THE STORY OF FIREMAN FORD.
In the waiting room at the head quarters of the London Fire Brigade, in Southwark Street, London, is an oak board on which are fixed a number of brass tablets, bearing the names of men who are entitled to a place on this "Roll of Honour".
From amongst these let us take one, and tell briefly what befell him. It will serve as a sample of the dangers which beset the fireman daily in the pursuit of his duty.
"Joseph Andrew Ford," so runs the official record, "lost his life at a fire which occurred at 98 Gray's Inn Road, at about 2 a.m. on the 7th of October, 1871.
"Ford was on duty with the fire escape stationed at Bedford Row, and he was called to the fire a few minutes before 2 a.m., and proceeded there with the utmost speed.
"Before he reached the fire, three persons had been rescued by the police, who took them down from the second-floor window by means of a builder's ladder; and, on his arrival, there were seven persons in the third floor, six in the left-hand window, and one in the right-hand window.
"He pitched his escape to the left-hand window, and with great difficulty and much exertion and skill succeeded in getting the six persons out safely (the woman in the right-hand window being in the meanwhile rescued by the next escape that arrived, in charge of fireman W. Attwood); and Ford was in the act of coming down himself when he became enveloped in flame and smoke, which burst out of the first-floor window; and, after some struggling in the wire netting, he fell to the pavement.
"Ford was evidently coming down the shoot when his axe handle or some of his accoutrements became entangled in the wire netting; so that, to clear himself, he had to break through, and, while struggling to do so, he got so severely burned that his recovery was hopeless.
"It was a work of no ordinary skill and difficulty to save so many persons in the few moments available for the purpose; and, when it is mentioned that some of them were very old and crippled, it is no exaggeration to say that it would be impossible to praise too highly Ford's conduct on this occasion, which has resulted so disastrously to himself.
"He was thirty-one years of age when he met his death, and he left a wife and two children to mourn his loss."
That's all the official record says—simple, calm, straightforward—like Joseph Ford's conduct on that night.
I suppose that next morning two pairs of bright little eyes were on the watch for Joseph Ford; and perchance four pattering feet ran to the door when the knock came; and that two little minds dimly realised that father had been called to a far-off country, where some day they would see him. And it may be that a brave woman, into whose life the sunlight had shined, was stricken with grief and bowed down. But all I know for certain is, that Joseph Ford died in the performance of his duty. He did a brave night's work. Six lives saved from the angry flames—old and crippled some of the terror-stricken folk were—and he took them down so carefully, so tenderly, and landed them all safely below.
His work was over. He had saved every life he could; and glad of heart, if weary of limb, he turned with a thankful mind to do just the simplest thing in the world—viz., to descend the escape he had been down so many times before.
He was young and strong; safety was only thirty feet or so below; and the people were waiting to welcome and cheer the victor.
Only thirty feet between him and safety! Yet the man was "fairly roasted" in the escape.
Men have been burnt at the stake and tortured, and limbs have been stretched on the rack, and people have been maimed by thumbscrews and bootscrews, and put inside iron figures with nails that tear and pierce. All this have they suffered in pursuit of duty, or at the bidding of conscience; and of such and of brave Joseph Ford there comes to us across the ages—a saying spoken long ago, to the effect that "he that loseth his life shall save it": and we need to remember that saying in such cases as that of Fireman Ford.