 Fires and Firefighters, a history of modern firefighting with a review of its development from earliest times by John Kenlon, Chief of New York Fire Department, dedicated to my comrades, the members of the International Association of Fire Engineers. CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTION A common axiom amongst firefighters is that no definitive rules can be formulated which wholly embody the principles of their craft. It is argued that since no two fires are absolutely alike in all respects, that which would be efficacious in one instance would be absolutely futile in another. This proposition is fallacious. Physicians might just as well advance the theory that since no two individuals are constitutionally alike, it is useless to apply the same treatment for some well-known disease even with those modifications necessitated by physical differences. Of course this is a reductio ad absurdum, since doctors study their patients scientifically, following general principles resulting from experience, only varied in minor details according to the exigencies of the case. Similarly, notwithstanding differences in construction and occupancy, it is perfectly feasible to fight fires with intelligence born of systematic acquaintance with certain fixed data, and it may be added with some degree of scientific exactitude. As there are prime factors in the treatment of illness, particularly if it be contagious, such as the removal of the patient to a place where it is almost impossible for the disease to be communicated to others, so it is with fire. The first general principles to be observed include, naturally, the confinement of an outbreak to as narrow a place as possible, the safety of contiguous property, the prevention of loss of life, and the centralization of the outbreak as a whole. To this must be added the concentration upon the point of greatest danger of all the forces at the command of the officer in charge. In the following chapters an attempt has been made to deal with this subject in such a manner that while the professional firefighter shall find much information which will be of value to him, the lay reader shall likewise discover material for thought, as well as food for the imagination. It has been estimated that no less than sixty-four percent of all fires occur in the homes of the people, and though these may not be attended by the tremendous financial losses consequent upon outbreaks in warehouses, office buildings, and the like, they strike fear into the heart at a greater degree, for it is the human hazard which is at stake. Few realize also the unremitting labour, the devotion to service, the daily acts of heroism, the mental and physical strain, and the inadequate acknowledgement in many instances by the public of the achievements of the genus Fireman. Not that he wishes to be advertised, but since the soldier, the sailor, and even the policeman loom large in general estimation, it seems only just that something should be written illustrative of the responsibilities entrusted to his charge. To how many people does it ever occur that negligence on the part of a policeman may result in the loss by robbery of a few thousand dollars, or the sacrifice of at most two or three human lives by murder, while the same fault on the part of a fireman may entail some hideous disaster involving scores of lives or the loss of millions of dollars. Further, is it realized that whereas the soldier or sailor risks his life for his country at rare intervals, the fireman takes the same chances regularly in the course of his daily avocation. Thus it will be seen that no occupation or career should make a greater appeal to the sympathy and interest of the public than that of the fireman, who constitute a force which stands for much, and without which the insecurity of life would be increased tenfold. In addition, the advance of science and the evolution of the simple building into the highly complex structure necessitated by modern requirements have in their turn caused a corresponding advance in the theory and practice of firefighting. Admissions of such import as the alleviation of congestion in crowded districts, the provision of suitable accommodation for domestic and business premises, and the supply of the minimum of light and air compatible with modern ideas of hygiene, have led architects to find their only solution in the piling up of story upon story, till with the Woolworth building in New York, realms of space hitherto unpierced except by the Eiffel Tower, have surrendered to their all-conquering demand, and finality has by no means been reached in this direction. No wonder therefore that those responsible for fire control have paused, perplexed momentarily at the problems confronting them. Generally speaking, except under the rarest of circumstances, it is only possible to fight fires from the street up to a height of seven stories. After that reliance must be placed upon the fire appliances within the building, coupled with the tactical skill of the firemen in using the same. This is one of the instances in which the scientific training of a fire department is manifested. The isolation of elevator shafts, the prevention of flames being drawn from floor to floor through windows, and the avoidance of the most dangerous enemy, backdraft, constitute features of enormous significance. Similarly, fire apparatus has grown in complexity, and its handling requires a corresponding degree of judgment and skill. The old days of the manual have gone forever, and though for many centuries little advance was made in the mechanical aspect of firefighting equipment, the last fifty years have witnessed a complete revolution in the means and methods employed. As the hand-drawn manual gave way to the horse-drawn steam engine, so has the latter in its turn been succeeded by the automobile gasoline pump. Likewise, the Roman latter, which for years marked the limit of human ingenuity as applied to means of entry to and rescue from burning buildings, has been superseded to a large extent by mechanically operated extension ladders of great length. Such apparatus as water-towers, search-lights, high-pressure pumps, dangerous structure traps, and so forth, presuppose a high degree of scientific skill and technical knowledge on the part of the firefighter, who may thus legitimately claim to belong to a well-defined profession. Since appliances vary in different parts of the world according to local needs, the author has included in this volume some slight account of the equipment and methods of foreign departments which would prove serviceable for purposes of comparison. Equally full descriptions will be found of the most modern mechanical devices in use, which it is hoped will be of real service to those who are interested in the subject from a practical standpoint. There is no doubt that at last the world has awakened to the economic importance of fire control. Insurance risks have become so stupendous that those involved financially in the same demand the acme of scientific foresight and the maximum of human enterprise towards the protection of their capital. It is true that in some quarters there is a regrettable tendency to gamble on fire risks, which brings in its train sporadic outbursts of incendiarism, whereby in many cases human lives are jeopardized. But with the exposure of such dubious modes of increasing business, and with a realization of their results, it seems beyond question that saner and wiser councils will prevail. These are days of keen competition as applied to the search after a bare livelihood, and the pay and prospects of the firemen are such that they well merit the attention of young men with ambition and brains. The life is a healthy, if strenuous one, while the position of fire chief at any rate in America is within reach of all comers and the goal one to be envied. Should this work prove to be the means of encouraging the right type of man to come forward, then the writer will be happy in the knowledge that his labour has not been in vain. It will be noticed that a chapter has been devoted to the consideration of how best to deal with fires in private houses, and the most prolific causes of these outbreaks. Carelessness can never be wholly eradicated from human nature, but this same failing is one of the prime factors constituting the fire risk of the citizen. Not long since a guest in a hotel thoughtlessly threw away a lighted cigarette end into a waste-paper basket. In due course the contents burst into flames, set alight the curtains, and eventually involved the whole floor of the building, causing incidentally the loss of three lives. That same story is repeated week by week and day by day the world over, and yet the lesson never seems to be appreciated. Hence the next best thing to prevention being cure, an attempt has been made in the chapter indicated to formulate certain simple rules which if followed will go a long way towards controlling the blaze until such time as professional help shall arrive. Further it is not generally realized by what means fires are sometimes started. For instance, who would ever suspect that the common garden rat possessed all the qualities of an incipient fire-bug? In the city of Washington during one year, thirty-six outbreaks arose through rats nibbling at the ends of matches. Proof sufficient that where fire is concerned not even the most remote possibilities can be overlooked with impunity. The prevention of panic in schools, shops, factories, and the like is, of course, one of the most important features of the ethics of firefighting. It is no exaggeration to say that as many people are killed by suffocation, by being trampled to death, and by unnecessarily jumping into the streets, as are actually sacrificed to the flames themselves. Human nature is easily susceptible of control provided that there is at hand a sufficiently strong influence to inspire confidence and restore nerve. This influence must be a combination of self-possession and training. With this upon which to draw, panic can often be averted. Thus in schools teachers should be trained in the marshalling of their charges, in the same way that employees in shops should be taught to look after the safety of purchasers. The timely playing of the orchestra in a theatre has often prevented disaster, and such aids are worthy of more than passing attention. All this has received careful study in the chapter devoted to the subject, and the writer confidently anticipates that if his advice is followed, advice framed upon forty years of actual experience, the casualties due to fire panics will be appreciably minimized. These are some of the issues connected with firefighting, which have been dealt with in as exhaustive and interesting a manner as possible in this volume. The particular intention of the writer has been to avoid lengthy and tedious explanations which would be beyond the comprehension of the untrained laymen. To that end an appendix has been supplied replete with all the tables necessary to the scientific firemen. For the rest the problems of fire control have emerged from the chrysalis stage of experiment into the fully developed formulae of an exact science, and the time has arrived when no one can afford to be ignorant of the first principles governing the same. A great quantity of useless information is assimilated by the public. Is it too much to hope that opportunity may be found for the perusal of a subject so closely connected with the welfare, safety, and homes of the people? CHAPTER II Firefighting in Ancient Rome From the earliest times the Romans well recognized the ever-present menace of fire, and as a matter of precaution a law was passed compelling the erection of separate houses each standing on its own plot of ground. But as the size of the city increased this regulation became more honored in the breach than in the observance, with the result that serious conflagrations occurred frequently, and thus the subject of effective firefighting was forced upon the attention of the authorities. Indeed there is nothing surprising in Rome having been constantly visited by such calamities. The houses in the poorer and more populous quarter of the city were usually constructed of wood. Sanctuary fires were continually kept burning in every household in honor of the domestic deities, and it does not require the imagination of a jewel's verne to conjure up visions of the dire results caused by an act of carelessness or a moment's thoughtlessness. The streets being narrow and tortuous the smallest blaze would quickly develop into a veritable conflagration, the magnitude of which would depend solely upon the natural barriers which might stand in the way of the flames. In addition intermingled with the dwelling houses were vast warehouses and granaries which offered an easy prey to fire. Furthermore human nature in Ancient Rome was much the same as human nature in modern New York, and enterprising miscreants were not lacking who realized that by starting a fire and availing themselves of the ensuing confusion they could enrich themselves comfortably and quickly at the expense of their neighbors. They were, in fact, the germ from which developed the individual who is a terror to his neighbors, a pest in the community, and a source of constant activity to fire departments, by whom he is dubbed expressively a fire bug. Hence it will be seen that even at this early date the menace of fire in its primary conditions did not differ materially from the modern fire risks in many towns. Under the Republic one of the duties of the Roman triumfers was to protect the city from fire, and later they came to be called nocturns because of their mounting guard during the night. In this task they were assisted by the Ediles, to whom the care of the buildings in the town was entrusted. This constituted the official fighting force, but there were, in addition, private organizations consisting of slaves whose services were given gratuitously according to the wishes of their masters, who doubtless in this manner hoped to rise in public esteem. This forms an interesting analogy to the methods employed by many so-called philanthropists in the present day who are usually ready to support any public work upon which a liberal amount of limelight is turned. Little could be expected from a department composed of such heterogeneous elements, ignorant alike of discipline and organization. The Emperor Caesar Augustus, realizing the importance of effective fire protection in his capital, introduced the first regularly constituted fire department known to history. It consisted of seven cohorts, each numbering roughly one thousand men. Their duties consisted not only in the actual work of fighting the flames, but also in policing the streets contiguous to an outbreak and in preventing robbery and looting. The Fire Chief was known as the Prefectus Vigilum. He was assisted by three lieutenants, subprefecti, seven tribunes, forty-nine centurions, and a great number of principales. This last title was given to everyone in the Roman army who had any species of fixed office. To all those, in fact, who occupied the intermediate ranks between commissioned officers and common soldiers, prominent among the principales were the Librarii, who kept the accounts and paid the wages, the Bukinatores, or buglers, the Ensign-bearers, one for each cohort, and the Aquarii, the Siphonarii, the Sebaqiarii, and the Mitullarii, to whose respective duties attention will be paid when considering the manner in which fires were fought. There were also four doctors attached to each cohort, and last, but by no means least, an official known as the Questionarius, whose interesting duty it was to apply torture in cases of suspected incendiarism. The seven cohorts were quartered in as many barracks, designated castra, which were so located that each could effectively protect two of the fourteen regions into which the city was divided. As to the construction of these barracks, there is fortunately preserved an important record in the shape of a fragment of an ancient plan of Imperial Rome, showing the details of the barrack allocated to the first cohort. This was situated near St. Grisagone in Trastevere, and the building had evidently been specially designed for the use of firemen on duty. The atrium, or entrance hall, was tiled with black and white mosaic arranged to represent various marine subjects, while in the middle stood a handsome hexagonal fountain. Flanking the walls on either side were benches for the men, while numerous inscriptions and rough drawings evidenced the fact that in their moments of leisure the Roman firemen found amusement in caricaturing their fellows. Opposite to the main entrance of the atrium was a door leading to a spacious bathroom, giving the impression that the wants of the men even in those days were the subject of as careful consideration as they are today. It must have been about this time that the intellectual activity of the Romans commenced to assert itself, and not only the great thermes or baths were opened the whole night long, but also such halls of assembly as the Palastres, the Scalae, the Biblioteque, and the Pinoccheteque would be crowded at all hours with throngs of eager disputants. In fact nocturnal life in Rome had come to be an integral part of the city's existence. This in turn necessitated some form of municipal illumination, and this was likewise entrusted to the fire department, a special branch being formed under the name of the Sebaqiarii, after their first captain won Sebaqiarius. Special men were drawn monthly from each cohort for this service, their duties including the supervision of the monster torches continually burning outside fire stations, as a signal to all in sundry wither to repair in the event of wishing to give an alarm of fire. Some years ago a bronze torch was excavated not far from St. Grisagone, which experts presume to have been a street lamp of this period. Fortunately Rome was well supplied with water, which was carried in hame or light vases by squads of firemen to the scene of an outbreak, where it was placed at the disposal of those in charge of the siphones or hand-pumps. From specimens which have been frequently found in excavations these latter must have been very similar to the old-fashioned syringes used by gardeners, only of course constructed of wood. The Aquarii, or as their name designates, the water-carriers, did not confine their attentions to that duty alone. They were also expected to be conversant with all possible sources of water supply in the two regions of town for which their cohort was responsible. On the whole the firemen were well equipped with apparatus including hammers, saws, mattocks, and other such implements, besides leather-hose in suitable lengths. Large pillows specially designed to break the fall of any one jumping from a height were in general use, and incidentally were not much improved upon till the beginning of the last century. In addition the Roman ladder, the forerunner of the modern escape, had already been introduced, and a detailed description of the same may be found in the chapter dealing with appliances. Given these data it is not difficult to frame in the mind's eye a picture of a fire in ancient Rome. There is sufficient evidence that the Romans were distinctly human, and no doubt an outbreak of fire provided a pleasant interlude when the discourse of a popular orator started to become tedious. Hence it can be imagined even as to-day that the nocturnes or fire-police were fully occupied in preventing the curious from hindering the firemen. The prefectus vigilum or fire-chief would arrive to take charge of operations, and woe be tied to anyone in the vicinity were there any suspicion of incendiarism, the services of the questionarius or fire-martial would be hastily requisitioned. And judging by the comprehensive fashion in which the law was administered at that period, it may be hazarded that while no doubt the guilty eventually received their well-merited reward, it is not unlikely that, meantime, a proportion of the innocent had also tasted that official's ingenious skill. This assuredly must have had a discouraging effect upon the enthusiasm of the genus Firebug, for in as much as example is generally a deterrent, it mattered little whether the punishment reached the real offender so long as the modus operandi of the punishment and the reason thereof were known and appreciated. But to return to a more serious vein of thought, it is a fact that modern methods of procedure against incendiaries lack the finality and thoroughness of those early days. In a later portion of this volume the subject is treated at length, and hence it is unnecessary further to pursue the question. Suffice it to say that, broadly speaking, the Fire Department of Ancient Rome was as well organized and equipped for its duties as many a municipal force as late as the eighteenth century, and it might not be exaggeration to hazard even composed of as competent firefighters as some core of today. CHAPTER III The Evolution of Firefighting It may be safely asserted that the Fire Department of Ancient Rome was better organized and better equipped than the rough and ready volunteer services maintained by the great European cities during the Middle Ages. There had in fact been a period of retrogression, which was coincident with the dismemberment of the Roman Empire, when all art and science languished in the chaos that ensued. Needless to say, the problems affecting fire control were relegated to the background, and indeed the art of destroying towns received more consideration than that of their preservation. Thus it is that no records can be found of mechanical appliances being used at the conflagrations which demolished Constantinople and Vienna. Indeed this retrograde movement had so far affected the whole subject that even in the Renaissance, when Europe teamed with fresh ideas and new thought, no other method of fighting fires existed than the primitive bucket of the pre-Roman period. By fifteen ninety, however, there were signs of an awakening interest, and in an account of a fire in England the use of a monstrous syringe is related as the introduction of a novelty. Although in reality it must have been practically a counterpart of the Siphonarius, mention of which was made in the last chapter. In sixteen fifteen a hand-engine was made in Germany, but it was merely a pump without hose, the principle embodied being a rotary paddle-wheel, which by being turned rapidly forced the water out through an orifice. This again was not new, the idea having probably been derived from Greek sources. Even in sixteen sixty-six the good citizens of London were without any mechanical appliances and were practically helpless to stem that terrific conflagration which devastated their city and consumed thirteen thousand two hundred houses covering an area of four hundred thirty-six acres, the ancient cathedral of St. Paul and thirty-six other churches, the royal exchange, the custom house, hospitals, and four prisons in which incidentally several persons lost their lives. The value of the property destroyed amounted to nearly sixty million dollars, and it undoubtedly served to impress upon the public mind the necessity of some proper system of fire prevention. The afterwards the city was divided into four districts, each under the control of a special officer possessed of authority to take charge in the event of a fire. It must be understood that at this time social and economic conditions made life comparatively simple. Gas and matches were unknown, thus eliminating those two fruitful sources of carelessness. Buildings were as a rule one story in height, and the floors, even in the dwellings of the wealthy, were flagged with stone. Hence the change was slow in coming, and was concomitant with the demand for increased security of persons and property. Business activity began to show itself in all parts of Western Europe in the fifteenth century, and towns destined to be the industrial centers of the modern world had their genesis. With their growth began afresh a full appreciation of fire risks and the necessity of fire control. Yet it was not until the eighteenth century that one Richard Nusham designed a hand engine of practical utility. Water was supplied to it by hand and was then pumped out through a hose, thus forming the predecessor of the manual, drafting its own water and thereby supplying pumps. America had to learn her lesson in her own way. From the Atlantic to the Pacific her colonists found the country covered with dense forests, which were naturally utilized for building purposes, and as a result, as early as 1648 the first fire ordinance was adopted in New York, forbidding the use of wooden chimneys and providing for the purchase of one hundred leather buckets, hooks, and ladders. A body of volunteers was organized to patrol the streets at night and watch for outbreaks, who from their persistent painstaking and sometimes rather indiscreet efforts were christened suggestively the prowlers. Their work was, however, appreciated, and in 1678 the town of Boston organized the first regular fire company under municipal control, and imported from England a species of hand pump. Only in 1808 did a Philadelphia firm put on the market riveted leather hose, and soon afterwards an ingenious hose carriage of American invention was adopted, and remains in use in a modified form to the present day. England was the first country to manufacture rubber hose about 1820, and its employment with certain improvements has become general. The application of steam as a means of obtaining power was responsible for a revolution in fire apparatus, as it was in all other lines of mechanical effort. It has contributed in no small degree to the construction of effective portable machinery with which to fight fires, and the benefits derived from its use have been almost incalculable. Obviously it is the endeavor of all firemen to check a fire in its early stage, since generally speaking its commencement is small and progress comparatively slow. It is no exaggeration to say that some of the great conflagrations, which for hours and even days have baffled the combined efforts of huge fire departments with scores of determined firemen equipped with much powerful apparatus, could have been extinguished in a few seconds by the cool-headed and well-directed work of one man armed with but a single pail of water, had he arrived in time. In other words, if ready means of suppressing a fire in its infancy were at hand, many serious outbreaks might be averted, and hence it is that so much depends upon effective apparatus and the speed with which it is conveyed to the scene of the action. For imagine what happened in the old days before the adoption of the steam fire engine. First consider the bucket period. A person discovering a fire would run to his nearest neighbor for help, and then the alarm would be given from one house to another and immediately all would be confusion. Volunteers there would be in plenty, armed with buckets or any other domestic utensil which could contain water. Forming a line they would pass the buckets from hand to hand, sending them back by their women-folk to be refilled. With such loss of time and feeble resistance it is small wonder if usually the flames continued their course practically unchecked, and a building saved from complete ruin was considered as a remarkable achievement. Next came the period of the hand engine. Bells upon churches and other public buildings were now the means of spreading the dire tidings, and upon hearing their summons the voluntary firemen would hurry to their quarters and drag their engine in the direction of the first alarm. Then arose the question, where was the nearest water supply? And no doubt time was wasted through unsolicited advice. If, as was often the case, the supply proved to be at too great a distance from the outbreak for one engine to furnish an efficient stream, a second was stationed between the fire and the water. The ensuing contest between both parties of excited men, as to which should occupy the place of honour nearer the fire, and the efforts of the vanquished to pump up more water than the engine in front could use, no doubt added to the gaiety of the community, and the mythological god of fire must have smiled and perhaps murmured what fools these mortals be. But this opera-boof method of fire-fighting really served a useful purpose, in as much as the increasing seriousness of the fire-risk did not appeal, in the same degree, to the sense of humour of those who lost their property, with the result that the advent of a new factor in fire-control was welcomed by the influential of the population. George Braithwaite, an Englishman, first conceived a steam-fire engine, which was completed in the year 1829 and was a portent of the great change to come. Skeptics there were, who scoffed at its superiority and who jeeringly referred to it as the steam-squirt or the kitchen-stove, but it had come to stay, and in 1840 a New Yorker by the name Paul Hodges constructed a model of curious design, which however proved impracticable. The year 1845 was marked by the first of the great fires which heralded the era of new building construction in the United States, and which therefore deserves more than passing mention. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania was the scene of the disaster, which originated from the simplest act of carelessness. On washing-day, in the early part of April, a housewife made a small fire upon which to boil water in the backyard of her home. A high wind was blowing, and sparks from her miniature bonfire were carried to a neighboring building, which quickly ignited. With incredible rapidity the flames spread from house to house, and despite the desperate efforts of volunteer and amateur firemen the destruction ceased only when no material was left for the fire to feed upon in a territory fifty-six acres in extent. The financial loss was five million dollars, an enormous one for those days, and two thousand families wandered homeless over the charred remains of what had been their dwellings. This is one of those instances when prompt and timely action would have probably saved the situation, but the antiquated methods employed, coupled with the delay inseparable from the summoning of volunteers, was just sufficient to transform what might have been a backyard blaze into a conflagration of the first magnitude, and so it always will be in fire control. Time is an ally of the utmost value, which in its turn demands the maximum of celerity on the part of all concerned. Prominence is given to this episode, since some such reminder was needed in America, as elsewhere, to stir up its citizens to a realization of what fire could accomplish, even from the smallest and most trifling beginnings. Untold romance lies in the history of the great forest fires of America, which even today rage to a large extent uncontrolled, but which educated the early settlers to a vivid realization of their perils. Thus in the prosperous colony of New Brunswick there is chronicled a conflagration which in its destructive horror has left an indelible mark upon the population as well as upon the land itself. Along the banks of the river Miramichi there were scattered in 1825 prosperous settlements of fishermen and farmers, while through the forest which extended for hundreds of miles to the north and south roamed hunters and trappers of nomadic habits in search of a livelihood. To them nature appeared so bountiful that no thought of any enemy common alike to both entered their contented remains. The summer had been a dry one, and the autumn had brought but little rain till the pine needles and leaves crackled under the weight of a passing step, and a careless lumberman was to transform this haven of quiet into a holocaust of ruin. Having finished his evening pipe he knocked it out against a tree stump and turned in, little wrecking of the consequences. He awoke to find the forest ablaze about him, and although fearfully burned managed to make his way to the nearest camp where there was no need to tell his story. For east and west, north and south the glow of an unnatural day was upon them. From the waters of the Miramichi to the shores of Baye-Chalur there was one roaring hurricane of flame, and no human means were with to stay it. Dawn followed dawn bringing no relief, till the heart of a great province was transformed from a richly wooded country into a lonely and desolate waste. So much had been accomplished by human carelessness, though it is ever thus that the world has learned its lesson. No less than two hundred persons either perished in the flames, or were drowned in the river vainly trying to find safety in its cooling waters. Over a thousand horses and cattle were swept to their doom, and six thousand square miles of forest disappeared as completely from the face of the earth as though they had never been. In some places the destruction of vegetation was so thorough that even to this day nothing can grow there but stunted shrubbery and coarse grass, a constant reminder of this tragedy. With such examples of the terrific power of fire was it surprising that the New World hailed the invention of the steam engine with enthusiasm as a possible panacea for its sufferings? Even to the amateur mechanic the principles governing the construction and working of the steam fire engine are simple and easy of understanding. In the earliest examples an upright boiler with a spacious firebox at its base was set between the rear wheels of an ordinary carriage body and surmounted by a short smokestack. Boltered to the front of the boiler were two steam cylinders, above them being placed the pump itself, so that the piston rod of the engine served as the rod of the pump. Steam drove the pistons up and down in the engine, drawing water through a large suction hose on one side and forcing it out on the other through a smaller hose. From the pumps the water was forced to an air chamber, forming a cushion and serving to equalize the pressure, thus giving an unvarying discharge. The principle of these pumps was therefore very much akin to that of the hand engine, but with enormously increased power. As this was long prior to the introduction of the water tube boiler steam had to be generated in the old way, by which the heat given off by combustion is conveyed by tubes through the boiler. The water supply of the boiler was obtained from a small pipe connected to or near the suction chamber and pumps. On the average the diameter of the cylinders in the various sizes of engines ranged from six and one-half to ten inches, while the stroke as a rule measured eight inches. These rough particulars will give the reader some idea of the chrysalis from which the modern fire engine has emerged. Since fires cannot be fought without water, some account of the problem connected with its supply deserves attention. Here again may be observed the retrograde movement. Since in Roman times it was not uncommon to find aqueducts forty miles in length, which from their situation were enabled to deliver to the city in accordance with the laws of gravity a sufficient quantity of water at a moderate pressure. Naturally this was of great advantage in firefighting, and from historical records it is clear that the most was made of it. But in Europe of the Middle Ages these lessons had been forgotten and the practice had fallen into desuitude. Rivers, wells, and ponds were considered adequate for the needs of the population, and it is curious to meditate that the intellectual wealth of that time expended itself solely upon art and the most profound metaphysics to the exclusion of more mundane, though probably more useful, considerations regarding public health and safety. Yet even in the middle of the last century it was by no means uncommon to find large towns dependent upon a water supply operated by private companies and conveyed by means of open manes through the streets. In 1815 Philadelphia introduced a complete system of underground pipes, constantly supplied with water by a central pumping station. This plan proved a success, and has since been gradually adopted even by many of the smallest towns in America. This system, however, did not at its initiation take into consideration the fire department, and the city of New York probably had the first water service to which hydrants were connected for that particular purpose. By degrees has been evolved from this mode of supply, that most valuable adjunct of modern firefighting, the high pressure system, which even now has not been extended to its limit of usefulness and which is lacking in cities where it should most certainly be installed. A detailed description of its advantages is given in a separate chapter. Naturally an outbreak of fire being invariably attended with some danger to human life, those far-sighted Romans cast about for the most simple yet effective means of coping with the situation. Two pieces of their apparatus were specially designed for this purpose, and have survived in a modified form until the present day. Firstly, mention must be made of the Roman ladder. The great advantage of this apparatus lies in its simplicity. In its constructive details it has changed practically not a wit since the days of Nero, and it is as useful in wide thoroughfares as in narrow courts, while its portability is such that one man can carry the entire equipment. It consists of a series of short ladders from six to nine feet in length, the lower part of each being slightly broader than the top. By means of a slot the sections can be fitted together, all being interchangeable except that designed for the bottom, which has its sides somewhat more outspread in order to provide a firmer hold upon the ground. The method of erection is simple and ingenious. The lowest section is first placed against the wall to be scaled at a considerable angle. The fireman then ascends it with a section on his shoulder, an armed with a rope, a hook belted to his waist, and a pulley. When he reaches a certain rung, which in modern practice is painted scarlet, he puts his leg through the ladder, his foot against the wall, and hooking himself on in order to leave his hands free, pushes the ladder away from the wall, and fits the section he has carried on top of the section upon which he is standing. He then hauls up another section and repeats the same maneuver. At the Colosseum in Rome for exhibition purposes these ladders have been joined up together till they reached a total length of one hundred and sixty-four feet. This apparatus, it may be remarked, is in regular use in many of the Italian fire departments to-day. The second noteworthy appliance of Roman times, which has endured through all these centuries, and which in the writer's humble opinion modern invention has not improved, is the jumping pillow. This was nothing more nor less than a large mattress, some eight feet square, stuffed with hair or feathers, and designed to break the fall of anyone jumping from a height. Nowadays the practice is to use a net made of heavy rope attached to springs to afford additional resiliency. The chances of anyone jumping from a height of more than three stories must always be intensely hazardous, but all things considered there appears to be a balance in favour of landing on the pillow. During that most distressing fire at the ash building in New York, when a number of lives were lost, several young women attempted to jump to safety, were caught in the net, and found death. The impetus their bodies gathered while falling was so terrific that the shock of the impact killed them in every case. Hence it will be seen that the firefighting world is still awaiting the genius of the inventor who will be able to devise some other means of catching unfortunates who are compelled by dire necessity to jump to their doom. This brief resume will have been sufficient to demonstrate the fact that the inclusion of firefighting amongst the scientific problems of the day, and as one worthy of serious consideration, dates from modern times, and hence the many improvements which have been introduced into its practice are all of such recent origin that even now they are only just emerging from an embryonic stage. It is probable that the next century will witness advances along all lines of such immense consequence that present apparatus will be totally outclassed and will be relegated to the glass cases and dusty environment of museums, where the curious of future generations will gaze with interest, tinged possibly with amusement at the appliances used to fight the flames by their forefathers. So far the use of chemistry as an ally of water in subduing fires is only in its infancy, and though prophecy is admittedly unsatisfactory, and more often than not misleading, it may be hazarded that the cumbersome steam-fire pump will in due course disappear from this sphere of active operations, and that the outbreaks of the future will be dealt with swiftly and easily by a combination of high-pressure streams coupled with chemical forces as yet inoperative. It has taken many centuries to evolve the fire departments of the present, but as so often happens, now that a scientific advance has at last been made, that advance will continue with increasing rapidity, until fire, as was always intended, shall be the servant and not the scourge of man. Section 4 of Fires and Firefighters by John Kenlon. A sage once penned the dictum that fire makes a good servant but a bad master, and few practical firemen will be found to argue the accuracy of the statement. For the firefighter life consists of one protracted struggle against this most crafty of elements, which often times is most dangerous when apparently subdued, and which in its methods of attack would appear to be guided by some Machiavellian mastermind of strategy. Hence it goes without saying that to successfully cope with such an adversary demands the maximum of skill and determination, which are fundamental characteristics in the genus Fireman. The sailor is an idol of the public largely because he is ever pictured as pitting his seamanship and science against the two stubborn forces of wind and waves. In song and story he is immortalized as the acme of all that is dashing and fearless, and it is small wonder that the younger generation, inspired by such narratives, yearns to emulate such heroes. Yet for some strange reason the fireman has never occupied so large a place in popular romance. His deeds have not been chronicled with the same degree of graphic narration. The cheap notoriety of the music-hall ballad has perhaps happily been denied him, and it has remained for the daily press to utilize him as a convenient feature in the absence of other material. This must not be taken as implying any want of generosity on the part of those concerned, but naturally a minor fire, though involving considerable risk to those operating against it, cannot receive the same publicity as that accorded to some event of general interest. Also it must be remembered that it is a common trait of human nature to accept, without particular comment, the services of any organization to which it has become accustomed. The average person is ignorant of the sea, except through the medium of what is written, and hence being unfamiliar otherwise with the subject instinctively envelops the calling of the sailor with a glamour of romanticism and mystery. Nevertheless to those who care to seek it there is a potent fascination in the career of a fireman, a life full of ever-varying incident, and a calling which may well appeal to the imagination of the young man in search of adventure. Picture a warm, well-lighted recreation room. A dozen firemen are gathered about tables, passing away the time with dominoes and pool, while one of their number is amusing himself at the piano by strumming over the latest popular airs. Suddenly the alarm gong sounds. It is a district call, and almost instantaneously the men are in their jerseys and boots. The pianist has disappeared down the sliding pole with a celerity which would put to shame the demon in a fairy-play. While the others are following the horses have already clattered from their stalls and taken their allotted places under their harness. With a snap and a click their collars are locked, the drivers leap to their seats, and as the station doors swing automatically open the firemen clamber on to the apparatus which is already under way. Not so bad, mutters the officer in charge, eighteen seconds from the alarm. Outside the night is chill and misty, intensified by a steady drizzle. The streets are greasy, and the engine rocks perilously from side to side, as with bell clanging and siren sounding it dashes at full speed along thoroughfares crowded with homegoing pleasure-seekers. Arrived at the scene of the outbreak it is found that the cause of the trouble is a large warehouse on the water-front, full of combustible materials already well ablaze. The driver, versed in the geography of the district, pulls up at the nearest hydrant. A loud clattering heralds the approach of the hose wagon. A burly fireman deftly catches the end of a hose section thrown to him and couples up to the standpipe. Then the crew, with an automatic precision born of long experience, lay hold of their weapons, the hose-pipes, and advance to the attack. Above the roar of the flames raging up the elevator shaft of the building resounds the shrill crescendo of a ship's whistle. A fire-boat has responded to the call and is wending its way rapidly along the water's edge. Within a period measurable only by seconds it also has joined in the fray and is directing several streams upon the rear of the main fire, thus carrying out the most effective maneuver in modern warfare that of outflanking the enemy. Meantime other engines and other apparatus have arrived. Curious crowds have collected and strong drafts of police are kept busy in preventing the hampering of the brigade's efforts. A large motor draws up. Its occupant is the fire chief, distinguishable from all others by a white helmet. There is no confusion, little excitement. The general has arrived to take the supreme command. An officer briefly outlines the situation. The fire has gained such and such a hold. So many pieces of apparatus are being employed, with a certain end in view. The only question is whether the general is satisfied that the forces are being used to the best possible advantage. They decide that a personal inspection is necessary, and without delay the chief enters the building. Nearby stands a hospital ambulance, with its doctor and orderlies ready for any emergency, for even as on a battlefield casualties are to be expected. By order of the chief a heavier attack is developed upon a particular portion of the structure, and an extension ladder shoots up through the merc, with men clinging cat-like to its rungs even as it lengthens. An order rings out, start water, and a powerful jet is forced into the heart of the seething inferno. The crucial point in the attack upon the fire has now arrived. It is as though each contestant were summoning up his reserves, with a view to one overwhelming effort at mastery. Flames have crept into the cellars, rendering the task of the firemen in that quarter almost impossible. Several are overcome by heat and smoke, and are quickly removed to the ambulance, their places being speedily taken by reliefs. But still the fire gains. Moreover a new ally assists the flames in the shape of a snapped, heavily charged electric light-cable. Like some huge serpent it twists and writhes hither and thither, menacing with instant death those who again and again essay to check its career. It hisses venomously, its blue glare blinds them in the pervading gloom, until with one supreme effort it is seized and denuded of its fangs being severed from the main. One successful skirmish does not, however, constitute a victory, and a reinforcement of the enemy appears to check too confident in advance. The roof is yet intact, and upon the third floor the firemen are met by great volumes of dense smoke which threaten a back-draft. With axes and hatchets, doors and shutters are demolished, anything to create a draft. A sheet of flame and a whirling eddy of sparks momentarily envelop the workers on the extension ladder, and few among the watchers can credit their safety as they emerge from this fiery whirl-pool, clothes burnt, hair singed, hands blistered, but still fighting on with grim determination. That marked the last desperate stand of the enemy, the Niagara of Water is beginning to tell, and a sullen pall of smoke darkens the angry brilliance of the blaze. Some of the companies are recalled to their stations to be in readiness for other outbreaks, while a sufficient number of men remain until the last vestiges of their foe have disappeared. Then they too retire, perchance to a well earned rest. This is by no means an over-colored picture of an everyday fire in the warehouse district of any city. Moreover it is devoid of the heart-rending scenes and nerve-wracking uncertainty inseparable from those occasions when human lives are involved. Thus who shall say that the life of the firemen lacks that romance which is supposed to be inalienable from them that go down to the sea in ships that do business in great waters? As a matter of fact the career of those who fight the flames teams with anecdotes of splendid courage, self-denying heroism and hair-breath escapes which furnish material and to spare for the great masters of the pen. For instance, this from real life. During the progress of a serious fire in the city of Boston the assistant chief went to the top of the building involved for the purpose of opening the hydrants connected with its water protection. While thus engaged he was cut off from all means of escape save one which consisted of a heavy telegraph cable connected to a separate building across the street. In order to make his predicament known he threw his fire-helmet to the ground many feet below. Extension ladders were erected with all rapidity but were prevented from reaching him by a tangle of overhead wires. By this time his clothing was on fire and the position was rapidly becoming untenable. All that separated possible life from a horrible death was that cable. Crawling to the edge of the building he swung himself on to the wire which swayed and quivered with his weight. With the utmost presence of mind hand over hand and leg over leg he worked his way toward the center of the cable where he remained suspended ninety feet above the ground. Had the line run directly across the street the officer with the distance he had actually covered would have reached safety. But unfortunately the line was at an upward angle and his efforts to reach the point which he had gained had sapped his vital energy to that degree which made further progress impossible. Men were hastily placed on hose wagons which were backed in together to form a circle. A life net was then stretched between them in case his strength should give out and his grasp relax. Fortunately at this juncture one of the firemen with a special knowledge of knots made his way to the roof of the house upon which the fire-free end of the cable was attached. Fastening a rope to the cable he sawed the latter through, thus enabling both man and cable to be lowered inch by inch towards the ground. When the knot joining cable to rope was reached the officer lost his hold and was caught by his comrades in the net and carried into the street. This exciting escape proved no barrier to the further duty of this fireman who twenty-four hours after this incident was able to report for service and carry on as though nothing had happened. In the early days before fire departments had come to be officially recognized, dependents had necessarily to be placed upon volunteers, and many are the stories humorous and pathetic which could be told about them. The fascination of the service certainly extended to those who enrolled, judging by their social position and by the fact that many of them gave up valuable time in order the better to qualify for their duties. Some peculiar entries are to be found in the old minute-books of these stations, indicative of the fact that the commonest breach of discipline would appear to have been a two-free use of strong language. Thus the secretary of one company reports a fireman for saying to him, You be damned, you damned old Dutch hog, for which he was severely reprimanded, while the Puritan spirit was carried so far that a man was fined for saying, Damn the odds! Some fifty years ago it was customary for all young men to belong to associations of some sort, religious, social, or political. The story goes that one such youth was sitting in a tavern and overheard others of his age discussing the societies to which they subscribed. This filled him with a desire to go and do likewise. So on his return home he told his mother of his ambition, remarking that he was not particular as to the nature of the club which he joined. There was a great revival going on in those days, and like all good mothers she told him to go with her and join the church. Well, Quothee, I don't specially care what it is but I must belong to something. So down to the church he went. But to his chagrin the minister told him that he must be placed on probation for three months. When that period had expired he was told that he must wait yet another two months. Some time passed when one day the minister happened to meet his probationer, walking down the street, in a neat red shirt, a gaudy pair of suspenders, a coat thrown over his arm and bearing a number on his back. Ah-ha! said the pastor. You're the one I want to see. You haven't been to church of late. No, Domini answered the young man, that probation was too long for me. But cried the former, it is at an end and now you can join the church. Too late, too late, Domini, I've joined an engine company down here, and it's going to take all my time to look after fires. I'm going to one now. You see, I was bound to join something, and these fellows let me in without any probation. All I had to do was give up two dollars and I was called a member. Come round to see us, Domini, we've got as bully a little engine as ever went to a fire. From which it may be deduced that the pleasures of earthly fires were greater to the majority of young folk than the terrors of fires to come, as depicted no doubt in the Bible meetings. About that time one of the most popular chiefs was James Gulick, who commanded the New York Fire Department. The following incident is illustrative of the affection in which he was held by his men. A fire had broken out in Centre Street, adjoining the works of the New York Gas Company, which had destroyed two houses. Against the gable end of one of the burning buildings a large number of barrels of resin were piled, and the firemen worked diligently to save them by rolling them into the street. The night was intensely cold, and somebody kindled a small fire with a part of the contents of a broken barrel, which the workmen employed by the Gas Company attempted to extinguish. These were warned by the firemen to desist, and a big heavy fellow who continued his efforts was pushed away. Thereupon a large number of his friends attacked the few firemen in charge, who were joined by their comrades and a fight ensued. The brigade was victorious. Gulick heard of the affair, and hastened to the scene, exclaiming, What does all this shameful conduct mean at such a moment? The only answer was a blow from a workman, who struck his head from behind with an iron bar, and only his helmet protected him from serious injury. Turning upon his assailant the chief pursued him across the ruins of a fallen wall and threw him upon the debris, but was followed in his turn by some thirty or forty employees. Then stand by your chief was the cry of the devoted brigade, and in an instant the attack was turned into a rout, the workman taking refuge in the Gas House. Gulick, by almost superhuman efforts, forced an entrance in advance of his enraged followers, and amid volleys of coal buckets, called upon the rioters to surrender, promising protection. His reply was a charge with a red-hot poker, which fortunately passed through his trumpet which he carried under his arm. This put an end to his forbearance, and jumping from the doorway he shouted, Now men, surround the house, don't let one of them escape. The excited firemen rushed into the building, and administered a sound thrashing to their truculent foes, who were afterwards arrested, and even then the former were not appeased, and attempted to destroy the machinery, which was only saved by the chief's firmness and discipline. After the great fire of eighteen thirty-five, which caused twenty million dollars' worth of damage, and dislodged more than six hundred mercantile firms, the resignation of Gulick was demanded, upon which the brigade in Toto struck work, and it was only but the greatest difficulty that it was re-established on a satisfactory basis. Perhaps the writer may be forgiven for trespassing upon the patience of his readers, to the extent of drawing from his own personal experience some anecdotes illustrative of the various phases of his life, both before and since he became a fireman. If there is any truth in the old adage that Experientia doset, then assuredly thirty years of practical firefighting, in the largest organization of the kind in the world, entitle him to form some opinions and arrive at some conclusions. It would not be difficult to write a whole book with the personal material at hand, but the present object is rather briefly to show how any young man minus influence or capital, but possessed of determination, may climb the ladder leading to positions of grave responsibility, and ultimately to the head of his chosen profession. Incidentally the writer wishes to emphasize the fact that his advancement was in no way due to any exceptional opportunities, or to what is termed popularly good luck, but rather to a steady and unremitting attention to duty, coupled with some of that perseverance which in that historic race between the hare and the tortoise gave the victory to the latter. Since the following narratives are the writer's own experiences, it seems more apropos to relate them in the first person. At the immature age of three I may claim to have received my baptism of fire, since like most other youngsters anything to do with the forbidden joys of matches possessed an unholy fascination for me. One day, while playing with some other children whose tastes were similar to my own, I conceived the brilliant idea of making a good blaze in the hay-yard. I cannot remember whence I procured the matches, which in those days were a great luxury and were carefully hoarded, but since desire is the father of acquisition, by hook or crook I secured some, and what could make a better bonfire than a hay-stack. Within less time than it takes to write one was in flames, and we jumped and danced around it, playing at red Indians, until some unsympathetic neighbors came running from all directions gesticulating wildly. It then occurred to me for the first time that I had done wrong, and I promptly showed a clean pair of heels to avenging justice. Running into the house I hid under the bed, and while workmen and friends busied themselves in saving the house I lay there not daring to emerge. Not until the excitement had subsided were inquiries made as to the origin of the fire, and knowing my foibles I, of course, was suspected, and a search was instituted for the incipient fire-bug. It did not take long to discover me and drag me forth, when my angry mother carried me to an adjacent stream, telling me that such naughty boys had better be drowned early in life than be allowed to live to burn up property and people. My feelings of remorse can easily be imagined, and I promised that never in my life would I again start a fire, and that always I would do whatever lay in my power to extinguish conflagrations. But this childish prank, aside from the promise that I made on that occasion which I have ever kept, taught me one great lesson. It is that children, when frightened by fire, have a tendency to conceal themselves under beds, and therefore in searching a dwelling firemen never neglect to look carefully in these hiding places. When children are awakened by suffocating smoke, or by members of the household during excitement consequent upon fire, unless watched they will invariably crawl under beds, thinking in their childish fancy that thereby they are safely hidden from the flames, and many a little body is on that account brought forth lifeless. It is, of course, difficult to lay down any hard and fast rule for occasions of this sort, but it might be impressed upon children from their very earliest years that under no circumstances should they adopt this method of hiding. Whether in games or to avoid mama with a slipper, the practice is a bad one, and though the actual occasion may never arise to prove the value of this instruction, it will undoubtedly, in that odd chance of five hundred, be the means of preserving a precious life. In fact, this is the epitome of fire control. Watch and be prepared for the odd chance, for just as the individual who is foolish enough to carry a revolver will probably never need it, but if he does will need it uncommonly badly, so in all fire precautions necessity for their use may never arise, but should the unforeseen happen their absence may prove disastrous. From my childhood I always possessed a great love for the sea, and thus it happened that at the age of thirteen I shipped as boy in a top-sale schooner bound from Whitehaven to Dundalk with a cargo of coal. Her name was the Gazelle, and judging by her behaviour on that eventful trip her owners were not mistaken in thus prisoning her. We left Whitehaven in the middle of an unusually stormy December, and by the time we were off the Isle of Man we were running into a howling south-easterly Gale, which was not improved by incessant squalls of blinding sleet. Needless to say I experienced the additional discomfort of being horribly seasick, not that on that account I was permitted to escape my share of the ship's work. I can remember as though it were yesterday making my way along the wave-swept decks, and wondering what on earth had ever induced me to leave the comforts of terra firma for such an inferno of physical torment as was apparently offered by a sea life. After hours of incessant tacking we managed to make Belfast Lough, where we found shelter and anchored preparatory to riding the storm out. The ship was in a terribly battered condition, sails blown to ribbons, boats washed away, and half the bullocks gone. Ship's boy in those days was synonymous with made-of-all-work. And as there is so it is affirmed no rest for the wicked, I was promptly told off to make up a good fire in the bogey, a dirty little black stove which smoked incessantly, and had been the bane of my existence during the voyage. Full of anxiety to disprove the reputation which I had gained as a seasick landlubber, I stoked up and soon had a warm comfortable glow in the foxle. Then I turned in. It must have been a half an hour later that I awakened to find the heat becoming oppressive. The cause was not far to seek. The boat was a fire. The black bogey had again played me a low trick and had become red-hot. More over the flu had caught the infection, and in turn was transmitting the disease so effectually that bulkhead and deck-planking were emitting a miniature Vesuvius of smoke and sparks. Without waiting for any instructions I attacked the invader with buckets of water, the sleepy crew lending an extraordinarily willing hand when they realized that their belongings were in peril. On the painful events following the captain's reappearance I will not dwell. Suffice it to say that I received the smartest lacing the old man could give me, the memory of which remained with me long after I had left the merchant service. But the moral is obvious. Anything more ludicrous than stove-pipes passing through unprotected wooden bulkheads would be hard to imagine, yet such is the conservatism of the sea, that it is by no means uncommon to find such conditions even today in small coasters and smacks. The foregoing was my first fire at sea, but I was fated to have another experience of a more serious character. I happened to be quartermaster in the old Abyssinia of the now defunct Guyon line plying between New York and Liverpool. We had sailed from the former port in the month of July, with nine hundred passengers of all classes and a full cargo of cotton. About two hundred eighty miles east of Cape Race a fire was discovered in the main hold, which though located in the middle of the night was kept from the passengers' knowledge until noon of the following day, when the united efforts of the crew had been found insufficient to cope with the outbreak. The captain then decided to call upon the passengers to lend a hand, and men and women from saloon intermediate and steerage bravely combined with the sailors in their dangerous task. Happily the sea was smooth, and to the lasting credit of all concerned there was no panic. Steam was used to fight the burning cotton, and as the sea men were overcome by smoke in the darkness of the hold, volunteers took their places, with the result that after three days of incessant labour the outbreak was under control. Had there been a panic, or had the flames gained the upper hand, the result would have been hideous beyond words, since there were only boats to accommodate three hundred persons. It only remains to add that Queenstown was made in safety without any casualty, and though the incident lacks any spectacular element, it contains material for thought regarding the principal's governing fire control at sea. The use of steam on ship-board for the extinction of fires is general, though its efficiency is open to serious question. When water becomes steam it is practically nonabsorbent, since in assuming this form it has been subjected to great heat. As the object desired in fighting a fire is the absorption of the heat created by the flames, it is apparent that any element at a high temperature is unable to obtain with certainty its reduction. All that can be expected from steam is that by its moisture it may be able to check a further advance of the enemy. Hence if steam must be used, let it contain as much moisture as possible, or in simple language let it be used at as low a temperature as is compatible with its existence. But in the opinion of the writer the whole subject is one of such a highly complex character, and with all of such overwhelming importance, that it merits the study and consideration of all concerned in the safety of passengers and cargo in ocean-going vessels. About the autumn of 1878 I shipped as first officer on a steamer bound from Chicago to Buffalo, to the cargo of Oats. All went well until we were in Lake Erie about sixty miles from Buffalo. I had a trick at the wheel from eight to twelve in the first night watch, and on being relieved I went forward to the deck-house, filled my pipe, and prepared to enjoy a smoke. Scarcely had I got it well alight when I heard a cry of fire, and rushing out saw flames bursting through the after-hatch, close to the companion-way leading to the cabin. The captain, who had been on deck most of the time during the first watch, had gone below a few minutes before. His wife, who was with us on the trip, was in the cabin at that moment. Running aft I realized we had a very dangerous fire with which to contend. The deck-watch, in charge of the mate, attacked the blaze, and I dashed into the cabin to notify the captain and his wife. In a few minutes they were both on deck, and the fire had so increased that I suggested the advisability of getting out the boat, and launching, in addition, the life-raft which we carried. This was agreed upon, since the steamer was constructed of wood, and her condition was hopeless. We succeeded in lowering the raft, but the flames had spread with such rapidity that they had enveloped that part of the ship from which the life-boat swung, making its launching an impossibility. Wrapping a blanket around the captain's wife, who was clad only in her night-dress, we were able to get her on the raft, but she suddenly remembered that her jewellery had been left behind and implored her husband to secure it for her. His complacence almost cost him his life, for on his return to the cabin he was severely burnt about the head and face, and he failed in addition to gain his object. The dry oats proved excellent fuel, and it speedily became evident that the ship was doomed. We had either to remain by it or to take to the raft, which was built to carry ten persons while we were fourteen all told. The Stokers, engineers and deckhands joined the terrified woman, while the captain, the mate and I, went forward to that part of the vessel which was not yet involved in the general conflagration. We stood together near the bow, watching the fire advance slowly towards us. The heat was intense, and the lake was lighted up for miles around by the flames. Suddenly the formast fell. It barely missed the captain who stood in a dazed condition by my side. The mate and I realized that in a few minutes we should be forced to jump overboard and made ready by removing our clothing, until we stood only in our undershirts and trousers. From the raft, which was about two hundred fifty feet to windward of the burning vessel, came an imploring cry beseeching the captain to leave his ship and come to his wife. He shook hands with us and sprang overboard. As he was a powerful swimmer he was soon alongside the raft. We, however, remained where we were for perhaps ten minutes when it became a question of death by fire or taking our chances in the water. The water seemed inviting in comparison with the flames, and we did not hesitate to plunge overboard after saying good-bye and murmuring a few words of prayer. Never shall I forget my sensations when I felt the cold waters of Lake Erie that October morning. Actually blistering from the heat I thought I had been suddenly transported to paradise. Between the pleasures of dying by drowning and the horrors of being roasted to death there is a gulf almost as wide as that which divides the celestial realms from the regions of the Damned, and the sense of security and relief from pain was almost indescribable. But now a new difficulty confronted me. I had learned to swim in salt water, and I found the fresh water exceedingly light and hard in which to keep afloat. By easy strokes I contrived to get near the raft, but alas there was no room for me upon it, and any such attempt on my part would have spelled disaster and probable death to all concerned. Floating and swimming by turns I kept up for about an hour when my strength began to waver and semi-unconsciousness supervened. Amongst the crew was a negro cook who sang songs and cracked jokes in an effort to keep up the courage of his unfortunate comrades. All the time that I had been swimming by the raft this cheerful creature had watched me, and as I was about to sink I felt his hand take hold of my shirt and heard his voice in words of comfort. He quietly drew me towards him, and with the help of the chief engineer got me securely seated on the raft. Then he slipped overboard where he lay on his back and floated like a chip. For seven hours he stayed in the water, helping the captain and mate alternately to rest on the raft when they became exhausted. The chief engineer and another took turns in swimming, but neither of them stayed in the water as long as did this sturdy colored man. Never once did he complain. He was the same cheerful soul at the end of his long trial as he had been when he left Chicago. We were rescued eventually by a tug which had put out from Buffalo, having seen the flames sixty miles away. The memory of that brave negro has always remained with me. I may say I owe my life to him. For though I am a fair swimmer, I could never have lasted through those terrible eight hours without his unselfish assistance. There has always been in my heart a feeling of gratitude, not alone to this brave fellow, who I am sorry to say lost his life afterwards in a railway accident, but to the race to which he belonged. Many years afterwards, when an engineer of a certain company, I had an opportunity of vicariously paying off something of this debt. We responded to a fire which proved to be in a tenement occupied by colored people. The building was already a mass of flames, and several persons on the upper floors were cut off from escape. Two colored women and a little boy were trapped on the third floor. Mounting to the windows by extension ladders, we could see them with their clothing already on fire. The only chance of saving them was a desperate one, but we took it. Firemen Malavi and I entered and succeeded in passing the three to others outside, who carried them safely to the ground. The boy and the young woman are alive today, but the elder woman was so badly burnt that she died in the hospital on the following morning. It only remains to be said that the one life lost in the Lake Erie fire was that of the captain's wife, who succumbed shortly afterwards from exposure, a circumstance made doubly sad from the fact that she was a beautiful bride of only four months. Curiously enough, my first active service in the New York fire department was in connection with a vessel on fire, and is illustrative of the adage that all knowledge is valuable. As is usually the case with a new member of the force, I was extremely nervous during my first nights at the station. Although my seafaring life had taught me to be accustomed to turning out at any moment and in all sorts of weather, I found that the watching and waiting for the alarm gong possessed a mental strain of its own, which is incidentally common to all fire fighters. During the night in question I had lain awake with tense nerves, fearing that the call might come and that I might get left behind. Then I fell into a troubled sleep, to be roused by the sound I had so long expected. In my anxiety I stumbled over my own boots and narrowly escaped upsetting my neighbor, who did not appreciate the attention. I gained my object, however, and my nightmare of missing my first alarm dissolved as we galloped through the silent streets. A French ship was involved, a fire having broken out in the forward hold. With enthusiasm I seized a length of hose, only to be told in official phraseology to leave it alone. Not comprehending the order I attempted to board the vessel, but was stopped by the battalion chief, who recognized in me a recruit. Perhaps I may hear remark that it took me a full month to master the regular words of command which are peculiar to fire departments. Eventually I found my chance, for with my marine knowledge I knew how best to tackle the trouble, and creeping along through the smoke made my way to the heart of the outbreak. There I was found later by the chief, who finding me on my face using the hose to the best of my ability told me to get up and lending me a helping hand together we extinguished the fire. I was later complimented on my action, and I am happy to say that my kindly mentor still survives and occupies an honored position in the department. Out of the memories of my many years experience of firefighting, it is difficult to select one particular conflagration as being more thrilling in its incidents than any other. All fires entail risk to life in a greater or smaller degree, and are therefore replete with that human interest which makes special appeal to the heart. For even in the factory or warehouse outbreak human lives are endangered, the lives of the firemen employed. But sometimes circumstances do arise which require the pen of a Stevenson to give them that actuality and force which alone can depict them in their fearful vividness. To my dying day I shall never forget the horrors accompanying the burning of the Park Avenue Hotel. At one thirty in the morning of February twenty-second, 1902, the gong in the quarters of Engine Company seventy-two sounded three three four forty-six, which translated into bald English signified the fact that a dangerous and threatening fire was raging in the vicinity of Park Avenue and thirty-fourth Street in the borough of Manhattan, New York City. In other words it was a third alarm, summoning to the scene thirteen Engine Companies, four Hook and Ladder Companies, the Chief of the Department, the Deputy Chief and four Battalion Chiefs. Engine Company seventy-two responded on the third alarm, and in less than twenty seconds after the receipt of the first tap of the gong they were clear of the doors of the quarters and on their way to the fire. At that time I was captain of this company and beginning to feel the full weight of my responsibility. A fierce gale from the northeast raged about us as we left our comfortable quarters, the snow and sleet lashing our faces and making vision almost impossible. The driver of the Engine has since often assured me that for a mile and a half of the distance to be covered he let his horses gallop without knowing his precise whereabouts. Yet in spite of the storm we reached the scene of the fire in less than five minutes. On our arrival we found that the seventy-first regimental armory, situated at the southeast corner of Park Avenue and thirty-fourth Street, was ablaze. The interior of this imitation fortress was of wood and filled with arms and ammunition of every description. Evidently the fire had been burning for some time, for as we pulled up there was a constant rattle of exploding cartridges for all the world as though our services had been requisitioned to a field of battle. In addition to this the building was heavily charged with smoke which reached the explosive point as soon as an opening admitting a fresh supply of oxygen was affected. Orders were received from the commanding officer, Deputy Chief Dwayne, that a line was to be taken into the armory by the thirty-fourth Street entrance. At this moment the truck companies succeeded in opening these doors, but the pressure of heated air and gas blew the men back into the Street. Almost instantly the whole interior of the building was a seating mass of flame. Nothing further apparently could be done here, as my instructions then were to cover the dwelling houses on the east side of thirty-fourth Street, where we fought the fire back until the wall of this part of the armory fell outwards, burying our line and cutting it in two. Some idea of the difficulties confronting us can be imagined when I add that the position from which we were fighting consisted of a narrow strip of Street some twenty-five feet wide, bounded on one side by the flames, and on the other by a trench forty feet deep, which was being prepared for the reception of the present subway. The break in our line naturally shut off the stream, and I went immediately to see what had happened. Meeting the officer in charge I was ordered to take yet another position in Park Avenue in order to cover the Fourth Avenue car stables. These were to the south of the fire, and it was this change which brought my company into a position which enabled it to assist in the most harrowing and exciting events that I have ever experienced on land or sea. To begin with, this maneuver necessitated our crossing the subway trench, which incidentally we were told contained three tons of blasting powder. It has always been a marvel to me that this did not explode, exposed as it was to sparks and burning embers. We managed to reach our goal in safety by means of the engineering shores used in the cut-and-cover system of excavation. At this moment, from some unexplained cause, the Park Avenue Hotel took fire. The figure of a woman clad only in her night-clothes appeared at a fifth-story window, and above the roar of the flames and the exploding of the ammunition could be heard screaming for help. Even as her voice rang out, guests could be seen watching the conflagration from their bedrooms. While in the foyer men were strolling about, cigars in their mouths, discussing with interest the probable amount of damage which would be caused by the blaze. Little did they realize that the angel of death with wings outstretched was hovering over the building in which they were. Our change of position made us among the foremost to effect an entrance. From the first we were hampered by the revolving doors which prevented our handling our lines with facility. Thus valuable time was lost and our task rendered the more difficult. Our arrival had been heralded with the frankest incredulity, but once the onlookers realized the grisly danger threatening their dear ones, they had to be forcibly restrained from adding themselves to the human sacrifices awaiting us upon the floors above. As we climbed the stairs the smoke grew denser and denser till our breath came in strangling gasps and physical endurance seemed about to fail. It was impossible to see. On hands and knees we groped and felt like blind men, instinct our only guide. And then the horror. Imagine crawling sightless along a strange corridor. Imagine the outstretched hand wandering over an unknown substance which slowly reveals itself to be a corpse. That would be a ghastly situation. But add to it the distant crackling of flame licking its way remorselessly from floor to floor, the shouts of firemen in difficulty, the sobs and piteous entreaties of unseen women dying slowly from suffocation, and can hell be pictured as more hideous. Grimly, however, all ranks alike stuck to their lines, scrambled over these gruesome barriers, and with almost miraculous tenacity of purpose succeeded in quelling the grim destroyer. As a matter of fact the whole outbreak was under control within a short time, and it was then possible to realize the tragic uncertainty of life. For had the men and women whose lifeless forms encumbered the passages, only remained in their rooms not one need have been lost. As we returned from the Holocaust and passed through the front hall, it seemed incredible even then that there were those who were still skeptical that death the reaper had passed with his scythe. But next day the unfortunates in the tomb's prison knew of the harvest, for amongst those who had fallen in the mowing was one whom they called their angel, Mrs. Foster, the Florence Nightingale of the prisoners. No lives were lost in the armory fire, but the number of persons who perished in the hotel amounted to twenty. It is naturally impossible to lay down hard and fast rules for the guidance of people who are unfortunate enough to be caught in such fires, but broadly the safest course to pursue is to avoid the vicinity of elevator shafts. Perhaps I may include amongst these few stories an incident so commonplace to the firefighter that it was never even officially reported, but which should bring home to the outsider the daily unconsidered risks accepted by the former without demure. On this particular occasion the captain of our company received orders to take his line to the roof of the building to the north of the one on fire. The intention was to breach the wall of the burning structure with battering rams in order to better attack the flames. As our point of vantage was some fifteen feet lower than the top of the wall to be attacked, this move was excellent strategy. We lowered our roof rope to the street where it was made fast to the hose and hoisted up to be in readiness. In order to make it perfectly secure I was instructed to lash it at the cornice of the roof with a special knot, known to firemen as a rolling hitch, preparatory to starting the water. Properly to adjust the knot it was necessary for me to lie at full length near the edge. I had just got a turn of the rope around the hose when a warning cry caused me to look round and I saw all hands running for the north coping. There was no need to tell me that the wall was falling and I jumped to my feet letting go of rope and hose. By great good luck I escaped becoming entangled with them or I should have been dragged to my death. Just as I reached my comrades the wall crashed down, carrying with it the roof of our building and the fire instantly swept into the rooms beneath us. It then became imperative that we should reach the next house by hook or crook or perish. Between us and safety was a pocket, that is to say there was first a drop of some fifteen feet onto tiles followed by a climb of the same height up a bare wall. This latter appeared to offer an insurmountable obstacle, but the fire was hard on our heels and desperate men wreck little of seeming impossibility. One of our number, a giant in stature and strength, named Michael Byrne, raised me on his shoulders and like an acrobat I placed my feet in his hands making our combined length almost the height of the wall. With a slight spring I succeeded in clutching the top of the coping and with sailor-like agility I hauled myself up. Having a short ladder on the roof I passed it down, by which means the others escaped, though the captain, the last to leave his post of danger, was badly burnt about the face and hands. While there must always be difficulty attendant upon the fighting of fires, as can be imagined, those that occur in the winter months are by far the most physically trying. For instance, during the Great Blizzard of 1888 which paralyzed all traffic in New York my company was summoned to a fire. All telegraph wires were down and the alarm was brought in by a mounted messenger. On leaving the quarters we found the streets nearly impassable, and after an odd hundred yards our apparatus became stalled. We then commandeered any horses we could find, and pushing and pulling we worked our way through the snow drifts to within three hundred yards of the outbreak where the engine pole snapped in two. We left the latter where it was, but succeeded in securing sufficient hose to be serviceable, and for thirty-six hours we remained on duty without food or rest. Again it sometimes happens that fire hydrants become frozen, and precious time is lost in thawing them, though nowadays this occurrence is becoming increasingly rare, owing to the improvements introduced in modern water supply. But in northern latitudes King Frost is the bet noir of the firefighter, and must be held indirectly responsible for some of those catastrophes which occur during his reign. In concluding these brief personal reminiscences the writer hopes that he is shown in a straightforward way what the life of a firefighter really is, the stirring incidents which compose it, and the great possibilities therein for young men of enterprise and ambition. Some months ago the whole civilized world was stirred to its depths by the tragic and glorious death of the British explorer Captain Scott. It has been said, and said rightly, that the world is the better for the man and his example, which will live through the ages and doubtless will serve to stimulate others when called upon to face great crises. And the writer ventures to say, with all humility, that the fireman hero, though unknown to history and unsung in legend, meets death as bravely and dies as gloriously in the service of his country and his people. End of Section IV. Recording by Maria Casper