Fighting the Flames

by R. M. Ballantyne

The men were already hauling them in, and in a few seconds Dale and Frank were dragged by their waist-belts into the open air, the former nearly, and the latter quite, insensible.

In a few minutes they both recovered, and another attempt was made to reach the fire in the cellar, but without success.

The public did not witness this incident. The firemen were almost surrounded by burning ruins, and none but comrades were there.

Indeed, the public seldom see the greatest dangers to which the fireman is exposed. It is not when he makes his appearance on some giddy height on a burning and tottering house, and is cheered enthusiastically by the crowd, that his courage is most severely tried. It is when he has to creep on hands and knees through dense smoke, and hold the branch in the face of withering heat, while beams are cracking over his head, and burning rubbish is dropping around, and threatening to overwhelm him—it is in such circumstances, when the public know nothing of what is going on, and when no eye sees him save that of the solitary comrade who shares his toil and danger, that the fireman’s nerve and endurance are tested to the uttermost.

After leaving the cellar, Dale and his men went to attempt to check the fire in a quarter where it threatened to spread, and render this—the greatest of modern conflagrations—equal to the great one of 1666.

“We might reach it from that window,” said Dale to Frank, pointing to a house, the sides of which were already blistering, and the glass cracking with heat.

Frank seized the branch and gained the window in question, but could not do anything very effective from that point. He thought, however, that from a window in an adjoining store he might play directly on a house which was in imminent danger. But the only means of reaching it was by passing over a charred beam, thirty feet beneath which lay a mass of smouldering ruins. For one moment he hesitated, uncertain whether or not the beam would sustain his weight. But the point to be gained was one of great importance, so he stepped boldly forward, carrying the branch with him. As he advanced, the light of the fire fell brightly upon him, revealing his tall figure clearly to the crowd, which cheered him heartily.

At that moment the beam gave way. Willie, who was about to follow, had barely time to spring back and gain a firm footing, when he beheld his brother fall headlong into the smoking ruins below.

In another moment he had leaped down the staircase, and was at Frank’s side. Baxmore, Dale, Corney, and others, followed, and, in the midst of fire and smoke, they raised their comrade in their arms and bore him to a place of safety.

No one spoke, but a stretcher was quickly brought, and Frank was conveyed in a state of insensibility to the nearest hospital, where his manly form—shattered, burned, and lacerated—was laid on a bed. He breathed, although he was unconscious and evinced no sign of feeling when the surgeons examined his wounds.