London fire presents can never be forgotten: the shouts of the crowd
as it opens to let the engines dart through it, the foaming head of
water springing out of the ground, and spreading over the road until
it becomes a broad mirror reflecting the glowing blaze--the black,
snake-like coils of the leather hose rising and falling like things of
life, whilst a hundred arms work at the pump, their central heart--the
applause that rings out clear above the roaring flame as the
adventurous band throw the first hissing jet--cheer following cheer,
as stream after stream shoots against the burning mass, now flying
into the socket-holes of fire set in the black face of the
house-front, now dashing with a loud shir-r against the window-frame
and wall, and falling off in broken showers. Suddenly there is a loud
shrill cry and the bank of human faces is upturned to where a
shrieking wretch hangs frantically to an upper window-sill. A
deafening shout goes forth, as the huge fire-escape comes full swing
upon the scene: a moment's pause, and all is still, save the beat,
beat, of the great water pulses, whilst every eye is strained towards
the fluttering garments flapping against the wall. Will the ladder
reach, and not dislodge those weary hands clutching so convulsively to
the hot stone? Will the nimble figure gain the topmost rung ere
nature fails? The blood in a thousand hearts runs cold, and then
again break forth a thousand cheers to celebrate a daring rescue.
Such scenes as this are of almost nightly occurrence in the Great
Metropolis. A still more imposing yet dreadful sight is often
exhibited in the conflagrations of those vast piles of buildings in
the City filled with inflammable merchandise. Here the most powerful
engines seem reduced to mere squirts; and the efforts of the
adventurous Brigade men are confined to keeping the mischief within
its own bounds.