From School to Battle-field: A Story of the War Days Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  A curious thing to look back upon is the old volunteer fire departmentof New York as it was forty years ago. No horses, no fire-boats, fewsteamers, no telegraph alarm-boxes, only a great array of practicallygo-as-you-please companies, averaging forty or fifty men apiece,scattered all over the inhabited parts of the island from Harlem to theBattery. Sixty of these organizations, there or thereabouts, were hosecompanies, each manning a light, high-wheeled, fancifully paintedcarriage with its hose-reel perched gracefully above the running-gear,decked out with fancy lamps and jangling bells,--a carriage so lightthat a boy could start it on the level and a dozen athletic men couldmake it fairly spin over the paved streets. Then there were fifty enginecompanies, all but two or three specially favored bands "tooling" handmachines, some of the old "double-deck" Philadelphia pattern, some withlong side levers, "brakes" they called them; others still with strange,uncouth shapes, built by some local expert with the idea ofout-squirting all competitors. Down in Centre Street was the heavyapparatus of the Exempt Company, only called upon in case of fires ofunusual magnitude. Near by, too, was stored a brace of what were thenconsidered powerful steamers, brought out only on such occasions; buttwo companies that wielded strong political influence proudly drew atthe end of their ropes light-running and handsome steam fireengines, andthese two companies, Americus 6,--"Big Six" as they called her,--and herbitter rivals of Manhattan 8, were the envied of all the department. Addto these some nineteen hook and ladder companies that ran long, light,prettily ornamented trucks, and you have the New York fire department asit was just before the war. Famous men were its chiefs in those days,and the names of Harry Howard and John Decker, of Carson and Cregier,were household words among the boys at Pop's, most of whom were strongpartisans of some company on whose speed and prowess they pinned theirfaith. Strange, indeed, to-day seems the system by which fire alarmswere communicated. There were no electric bells, no gongs, no telephonesin the various engine-houses, which were scattered all over the town,generally in groups of two, an engine and a hose company being "located"side by side, though a large number occupied single houses. On the roofof the old post-office at Nassau Street, in a huge frame-work at therear of the City Hall, and in tall observation-towers of iron tubing orwooden frame, placed at convenient points about the city, were hung big,heavy, deep-toned bells that struck the hour at noon and nine at night,but otherwise were used exclusively for the purpose of giving alarms offire. The city was divided into eight districts, and the sounding of thetower bells of any number from one to eight, inclusive, meant that afire had been discovered within the limits of that district, and allcompanies designated for service therein must hunt it up and put it out.The seventh and eighth districts divided the lower part of the city, alittle below Canal Street, evenly between them. Then, as the citybroadened there, the great, far-spreading space between the East andNorth Rivers, south of Twenty-second Street, was parcelled off into thethird, fourth, fifth, and sixth districts, beginning from the west.These were quite narrow at the south, but flared out north and eastward.Above them, on the east and west sides of the city respectively, lay thefirst and second districts, the former extending almost to Harlem, whichhad on Mount Morris its own bell-tower and at its foot a littledepartment of its own. Night and day a single watcher was perched in theglass-enclosed lookout at the summit of each lofty tower, his solecommunication with the world below being a speaking-tube to theengine-house at the base and a single wire that connected his "circuit"with the main office at the City Hall, a circuit so limited in itspossibilities that it could only administer a single tap at a time uponthe tiny gong-bell over the watcher's desk, and finally the big, boomingbell that, hanging midway down in the lofty structure, was yet so highabove the neighboring roofs and walls that its sound bellowed forth inunimpeded volume. It was struck by a massive swinging hammer, worked bya long steel lever aloft in the watch-tower, the entire apparatus beingthe design, as were some of the strange-looking engines, of ex-ChiefCarson, and one of the greatest treats that Pop's boys could possiblyhave was to be piloted of a wintry Saturday afternoon or summer evening,by one of their number who had the _open sesame_, up, up the windingstairway, up past the huge, silent monster that hung midway. (You mayventure to bet they wasted no time there, but scurried past him, fulltilt, lest an alarm should come at the instant and he should suddenlyboom forth and stun them with his clamor.) Once well past him, theybreathed freer, if harder, for the climb was long, and at last, tappingon a little trap-door, were admitted to the sanctum at the summit, andcould gaze in delight and wonderment about them and over the busy,bustling world far, far beneath. Once well above the low ground of CanalStreet, the city rose, and from the Hudson to the East River, alongabout the line of Spring Street, the ground was high, and here wasestablished the inner row of Gotham's picket guards against fire: threetall towers, one away over at Essex Market, on the far east side,guarding the sixth district; one on Marion Street, guarding the lowerfourth and fifth; one over at McDougal Street, guarding the lower third.The next post to the northward was at Jefferson Market, on Sixth Avenue,a tall white wooden shaft that seemed to pierce the skies, so low wereall the surrounding buildings, and from his eerie at its summitJefferson's ringer watched over the upper third and fourth districts.The next tower was Twenty-third Street, near First Avenue, an openaffair of iron, like that at McDougal, and here the guardian looked outover all the lower first and upper fifth districts, as well as having aneye on the northeastern part of the fourth. Then came Thirty-secondStreet, far over near Ninth Avenue, another open cage; and in the cozy,stove-warmed roost at the top of each, snugly closed against wind andweather, day and night, as has been said, and only one man at a time,the ringer kept his ceaseless vigil. It was his duty to be ever on thealert, ever moving about and spying over the city. If an unusual smokeor blaze manifested itself anywhere, he would at once unsling hisspy-glass and examine it. If it lay long blocks or miles away and closerto some other tower, the unwritten law or etiquette of the craftdemanded that he should touch the key of his telegraph. This instantlysounded the little bell in the other towers on his circuit, and calledupon his fellows to look about them. At no time could he sit and read.He must pace about the narrow confines of his rounded den, or on theencircling gallery outside, and watch, watch, watch. Whenever hediscovered a fire, the first thing was to let down his lever and strikeone round of the district in which it lay,--fast if the fire was near,slow if at a distance. This was all the neighboring companies had tojudge by, as the first arrivals at the engine-house, or the loungersgenerally sitting about the stove back of the apparatus, or the bunkerswho slept there at night, sprang for their fire-caps, raced for thetrumpet that stood on the floor at the end of the tongue, threw opentheir doors, manned the drag-rope, and "rolled" for the street. Nocompany could speed far on its route before meeting some runner orpartisan who could tell the exact or approximate location of the fire.The first round from the tower would start every machine in itsneighborhood. Then the ringer would spring to his telegraph and rapidlysignal to the City Hall two rounds of the district, then add the numberof his tower. Then back he would go to his lever and bang another round.If the fire was trivial four rounds would suffice; if a greatconflagration ensued he would keep on ringing for half an hour, and ifit proved so great that the chief engineer deemed it necessary to callout his entire force, word would be sent to the nearest tower, and ageneral alarm would result,--a continuous tolling until signalled fromthe City Hall to cease. Well did Pop's boys remember the one generalalarm of 1859, when the magnificent Crystal Palace at Sixth Avenue andForty-second Street went up in smoke; and all in half an hour! Andthrilling and interesting it was to the favored few of their numberpermitted sometimes to stand watch of an evening with the ringer, and topeer down on the gaslights of the bustling streets and over dim roofsand spires and into many an open window long blocks away! It was joy tobe allowed to man the lever with the silent, mysterious hermit of thetower and help him bang the big bell when
the last click of thetelegraph from the City Hall announced that the second-hand of theregulator at the main office had just reached the mark at nine o'clock.It was simply thrilling to sit and watch the keen-eyed sentinel as hesuddenly and intently scanned a growing light about some distant dormerwindow, reached for his glass, peered through it one instant, thenclapped it into its frame, sprang for the lever, and in another momentthree or four or five deep, clanging notes boomed out on the night airfrom below. It was wild delight to lean from the gallery without andwatch the rush and excitement in the streets,--to hear the jangle of thebells of the white hose carriage as "she" shot suddenly into view and,with a dozen active dots on the drag-rope, went spinning down thestreet, closely followed by her next-door neighbor, the engine, with arapidly growing crew. It was keen excitement to watch the bursting ofthe blaze, the roll of the smoke from the upper windows, to see it waxand spread and light up the neighboring roofs and chimneys with itsglare, to mark from on high the swiftly gathering throngs on the broadavenue, and under the gaslight to see company after company cometrotting out from the side streets, curving round into the car-tracks,and the moment the broad tires of their engine, truck, or carriagestruck the flat of the rails, up would rise a yell from every throat andaway they would go at racing speed. It was thrilling, indeed, to see tworival companies reach the avenue at the same point and turn at once intothe tracks. Then to the stirring peal of the alarm the fiercelycontending bands would seem fairly to spurn the stones beneath theirflying feet, and carts, carriages, "busses," everything except therailway-cars themselves, would clear the track for the rival racers, andthe air would resound with their rallying-cries. Time and again, it mustbe owned, so fierce was the strain for supremacy, that furious rowsbroke forth between the contestants, and that between many companiesthere were for months and years bitter feuds that often led to war tothe knife, and a fire was sometimes left to look out for itself whilethe firemen settled their quarrel with fists, stones, and "spanners." Asa rule, though, there were so many companies at each fire that therewere more than enough to fight the flames, for every company had to runto two districts as well as cover its own neighborhood. Rowdyism wasrampant in some of the organizations, but then a benignant "Tammany"guarded the interests of a force so strong in numbers, so potent afactor in politics, and only when a company had become repeatedly andnotoriously negligent of its proper duties in order to indulge its lovefor fight was it actually disbanded. Compared with the system of to-dayit was almost grotesque; but in the years when Pop's boys were in theirglory the old volunteer fire department was on its last legs, yet was asignorant of its coming dissolution as of the approach of the great warthat should summon so many of its members to meet a foe far harder todown than the hottest fire they had ever tackled. They were stillmonarchs of all they surveyed, those red-shirted, big-hearted roughs,and many a company had a jolly word of welcome for Pop's boys, who morethan once had given some favorite company first notice--"a stillalarm"--of a blaze, and thereby enabled the "Zephyrs" of 61 Hose or the"Pacifics" of 28 Engine to be first at the fire, getting a "scoop" ontheir nearest neighbors of the "Lexington" or the "Metamoras," for everycompany besides its number had its name, and every company, high or low,its swarm of boy admirers, adherents, and followers, most of them, itmust be admitted, street _gamins_.

  And all this explanation as our two youngsters are scooting through thedripping rain for Union Square.

  As they sped across Fifth Avenue a long white seam flashed into viewjust beyond the Washington statue, and went like a dim streak sailingaway up Fourth Avenue.

  "There goes Twelve Truck!" panted Shorty, already half-winded in thefierce effort to keep up with Snipe's giant strides. "Seven Hose must bejust ahead. Look out for Twenty-three now!"

  Yes, out from Broadway, as he spoke, a little swarm of men and boys onthe drag-ropes, another company came, hauling a bulky little redhand-engine, and went tugging in chase of the lighter hook and ladder. Aminute's swift run brought the youngsters to the open square, anotheraround to the broad space in front of the Everett, and there the mistyatmosphere grew heavy and thick, and the swarm of scurrying men and boysbreathed harder as they plunged into a dense drift of smoke. Just as ouryoungsters noted that the crowds were running eastward throughNineteenth Street, the old rallying cry of another company was heard,and a light hose carriage came bounding across the car-tracks from thedirection of Broadway. Snipe by this time was a dozen yards ahead, andcould not hear or would not heed the half-choking, warning cry ofpuffing little Shorty.

  "Lay low, Snipe; that's the Metamora. Look out--look out for the----"

  Too late! Half a dozen young fellows were sprinting along beside theirpet hose carriage. No more were needed on the ropes, and as Shortyrounded the corner into Nineteenth Street and saw the flames burstingfrom the roof of a stable close to Lexington Avenue, he saw, too, withbursting heart, three of those young flankers spring up on the sidewalkin chase of long-limbed Snipe, saw one of them overtake him, lay suddenhand on his shoulder on one side and hurl him violently to the left,just in time to be tripped over the tangling foot of another and tumbledheadlong into the reeking gutter, there to lie, stunned and almostsenseless, till Shorty, raging, yet breathless and helpless, strove tolift his bleeding head upon his knee.

  Almost senseless, till Shorty strove to lift his bleedinghead upon his knee.]