THE THIRD ALARM A Story of the New York Fire Department

Chapter I.

“Do you see that boy sitting on the curbstone over the way? Well, he’s been there for the last half hour, and I’d just like to know what he’s up to. Run over, Charley, and ask him what he wants.”

It was John Trask, a chief of battalion in the New York Fire Department who addressed these words to his subordinate, Charley Weyman, one pleasant afternoon in early spring, and the boy to whom he referred had been sitting for some time on the curbstone across the street from the hook and ladder company’s quarters, peering anxiously through the open door which afforded him a view of the hook and ladder truck, the horses quietly munching their hay, and, in the rear room, half a dozen firemen seated about a table talking, reading or playing checkers.

The boy, who seemed to be about fifteen years of age, looked as if he had just reached town after a long and weary walk. His clothes were torn and travel-stained, and there was a 2gaunt, hungry look in his face that spoke unmistakably of want and privation. It was this look and the boy’s dejected attitude which had first attracted the chief’s attention for he feared that he might be waiting for a chance to get into the building, and steal what he could lay his hands on.

“There’s something queer about that kid,” he continued, half to himself, as he watched Weyman cross the street and enter into conversation with him. “Hulloa! he’s bringing him over here; he must want to see somebody,” and just then the fireman entered leading the boy with him.

“He says he wants to see you, chief,” said Weyman, seating himself in an arm-chair while the boy stood with his hat in his hand waiting respectfully for the other to address him.

“Well, my boy,” said the chief of battalion in a kindly voice, “what can I do for you?”

“Are you Mr. John Trask, chief of the battalion?” inquired the boy.

“I am” was the reply.

“Well, did you ever have a man here in the company named Frank Decker?”

At the mention of this name a sudden silence fell upon the little group of men who were gathered about the table, newspapers were 3laid aside, the talking ceased, and every eye was turned on the hungry looking, travel-stained boy who stood with his hat in his hand, looking the chief squarely in the face while he put the question.

The chief paused a moment as he adjusted a pair of eye-glasses on his nose, and then answered in a voice that had something of a stern soldierly ring in it: “I knew Frank Decker well, and I wish there were more men on the earth like him. But what have you to do with Frank Decker?”

“My name is Bruce Decker and Frank Decker was my father” replied the boy, still looking the chief squarely in the eye and trying to speak steadily, but there was a little break in his voice as he mentioned his father’s name and a faint quiver in his lower lip as he finished. “Frank Decker’s boy!” exclaimed Weyman springing to his feet, “Why I never knew he had a boy!”

“Where do you come from, young man?” inquired Chief Trask, regarding him now with a new interest and shifting his position so as to get a clear view of the young lad’s face.

“I come from Oswego County way back in the state, where I’ve lived all my life. I got here early this morning and came here because 4I had no other place to go to. I’ve never been in New York before, but father used to tell me about you and a friend of his named Mr. Weyman and so I thought maybe you’d be willing to give me a lift, if only on his account.”

“Upon my word I believe the boy is speaking the truth,” said Chief Trask; “he’s got Frank’s nose and eyes and his straight way of looking at you and—here just turn around a moment, my boy—yes, there it is, that little patch of gray on the back of his head that Frank used to tell us was the birth mark of every Decker that ever was born. Well young man—Bruce you say your name is? I’m glad to see you, and what’s more I’ll be glad to help you, if you need help. Here, give me your hand and sit down beside me.”

Bruce seated himself beside his new friend and then Weyman stepped over and whispered something in the chief’s ear.

“Certainly!” exclaimed that official hastily, “come along with me, boy, and have something to eat; it’s just about dinner time.”

As the two left the truck house the others laid aside their newspapers and games and began an eager discussion of the new arrival, whose father had been, until his death three months before, a member of the company.

5“I heard once that he had a boy somewhere up the country,” said Tom Brophy, “and I’ve no doubt this lad is just what he claims to be, the son of Frank Decker, because he resembles him in every particular. And if he is Frank’s son why we ought to see to it that he has a fair chance to get along here, and not turn him adrift—to make out as best he can. We’re not one of us rich, but we’re not so poor that we can’t spare a dollar now and then for a son of one of the squarest and best men that the department ever had.”

Brophy’s words were received with a degree of enthusiasm and approval that showed plainly that he and his comrades were of one mind as to the course they should pursue in welcoming and looking after the son of their old friend, and until the return of the boy and Chief Trask, they sat talking over the days when Frank Decker was one of the quickest, bravest and most popular men in all the department.

But before proceeding any further with our story, it will be necessary to turn back to the time about twelve years before the appearance of Bruce Decker at the door of the New York truck house, when Frank Decker, a strong, hearty, active man of twenty-five, turned his back on the little village near Lake Ontario, 6where he had just buried his young wife, and, having placed his little boy in the care of some distant relatives, set out for the city in the hope of beginning anew a career which had been broken by financial misfortune and the loss of his wife. Through the influence of an old friend he had obtained an appointment in the fire department, in which service he had distinguished himself by his bravery, coolness and zeal, qualities which served to commend him to the notice of the chief officers of the department, and which would probably have won for him a place at the head of a battalion, had it not been for the awful catastrophe at the burning of the Gothic Hotel on Broadway.

On this occasion Decker arrived, entered the hotel at the command of his chief, and ascended the staircase, in order to save some women who were supposed to be in one of the upper floors. That was the last seen of him, and late that night when the rest of his company had been relieved and were slowly making their way home, they spoke little of anything or anybody, save Frank Decker, who was among the missing and who had gone down before that awful sheet of flame that broke out and swept through the hotel about five minutes after he was seen to enter the building.

7Half a dozen charred bodies were taken from the ruins the next day, but which one of them had once been Frank Decker no one could tell.

And while the father had been at work in the fire department, the child whom he had left in the little village in the northern part of the State, had grown in health, strength and mind, and was now in his sixteenth year, an active, vigorous, straightforward youth, who inherited all his father’s daring and quickness, together with a willingness to learn and a decided taste for books, which had come to him direct from his mother.

During his short life he had cherished but one ambition, which was to become a fireman, and most of the correspondence which he always maintained with his father, had been in regard to the workings of the New York department, and particularly the battalion to which the elder belonged. Once a year the father had returned to his old home on the shore of the great fresh water lake to spend his short vacation with his boy, and during these visits it had been the habit of the two to take long walks and sails together, enjoying themselves after their own fashion, the boy listening with flushed cheeks and bated breath, while his father described to him the life of excitement 8and danger which he led as a member of what he always called, “the greatest fire department in the world.”

From his father’s lips the boy had heard stories of the swift runs to fires, of thrilling midnight rescues, of brave firemen plunging into solid sheets of smoke and flame, and so strong a hold had these stories taken on his mind that his desire to become a fireman himself had slowly grown within him, until it became the one fixed and cherished ambition of his life.

So it happened, naturally enough, that at his father’s death he resolved to make his way to New York and ask John Trask, the chief of his father’s old battalion, to appoint him to a place in the Department.

We have described in an earlier part of this chapter the arrival of Bruce Decker, footsore and travel-stained at the truck house, and his reception at the hands of the chief and his subordinates, and we left him going out for dinner under the guidance of his newly-made friend.

When he returned from the restaurant where he had enjoyed a hearty meal and a long, confidential talk with the chief, he stopped by the stalls in which the horses were standing, stroked the nose of the big gray, and said, without an instant’s hesitation: “Well, Pete, old fellow, I’ve heard of you many a time,” and the horse laid his muzzle on the boy’s shoulder and whinnied softly, as if he were returning the friendly greeting. The men noticed this and exchanged significant glances.

“Well, Pete, old fellow, I’ve heard of you many a time.”—Page 8.

9“Just like his father,” said Weyman, in a low voice, “do you remember how fond Frank used to be of those horses? Why, he never came into the house without stopping to pet them.”

“Well, my little man, how would you like to become a fireman?” enquired Chief Trask, pleasantly, as he seated himself in his arm-chair and prepared to light his pipe. But before Bruce could answer, the sharp ring of the alarm bell echoed through the building and startled everyone into sudden activity.

Chapter II.

Many a time had Frank Decker described, for the benefit of his boy, the rapidity with which his truck company would start for a fire at the stroke of the gong, but never had Bruce’s imagination conceived of anything like that which took place now before his astonished eyes.

The electric current which sounded the alarm released the horses and the intelligent creatures sprang at once to their places beneath the harness that was suspended in mid-air from the ceiling of the room. Five of the men were at their heads at the same instant, while Weyman climbed into the driver’s seat and took the reins in his hand and Brophy mounted behind and took his place at the steering apparatus. Two or three sharp clicks and the harness was adjusted, and then, while the rest of the company climbed recklessly over the wheels to their places on the truck, the horses bounded into the street, turned sharply to the left and dashed away in full gallop. Bruce rushed to the door and looked after the flying truck. Fully two 11blocks away he saw a man in fireman’s uniform driving a galloping horse attached to a single seated wagon in which was a brass gong which he rang vigorously. It was Chief Trask leading the way to the fire.

Bruce went back to the room at the rear of the now deserted building and seated himself in one of the arm-chairs. His face was flushed, and he was trembling with excitement. If he had ever longed for a fireman’s uniform he longed for it now, with an intensity such as he had never felt before, and he determined that no power on earth should prevent him entering the service and sustaining the reputation for courage and fidelity which his father had enjoyed for so many years.

That night Bruce Decker slept at the home of John Trask, and, while he was dreaming of fires and fire brigades and swift-moving horses, the chief and two or three of his men were gathered about a little round table at the rear of the truck house, discussing various schemes for giving the lad a start in the city.

“I don’t know,” said Charles Weyman, “but what the best thing we can do for the lad is to get him a job in some big store or place of business where he can begin at the beginning and work his way up. There’s nothing like 12business nowadays. Those big merchants make more money than any of the professional men do, when once they get a few thousand ahead, and anyway it’s a great deal better than this fire department business, which is all risk and danger and excitement, with very little money to compensate for it. You know that he is entitled to a pension of $300 a year from the department, and that amount, together with what he could make as an office boy or young clerk, ought to keep him going. I know if I’d gone into business when I was his age I would have made a good deal more money than I have by running to fires.”

“And yet you wouldn’t change now if you had the chance would you?” said one of the men carelessly.

“No, I don’t think I would—” began Weyman slowly, but Tom Brophy interrupted him with:

“What you say is all perfectly true, Charley, but you must remember one thing, and that is, that this lad is crazy over the Fire Department and anxious to get into it because his father was in it. Can’t you see how much he’s been thinking about it all his life? Did you notice how he recognized those horses and called them by name, just because his father had told him 13about them? Its very plain to me that all he’s heard about the New York Fire Department has made a deep impression on him, and when a boy’s got his head set on any particular line of business, it’s very foolish to try and force him in any other direction. Let him have a try first at what inclination leads him to, and then if he finds out that it’s not all a path of roses, it will be time enough for him to make a change and get into something else.”

“But how are we going to get him started in the department yet awhile?” demanded Weyman. “You know the rules are, that no one under twenty-one years of age can be taken into the service, and this boy don’t look to me to be more than fifteen. Get him into some good office now, and the chances are that by the time he’s twenty-one he won’t want to go to fires on a truck.”

Then Chief Trask, who had been silent for some time, removed his pipe from his lips and said, in the authoritative way which was habitual with him: “If the boy wants to be a fireman I believe in giving him a chance. This pension of $300 a year ought to pay for his board and clothes and there are plenty of odd jobs he can do about the quarters while he’s learning the business. He can make himself very useful to 14us here if he takes hold of the work in the right spirit, and if he gets sick of it within a year he won’t be any the worse for his training.”

That ended the discussion and very soon afterward the men went up stairs and turned in for the night.

The next morning the chief told Bruce that he had decided to give him employment for a few months in order that he might familiarize himself with the duties of a fireman. He could board at his (the chief’s) home, and make himself generally useful at the quarters. “Do you know anything about taking care of horses?” he required.

“Yes,” replied Bruce eagerly, “I’ve looked after horses all my life and I’d like nothing better than to take care of that big grey Pete that I’ve heard my father speak about so often. I am very handy with horses, and I can do anything with them. Then I’ll run errands and do anything you want me to. I’d rather be a fireman than President of the United States.”

Mr. Trask could not help smiling at the boy’s earnestness, but it pleased him, nevertheless, to see that he was bent upon entering the service and did not intend to let a little hard work stand in the way of getting there. That very 15afternoon found Bruce with his coat off whistling merrily as he rubbed down the horses, Pete, Jack and Joe, and gave them their hay and oats. Charley Weyman watched him from his seat in the rear room, and remarked to Brophy: “That lad takes hold of his work as if he liked it.”

Chapter III.

“Hitch up my wagon for me, Bruce,” said the chief one morning a few days after the young boy had been installed at the quarters, and accordingly he harnessed one of the horses to the wagon which the chief kept for his own use.

“Now jump in beside me,” he continued, and a few minutes later they were driving slowly up the broad avenue, while the chief gave his young protege some information regarding the department.

Chief Trask explains the fire box to Bruce.—Page 17.

17“Remember this, my boy,” he said earnestly, “that promptness and readiness are the watchwords of the service. Every second of time is of importance, and you should never let another man get ahead of you when you are getting ready to go to a fire, nor allow another company to get a stream on the fire first, if you can possibly prevent it. The paid department was established in 1865. I don’t know how long it took an engine or truck to get out into the street then, but I do know that we have been lowering the record ever since, so that now the average time from the first stroke of the alarm until the engine, manned and ready for action, passes over the threshold is not more than ten seconds, and it has been done, of course only for exhibition purposes, in two seconds. Not a year goes by but sees some new invention or improvement to facilitate the work of the department, and my own opinion is that the rivalry between the different companies is the strongest incentive to efficient work there is. Now I’ll stop here and explain this fire box to you, so

that you will be able to understand how these alarms come in.” With these words, the chief drew up in front of a lamp-post which was painted a bright red and had red glass in its lamp. To this was attached the fire box from which any citizen could send an alarm of fire.

“Now,” said the chief as he opened the box, “when a fire breaks out, anyone who discovers it runs to this box, or rather to the one nearest the scene of the conflagration, for you know these boxes are scattered all over the city, and turns this handle according to the printed directions. By pulling the hook down inside, the number of the box is telegraphed to the headquarters of the fire department, and the operator there sends another dispatch notifying the different engine houses in the immediate vicinity 18of the fire. This alarm comes in to us in the shape of sharp strokes, indicating the number of the alarm box. This is what we call a first alarm, and you will notice that there is a gong here in the box which rings when the handle is turned. That gong attracts the attention of the policeman on duty nearby, and he comes running up to find out where the fire is, or to arrest any person who may be ringing it maliciously.