This eBook was prepared by Gordon Keener.
The Eclectic Magazine
of Foreign Literature, Science, and Art
Vol XXXV.—No. I
May, 1855.
1: Fires and Firemen
Annual Reports of Mr. Braidwood to the Committee of the Fire Brigade
[From the Quarterly Review]
Among the more salient features of the Metropolis which instantlystrike the attention of the stranger are the stations of the FireBrigade. Whenever he happens to pass them, he finds the sentinel onduty, he sees the "red artillery" of the force; and the polished axle,the gleaming branch, and the shining chain, testify to the beautifulcondition of the instrument, ready for active service at a moment'snotice. Ensconced in the shadow of the station, the liveried watchmenlook like hunters waiting for their prey—nor does the hunter movequicker to his quarry at the rustle of a leaf, than the Firemen dashfor the first ruddy glow in the sky. No sooner comes the alarm thanone sees with a shudder the rush of one of these engines through thecrowded streets—the tearing horses covered with foam—the heavyvehicle swerving from side to side, and the black helmeted attendantsswaying to and fro. The wonder is that horses or men ever get safelyto their destination; the wonder is still greater that no one isridden over in their furious drive.
Arrived at the place of action, the hunter's spirit which animates thefireman and makes him attack an element as determinedly as he would awild beast, becomes evident to the spectator. The scene which aLondon fire presents can never be forgotten: the shouts of the crowdas it opens to let the engines dart through it, the foaming head ofwater springing out of the ground, and spreading over the road untilit becomes a broad mirror reflecting the glowing blaze—the black,snake-like coils of the leather hose rising and falling like things oflife, whilst a hundred arms work at the pump, their central heart—theapplause that rings out clear above the roaring flame as theadventurous band throw the first hissing jet—cheer following cheer,as stream after stream shoots against the burning mass, now flyinginto the socket-holes of fire set in the black face of thehouse-front, now dashing with a loud shir-r against the window-frameand wall, and falling off in broken showers. Suddenly there is a loudshrill cry and the bank of human faces is upturned to where ashrieking wretch hangs frantically to an upper window-sill. Adeafening shout goes forth, as the huge fire-escape comes full swingupon the scene: a moment's pause, and all is still, save the beat,beat, of the great water pulses, whilst every eye is strained towardsthe fluttering garments flapping against the wall. Will the ladderreach, and not dislodge those weary hands clutching so convulsively tothe hot stone? Will the nimble figure gain the topmost rung erenature fails? The blood in a thousand hearts runs cold, and thenagain break forth a thousand cheers to celebrate a daring rescue.Such scenes as this are of almost nightly occurrence in the GreatMetropolis. A still more imposing yet dreadful sight is oftenexhibited in the conflagrations of those vast piles of buildings inthe City filled with inflammable merchandise. Here the most powerfulengines seem reduced to mere squirts; and the efforts of theadventurous Brigade men are confined to keeping the mischief withinits own bounds.
When we recollect that London presents an area of 36 square miles,covered with 21,600 square acres of bricks and mortar, and numbersmore than 380,000 houses; that all the riches it contains are nightlythreatened in every direction by an ever-present enemy; that thesecret match, the spontaneous fire, and the hand of the