Standing at the corner of two unimportant streets, in Philadelphia, U.S., and having no external features to distinguish it from the numberless stables and coach-houses in its vicinity, except the words ‘Station No. 4’ painted in large black letters on its gray door, its unpretentious exterior gives no hint of the marvels to be found within. Yet, for all its modesty and seeming indifference to appearances, Station No. 4 is no whit behind its more elaborate fellow-stations in matters of organisation and interior economy, down to the minutest details of drill and machinery; and the fine stalwart lads, whose acquaintance we are about to make, have shown their pluck and training in many of the most destructive fires which from time to time have ravaged the Quaker City.
As is usual in America, no order or official introduction is requisite to insure sightseers a welcome and the fullest explanation of everything of interest; nor is the application of the ‘silver key’ expected; while the mere fact that the visitor is a foreigner, and more especially if he prove to be an Englishman, is sufficient to secure him a hospitable reception and a more than ordinarily courteous escort. Our rap on the door-panel is instantly followed by the appearance of a sturdy, good-looking young fellow in a plain uniform of dark-blue cloth, under whose guidance we are soon deep in the mysteries of electric signalling, self-adjusting harness, and all the thousand-and-one ingenious contrivances for time-saving, which have long since made the American fire-brigades the most efficient in the world.
We find ourselves in a long narrow building, some forty or fifty feet in length, and ten or twelve in width. On one side is a staircase leading to the upper floors; on the other, a narrow gangway, kept clear of encumbrances, runs from end to end of the building. A wide doorway, like that of a coach-house, opens upon the main street; and at the farther end, facing the doorway, are three stalls, in each of which stands a horse, wearing a blind-halter, but otherwise unencumbered, and not attached in any way to the stall. A single line of rails is laid in the floor from end to end, on which rest the wheels of the engine and hosecart; for, unlike our English machines, the engine does not carry either the hose itself or the men who work it, a separate two-wheeled vehicle, something of the build of a small wagonette, being employed for this purpose. This hosecart stands in front of the engine, and carries, besides the long coil of tube, all the appliances, such as axes, ropes, &c., which are likely to be needed at a fire; and a couple of the portable chemical engines, known as Extincteurs, packed away in boxes beneath the seats. Both engine and hosecart are furnished with large clear-toned bells, and it is the duty of one of the men to keep these bells ringing during the whole journey to a fire, as a warning to all other traffic to leave the car-tracks in the centre of the street clear for the passage of the engine. The clamour of these bells, as, in the dead of night, engine after engine rushes at full gallop through the streets, is one of the most impressive accompaniments of a great fire, and is a far more effectual means of clearing a crowded thoroughfare than the shouts of the firemen, so familiar to a Londoner’s ears.
Having exhausted the hosecart, and shown how carefully all its equipments are packed so as to combine the minimum of space with the maximum of availability, our guide passes on to the engine itself, for which he seems to entertain as much affectionate pride as if it were a living pet. It stands immediately behind the hosecart, allowing a space of about three feet between the end of its pole and the back of the cart. The driving-seat is very high, and gives room for one man beside the driver, all the rest of the force having their allotted seats in the cart. The engine itself, a powerful steamer, is as handsome an object as bright paint and brilliantly polished metal can make it; and no one, judging from its spick-and-span appearance, would credit it with the yeoman service it has done in many a conflagration. Beneath the boiler, the fire is already laid, with wood soaked in coal-oil and a substratum of highly inflammable ‘kindling,’ ready to spring into a blaze on the smallest conceivable provocation. The boiler is connected by a tube with a large stationary boiler in the cellar beneath, and a constant supply of hot water passes from the latter to the former. This tube being automatically severed from the engine the instant an alarm is sounded, and the engine-fire kindled at the same moment, a sufficient pressure of steam for the pumps is generated long before the scene of the fire is reached, and so again valuable time is saved.
Our attention is next drawn to the harness, which is suspended from the ceiling exactly over the places occupied by the horses when attached to the engine and cart. Great ingenuity is displayed both in the construction of each part of the trappings and in the mathematical accuracy with which it adjusts itself to the exact spot of the horse’s anatomy which it is intended to occupy. The collars are of iron, hinged at the topmost point, and having a clasp like that of a lady’s bracelet to close them beneath the horse’s neck. When hanging, they are open to their full extent; and as they descend upon the horse, they close and snap by their own weight. The polechains are attached by spring snaps to the collars, and this is the only part of the harnessing which has to be done by hand after the alarm sounds. The entire harness for each vehicle is suspended by a single cord, which merely requires a touch of the driver’s hand, when he reaches his seat, to adjust and liberate the whole.
Against the wall, close by the door, and well in view from the foot of the staircase, are a large gong, a clock, and a glass-covered dial, the last bearing the numbers which indicate all the sections into which the city is divided for the purposes of the brigade. At the further end of the building, as already mentioned, are the horses, clever, well-trained, serviceable-looking animals, of which our guide has much to say, his anecdotes and manner of speaking of them showing that they are as great favourites with the brigade as their engine itself. The big sturdy fellow on our right, as we stand facing them in their stalls, does duty between the shafts of the hosecart; the others, a well-matched pair so far as size and strength go, belonging to the engine.
As yet, our cicerone is the only member of the force whom we have seen, the rest being ‘off duty,’ and spending their leisure hours in the comfortable reading-room on the first floor. But now our guide disappears for a moment, and presently returns with an older man, whom he introduces as the superintendent of the station. The latter, after a few minutes’ chat, in the course of which we manage to pay one or two well-merited compliments to the American system, volunteers to indulge us with a private view of the working of the station. Placing us so as to insure fair-play to the men and horses, and assuring us that no one in the building but ourselves is in the secret of his intention, he approaches the gong, and touches a spring which sets the electric current working. The transformation is instantaneous. The gong sounds sharply; the doors of the stalls fly open; a whiplash, suspended like the sword of Damocles over the hosecart horse’s flanks, descends sharply, and sends him off down the narrow gangway at a swinging trot. His companions follow, and range themselves in place on either side of the engine-pole. The harness falls into place obedient to the touch of the driver, who, with the rest of the men, has glided from the floor above, and has already swung himself to his seat. Two others clasp the chains to the collars; and in another instant each stands ready to mount to his place in the cart the moment the word is given to start. Glancing at our watches, we see that the whole time since the first stroke of the gong is exactly eight seconds—an almost incredible illustration of what can be done by perfect organisation and careful drilling.
The private rehearsal being now at an end, the reverse process follows, with scarcely less despatch and mechanical regularity; and almost before we have realised the completeness of the preparations, the horses are once more in their stalls, the men have returned to their occupations above-stairs, and the usual orderly aspect of things is restored, within one minute from the sounding of the alarm. The superintendent is well pleased with the admiration and applause his little performance elicits, and now proceeds to point out one or two minor details which had escaped our notice. He shows that the clock has stopped—registering the exact moment at which the call sounded—explains the machinery by which the electric current throws open the doors of the building and of the horses’ stalls—points out how the precise locality of the fire is shown by the number of beats on the gong and by the numbered dial; how the tube which supplies hot water to the boiler has been closed and disconnected; and finally, conducting us upstairs to the dormitory, how the gas in the chandelier is turned on and ignited by an electric spark, so as to avoid delay in case of a night-alarm.
And so at length, rather exhausted by then having exhausted the wonders of the place, we bid our friendly guide ‘good-day,’ and once more find ourselves in the street. Station No. 4 has resumed its unpretentious aspect, and as we turn away, we can hardly credit that commonplace exterior with such marvellous contents. It is as if we had been admitted for a brief space to the Palace of Enchantments of some fairy tale or Arabian Nights’ story, and it is difficult to realise that we have only been behind the scenes of one of the hardest-worked departments of a nineteenth-century police.
Each Company is responsible only for attendance upon calls within certain fixed limits, except in the case of a general call. But as every summons rings in every station, the organisation is kept in perfect order by the frequency of the alarms. In connection with the fire brigade there is also a Patrol or Salvage Corps, whose quarters are similarly equipped in all respects; while the arrangements for the comfort and recreation of the staff are rather better, and the number of hands employed considerably larger than in the individual stations. The importance of efficiency in both departments may be judged from the fact that, as our guide informed us, the calls to actual fires, upon Station No. 4, average about twenty per month during the long winter season.