Fighting the Flames

by R. M. Ballantyne

Bravely and perseveringly though this was done, it availed not, for nothing could withstand the fury of the fire. The warehouse caught, and was soon a glowing mass like the others, while the flames raged with such violence that their roaring drowned the shouting of men, and the more distant roar of the innumerable multitude that densely covered London Bridge, and clustered on every eminence from which a safe view of the great fire could be obtained.

The floating fire-engines had now been at work for some time, and the men in charge of their branches were suffering greatly from the intense heat. About this time, nearly seven o’clock in the evening, Mr Braidwood went to these men to give them a word of encouragement. He proceeded down one of the approaches to the river from Tooley Street, and stopped when nearly half way to give some directions, when a sudden and tremendous explosion, took place, shaking the already tottering walls, which at this place were of great height. A cry was raised, “Run! the wall is falling!” Every one sprang away at the word. The wall bulged out at the same time; and one of the firemen, seeing that Mr Braidwood was in imminent danger, made a grasp at him as he was springing from the spot; but the heavy masses of brick-work dashed him away, and, in another moment, the gallant chief of the Fire Brigade lay buried under at least fifteen feet of burning ruin.

Any attempt at rescue would have been impossible as well as unavailing, for death must have been instantaneous. The hero’s warfare with the flames, which had lasted for upwards of thirty-eight years, was ended; and his brave spirit returned to God Who gave it.

That a man of no ordinary note had fallen was proved, before many hours had passed, by the deep and earnest feeling of sorrow and sympathy which was manifested by all classes in London, from Queen Victoria downwards, as well as by the public funeral which took place a few days afterwards, at which were present the Duke of Sutherland, the Earl of Caithness, the Reverend Doctor Cumming, and many gentlemen connected with the insurance offices; the committee and men of the London Fire Brigade; also those of various private and local brigades; the secretary and conductors of the Royal Society for the Protection of Life from Fire; the mounted Metropolitan and City police; the London Rifle Brigade (of which Mr Braidwood’s three sons were members); the superintendents and men of the various water companies; and a long string of private and mourning carriages: to witness the progress of which hundreds of thousands of people densely crowded the streets and clustered in the windows and on every available eminence along the route; while in Cheapside almost all the shops were shut and business was suspended; and in the neighbourhood of Shoreditch toiling thousands of artisans came forth from factory and workshop to “see the last of Braidwood,” whose name had been so long familiar to them as a “household word.” The whole heart of London seemed to have been moved by one feeling, and the thousands who thronged the streets “had” (in the language of one of the papers of the day) “gathered together to witness the funeral, not of a dead monarch, not of a great warrior, not of a distinguished statesman, not even of a man famous in art, in literature, or in science, but simply of James Braidwood, late superintendent of the London Fire-Engine Establishment”—a true hero, and one who was said, by those who knew him best, to be an earnest Christian man.

But at the moment of his fall his men were engaged in the thick of battle. Crushing though the news of his death was, there was no breathing time to realise it.

The fierce heat had not only driven back the firemen on shore, but had compelled the floating fire-engines to haul off, in consequence of the flaming matter which poured over the wharf wall and covered the surface of the river the entire length of the burning warehouses; while the whole of the carriageway of Tooley Street was ankle deep in hot oil and tallow. After the fall of their Chief, Messrs Henderson and Fogo, two of the principal officers of the brigade, did their utmost to direct the energies of the men.

Night closed in, and the flames continued to rage in all their fury and magnificence. News of this great fire spread with the utmost rapidity over the metropolis. Indeed, it was visible at Hampstead while it was yet daylight. When darkness set in, one of the most extraordinary scenes that London ever produced was witnessed. From all quarters the people came pouring in, on foot, in omnibus, cab, pleasure-van, cart, and waggon—all converging to London Bridge. At nine o’clock the bridge and its approaches presented all the appearance of the Epsom Road on the Derby Day. Cabs and ’buses plied backwards and forwards on the bridge all night, carrying an unlimited number of passengers at 2 pence and 3 pence each, and thousands of persons spent the night in thus passing to and fro. The railway terminus, Billingsgate Market, the roof of the Coal Exchange, the Monument, the quays, the windows, the house-tops, the steeples, and the chimney-stalks—all were crowded with human beings, whose eager upturned faces were rendered intensely bright against the surrounding darkness by the fierce glare of the fire. But the Thames presented the most singular appearance of all—now reflecting on its bosom the inky black clouds of smoke; anon the red flames, as fresh fuel was licked up by the devouring element, and, occasionally, sheets of silver light that flashed through the chaos when sulphur and saltpetre explosions occurred. Mountains of flame frequently burst away from the mass of burning buildings and floated upward for a few moments, and the tallow and tar which flowed out of the warehouses floated away blazing with the tide and set the shipping on fire, so that land and water alike seemed to be involved in one huge terrific conflagration.

The utmost consternation prevailed on board the numerous craft on the river in the vicinity of the fire, for thick showers of sparks and burning materials fell incessantly. Gusts of wind acted on the ruins now and then, and at such moments the gaunt walls, cracked and riven out of shape, stood up, glowing with intense white heat in the midst of a sea of fire from which red flames and dark clouds of smoke were vomited, as from the crater of some mighty volcano, with a roar that mingled with the shouts of excited thousands, and drowned even the dull incessant thumpings of the engines that worked in all directions.

Moored alongside of Chamberlain’s Wharf was a small sloop. Little blue blisters of light broke out on her rigging; soon these increased in size, and in a few minutes she was on fire from stem to stern. Immediately after, there came a barge with flowing sails, borne on the rising tide. She passed too near to the conflagration. Her crew of three men became panic-stricken and lost control of her. At sight of this a great shout was raised, and a boat put off and rescued the crew; but almost before they were landed their barge was alight from stem to stern. The tremendous cheer that burst from the excited multitude at sight of this rescue rose for a moment above the roaring of the conflagration. Then another barge was set on fire by the blazing tallow which floated out to her, but she was saved by being scuttled.

In the midst of such a scene it was to be expected that there would be damage to life and limb. The firemen, besides being exposed to intense heat for hours, were almost blinded and choked by the smoke emitted from the burning pepper—more especially the cayenne—of which there was a large quantity in the warehouses. Some of the men who were working the engines fell into the river and were drowned. A gentleman who was assisting the firemen had his hand impaled on an iron spike. A poor Irishman had his neck broken by the chain of the floating-engine, and several of the police force and others were carried to hospital badly burned and otherwise injured.