsof the service in Edinburgh into consideration, he had come to theconclusion that the best men for the work in that city were masons,house-carpenters, slaters, and suchlike; but these men, when at theirordinary employments, being accustomed to bring only certain musclesinto full play, were found to have a degree of stiffness in theirgeneral movements which prevented them from performing their duty asfiremen with that ease and celerity which are so desirable. To obviatethis evil he instituted the gymnastic exercises, which, by bringing allthe muscles of the body into action, and by increasing the developmentof the frame generally, rendered the men lithe and supple, and in everyway more fitted for the performance of duties in which their livesfrequently depended on their promptitude and vigour.
In addition to these advantages, it was found that those exercises gavethe men confidence when placed in certain situations of danger. "Forexample," writes Mr Braidwood, "a fireman untrained in gymnastics, onthe third or fourth floor of a burning house, with the branch in hishands, who is uncertain as to his means of escape, in the event of hisreturn by the stair being cut off, will be too much concerned about hisown safety to render much service, and will certainly not be half soefficient as the experienced gymnast, who, with a hatchet and eightyfeet of rope at his waist, and a window near him, feels himself incomparative security, knowing that he has the means and the power oflowering himself easily and safely into the street"--a knowledge whichnot only gives him confidence, but enables him to give his undistractedattention to the exigencies of the fire.
It was to attend this gymnastic class that Frank now turned aside, andproposed to bid Willie goodbye; but Willie begged to be taken into theroom. Frank complied, and the boy soon found himself in an apartmentfitted up with all the appliances of a gymnasium, where a number ofpowerful young men were leaping, vaulting, climbing, and in other waysimproving their physical powers. Frank joined them, and for a long timeWillie stood in rapt and envious contemplation of the busy scene.
At first he could not avoid feeling that there seemed a good deal moreof play than business in their doings; but his admiration of the scenedeepened when he remembered the bold acts of the firemen at BeverlySquare, and recognised some of the faces of the men who had been on dutythere, and reflected that these very men, _who seemed thus to be playingthemselves_, would on that very night, in all probability, be calledupon to exert these powers sternly and seriously, yet coolly, in themidst of scenes of terror and confusion, and in the face of imminentpersonal danger.
Brooding over these things, Willie, having at length torn himself away,hastened on his pilgrimage to London Bridge.