“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the mayor, raising himself on tiptoe, and stretching his short neck in a vain endeavour to peep through the loop-hole, “it must be a fire in West Street!”
Two or three of the by-standers immediately rushed into the street, calling out, “A fire in West Street! send for the engines”.
At this moment Freddy caught the eye of a tall, gaunt-looking man in a top-boot and plush breeches, but without coat or waistcoat, and wearing a gold-laced cocked hat on his head, hind part before, from beneath which peeped out a white cotton night-cap. Having succeeded in attracting the attention of this worthy, who in his proper person supported the dignity of parish beadle, Coleman repeated the same stratagem he had so successfully practised upon the mayor, save that in this instance he pointed to a loop-hole in a completely opposite direction to the one he had indicated previously. The beadle immediately ran out, muttering ere he did so, “I was certain sure as they was all wrong”.—In another minute we heard him shouting, “It's in Middle Street, I tell you, there's a fire in Middle Street!”
Coleman now turned to the mayor, who, having somewhat recovered his breath, was evidently preparing to question the sexton as to the particulars of the affair, and exclaimed in a tone of deep feeling, “I am surprised to see a person of your high station standing idle at a moment like this! take a rope, sir, and lend a hand to assist us, if you be a man”.
“To be sure, to be sure,” was the reply, “anything for the good of the town,” and, grasping an unoccupied rope, he began pulling away with all his might.
The hubbub and confusion now became something unparalleled—people without number kept running in and out of the tower, giving and receiving all kinds of contradictory orders; volunteers had been found to assist us, and the whole peal of eight bells was clashing and clanging away above the tumult, and spreading the alarm farther and wider; men on horseback were arriving from the country eager to render assistance; women were screaming, dogs barking, children crying; and, to crown the whole, a violent and angry debate was being carried on by the more influential members of the crowd as to the quarter in which the supposed conflagration was raging—one party loudly declaring it was in Middle Street, while the other as vehemently protested it was in West Street.
The confusion had apparently attained its highest pitch, and the noise was perfectly deafening, when suddenly a shout was raised, “The engines! clear the way for the engines!” and in another moment the scampering of the crowd in all directions, the sound of horses' feet galloping, and the rattle of wheels, announced their approach. While all this was going on Coleman had contrived silently and unperceived to substitute two of the by-standers in my place and his own, so that Lawless was the only one of our party actually engaged in ringing. Seizing the moment, therefore, when the shout of “The engines!” had attracted the attention of the loiterers, he touched him on the shoulder, saying, “Now's our time, come along,” and, joining a party who were going out, we reached the door of the bell-tower unobserved.
The scene which presented itself to our view as we gained the open street would require the pencil of a Wilkie, or the pen of a Dickens, to describe. The street widened in front of the bell-tower, so as to make a kind of square. In the centre of the space thus formed stood the fire-engine drawn by four post-horses, the post-boys sitting erect in their saddles, ready to dash forward the moment the firemen (who in their green coats faced with red, and shining leather helmets, imparted a somewhat military character to the scene) should succeed in ascertaining the place at which their assistance was required. The crowd, which had opened to admit the passage of the engine, immediately closed round it again in an apparently impenetrable phalanx, the individual members of which afforded as singular a variety of costume as can well be imagined, extending from the simple shirt of propriety to the decorated uniforms of the fire-brigade. As every one who had an opinion to give was bawling it out at the very top of his voice, whilst those who had none contented themselves by shouting vague sentences devoid of particular meaning of any kind, the noise and tumult were such as beggared description. There was one short, stout, red-faced little fellow (for I succeeded in catching sight of him at last) with a mouth of such fearful dimensions that when it was open the upper half of his head appeared a mere lid, whose intellects being still partially under the dominion of sleep, evidently imagined himself at the Election, which had taken place a short time previously, and continued strenuously vociferating the name of his favourite candidate, though the cry of “Judkins for ever!” did not tend greatly to elucidate matters. Suddenly, and at the very height of the confusion, the bells ceased ringing, and for a moment, as if influenced by some supernatural power, the crowd to a man became silent.