Mamma was more difficult to manage, because she was bigger and heavier. But, on the other hand, she could help a little by holding on to the sills, and letting go when she was told. So at last she too was steadily lowered from hand to hand until she reached the mattress and the ground.
If these men had been a little less brave and skillful than they were, there might have been a sad tale to tell as the result of a boy's thoughtless experiment with a match. Sad enough a fire always is, however, for those who lose or suffer by it, and in all large cities the Fire Department is very carefully equipped and organized.
THE FIRST "STEAMER" IN NEW YORK.
The old-fashioned hand-engines, such as are shown in the illustration, with a row of men at the brakes on either side, are all out of use now, and are seldom seen save in villages and small towns. There even they are fast giving way to chemical engines, and before many years the old piano machines will be almost forgotten. Nevertheless, they did good service in their day, and were manned by as daring a set of fellows as ever ran to a fire, or broke each other's heads in a street fight. Thousands of them served bravely on both sides in the war of the rebellion, but when those that were left of them went home, steamers—the small cut shows the first one that did duty in New York—had come in and crowded out the old "machines." Volunteers were no longer wanted.
Very different affairs were fires in those days from what they are now. Then the first shout of "fire!" set loose a very bedlam of noises. Bells rang, every one who was in the street yelled "fire!" and the whole population rushed madly toward the place where it was supposed to be. It is a wonder that anything was ever done amidst such a scene of confusion; but in reality fires were wonderfully well managed.
How different is everything now in all the large cities! In New York, for instance, there are several fires every day, but most people learn of them through the newspapers. Not an alarm-bell is rung. Very rarely is the cry of "fire!" heard.
You are sitting quietly at home, perhaps. Suddenly you hear the sharp stroke of a peculiarly toned gong. Then there is a thunder of wheels, a clatter of galloping hoofs, and you rush to the window in time to see a vision of gleaming brass, flying sparks, dark figures clinging to the swaying engine, and a pair of noble horses straining every nerve. Perhaps that may be all you know of a great fire until the next day.
Should you take a car, and follow anywhere from one to ten miles to the burning building, you will find an immense, quiet crowd, kept out of harm's way by a strong force of police, while in the cleared space before the building the tireless steamers are at work, each of them throwing two or three steady streams of water into the heart of the fire.
Meg's papa told her all about this, and how seldom it is that a fire nowadays has a chance to make much headway; but her visit to an engine-house was the most comforting. There she saw the splendid horses, and the engine in perfect order, with the wood under the boiler ready to light; and the man on duty explained how the stroke of the alarm-bell unhitched the horses, if they were in their stalls, and how the handsome creatures knew just where to go to be "hitched up," and how eager they were for their race to the fire.