Читать книгу Jack, the Fire Dog - Wesselhoeft Lily F. - Страница 1

ENGINE 33 was kept in a substantial brick building that stood on a little hill in a pleasant part of the city. The brass shone so brightly that you could see your face in it, and not a speck of dust or rust was to be seen on any part of it, as it stood ready for use at a moment’s notice. Directly over the shafts hung the harnesses, to be lowered down upon the horses when they took their places in front of the engine; and this was the work of an instant.

The floor was just as clean as the engine; and so were all parts of the building. Three strong beautifully groomed gray horses stood in their well-kept stalls, ready to dart out at the sound of the gong and fall into their places before the engine.

Not a boy or girl in that part of the city but thought that Engine 33 was superior to all the other engines in the big city. She was always the first at a fire, and she could throw a stream higher than any of the others. One boy made a little verse on the subject, and his companions thought it very beautiful, for it expressed their views about Engine 33. This is the verse,—

Not only did the children think there was no other engine equal to theirs, but so did Jack the Fire-Dog. Why, it was his engine! Jack lived in the engine-house and went to all the fires just as the horses did. He never ventured far from the engine-house, but kept within hearing of the gong that struck the alarm. How fast he raced back when he heard that well-known sound, to be ready to start with the engine! So eager was he to be on hand, that on one occasion when he could not get the screen door at the head of the stairs open, he went through it. Sometimes in winter Jack was harnessed to a little sled and carried salt for the firemen to melt the snow on the hydrants, to keep them clear in case of a fire.

Jack was a dog of no particular breed, spotted black and white like a coach-dog, but larger and heavier in build. Those who knew Jack did not care if he were not a well-bred dog, they loved him for his intelligence and affectionate nature. The children in the neighborhood were as proud of him as they were of the engine.

Our story opens on a cold evening in winter. The wind had been blowing fiercely all day, catching up the light snow and scattering it wildly about, until it was hard to tell whether it were snowing or not, so full of snow was the sharp air. Toward the latter part of the afternoon the wind began to go down, but as it grew less the air became colder, and the mercury fell lower and lower, until it reached zero. It went even lower than that, and at seven o’clock stood at eight below. A dreadful night for our brave firemen to work in, but they never fail us.

Below, in the engine-house of Number 33, stands the engine ready for duty, her shining brass reflecting a hundred-fold the lights that shine on her. The horses are warm and comfortable in their stalls, and still, except when one gives an occasional stamp or rubs against the side of his stall. On the floor above, in their cosey, warm room, the firemen are assembled. Some are reading, others talking together. One young man is putting Jack through his tricks, of which he has a long list. He has just told to what engine he belongs,—not in words, for Jack cannot speak the human language. When he is asked what is his engine, and the numbers of several are mentioned, he is silent until Number 33 is called, then he gives a sharp bark.

This evening no sooner has he given his answer than the gong below strikes, and in an instant men and dog are on their feet, and on the way to the floor below. Jack rushes headlong down the long, steep flight of stairs, while the firemen take a shorter cut by sliding down the pole. In a very few seconds the horses have taken their places in front of the engine, the harness is let down and fastened into place. The fire is started under the boiler of the engine, the driver is in his seat, the men in their places, and the three splendid grays dash out of the engine-house, Jack circling about in front of them, almost crazy with excitement, or running ahead to bark indignantly at any team that happens to be in their path. Not long does he keep up his circling and barking, for by the time they are at the foot of the hill the horses have broken into a run, and Jack has all he can do to keep up with them. He has worked off his excitement and is ready for business.

Such a stinging, cold night! The engine-wheels crunch the frozen snow with a sharp, creaking sound, and the warning notes of the bugle ring out loud and clear on the still air.

Sometimes an answering bark comes from the houses they pass, as the engine dashes by. No dogs are out on such a night, but they all know Jack and envy him his position as engine-dog. It is not always such fun for Jack as they think it is, particularly on such a night as this. However, Jack has a duty to perform as well as the firemen have, and he does it just as fearlessly and nobly as they do.

The fire is at one of the extreme ends of the city, a small theatre in a narrow street where tenement-houses and small shops are crowded together regardless of regularity,—a court here and a narrow alley-way there, but every square inch taken up with a building of some kind. When our engine arrives, it is to find others that have not come from such a distance hard at work, the deep throbs of the working engines reaching far through the crisp air.

Engine 33 takes her stand, and while her men are attaching the hose to the hydrant and preparing for action, Jack, as is his custom, makes his rounds to see if all is going on as it should. He sees the horses standing with their legs drawn closely together under them, as they always do in cold weather, and well blanketed by the men who are detailed for that purpose. Frozen pools and rivulets are standing on the sidewalks and streets, and as the water comes out of the hose it is turned to frozen spray. Jack’s thin coat of hair does not keep out the cold very well, and he shivers as he steps over the icy ground. There is no time to be wasted, however, and as soon as he is satisfied that all is in working order, the Fire-Dog joins his own company. They are ordered into a tenement-house that adjoins the burning theatre, and from which smoke is thickly pouring.

The inhabitants of the tenement-house have thrown their bedding and many other articles from the windows, or carried them down to the street. Groups of people, lamenting and terrified, are huddled about their property, hoping to save it. Scantily clothed in their sudden exit, they shiver and moan in a manner pitiable to behold. Many children are among the number, either in their mothers’ arms or huddled together among their household goods, vainly trying to escape from the biting air.

The men of Engine 33 are ordered to the roof of the tenement-house; and in they rush, dragging the hose after them, plucky Jack keeping close behind them. They have no easy task, for the narrow halls and stairways are filled with smoke that blinds and suffocates them. It is slow work, too, for they must stop occasionally to take breath at an open window. Sometimes, too, one of them sinks to the floor, overpowered by the thick smoke. On they go, however, dragging the long hose after them, with valiant Jack always close behind them. At last the upper story is reached, and the skylight through which they must reach the roof is thrown open. Here, however, Jack stops, and running up to a closed door sniffs for a moment, and then begins to whine and scratch.

It is only a kind of store-room, without windows or any opening to admit the light, and is built under the stairway leading to the roof. It seems impossible that any one could be there, but Jack’s whines and scratching must mean something, and one of the men throws the door open.

Through the smoke and darkness nothing is seen at first; but in rushes Jack, pounces upon something in one corner, tugging at it until he succeeds in dragging it to the door. Then they see what it is,—a child; and one of the men, the young man who put Jack through his tricks in the engine-house, picks it up. Through the smoke and darkness they make out that it is a boy, tall enough for a boy of seven, but how thin and light! He is either in a stupor from the effects of the suffocating smoke that filled the close room in which he was found, or else in a faint. At all events, he lies motionless in the fireman’s arms.

It takes more time to write the event than it took for it to transpire. The other men mount to the roof through the skylight, while the man who picked up the boy forces his way through the blinding smoke down to the street, closely followed by Jack. If it were not for the responsibility for the boy he discovered, Jack would have followed the men to the roof, for wherever they went he always followed.

The young fireman bears the motionless form of the boy to the street, and singles out the group of tenants who had succeeded in escaping in safety from the tenement-house.

“Which of you has left this child behind?” he sternly asks, looking at the different family groups crowded together, vainly trying to keep warm. “Whose is he?”

They are silent, and after waiting in vain for an answer he continues,—

“If you can’t answer, there are those who will know how to make you. You can’t leave a child shut up like that in an out-of-the-way room without being called to account.”

“Why, it’s the blind kid!” exclaims one of the men. “I forgot all about him.”

“People are not apt to forget their children at such a time,” replies the fireman, looking about him at the children who are crowding around their mothers. “This case shall be looked into.”

“He doesn’t belong to any of us,” replies the man.

“How came he to be shut up in that hole under the stairs, then?” asks the fireman. “If it hadn’t been for the dog, he’d have been dead by this time.”

“He followed some of the children home,” replies the man, “and has been sleeping there for a few nights. I don’t know anything about him. I forgot he was there, or I’d have looked out for him.”

The cold air seems to revive the child, for he stirs and moans.

“It’s the smoke,” says the fireman. “You are all right now, ain’t you, young chap?”

“Yes,” replies the boy in a faint voice, but he makes no attempt to rise to his feet.

“I’ll fix you up in good shape,” replies the fireman, carrying him toward the engine. A wagon with blankets for the horses stands near by, and a few are still left. One of these the fireman wraps about the boy, and lays him on the floor of the wagon.

“Watch him, Jack!” he says to the Fire-Dog; and in an instant he is back in the tenement-house to join his company on the roof and help them fight the fire.

Faithful Jack cast a longing glance after the fireman’s retreating figure, for it was the first time he had failed to follow at his heels; then with a deep sigh he turned to the duty before him. With one bound to the shaft of the wagon and another to the seat, he jumped down beside the still form rolled up in the blanket.

Jack had heard the conversation between the fireman and the man from the tenement-house, and he understood that this was a child without friends or home, and with another sigh of disappointment he crept up to the little figure that lay so still in the bottom of the wagon. The blanket was drawn over the boy’s head, but Jack pushed his nose in to see whether the little fellow were alive, he lay so quietly. He found he was alive, though, for he started when Jack’s nose touched his face. He felt very cold, and the Fire-Dog crept closer still and lay beside him, hoping to add some warmth to the cold little figure.

For a time the two lay silently there, Jack keeping his intelligent eyes open to everything that went on. He shivered with the cold, but still kept his post. The horses stood with heads drooping and tails hugged closely to them, and the deep, loud thuds of the working engines stationed near the burning building seemed echoed by those at work farther off. After a while the glare and showers of sparks ceased, and dark volumes of smoke rose in their stead. Then the Fire-Dog knew that the fire was out, and that Engine 33’s men would before long be released. The engines still played upon the smouldering embers, however, and it was some time before he was relieved.

They took the boy with them to the engine-house, for they knew that the homeless tenants of the empty house could not take care of him, even if they had been inclined. He could stay at the engine-house that night, they decided, and in the morning they would hand him over to the public charities. So he was wrapped up well and brought home in the wagon, while Jack ran along by the side of the engine. Jack always started out, as we have seen, bounding and circling in front of the horses, but he came home sedately. The excitement was over, and he was as tired as the men were.

They brought the boy into the engine-house and carried him up to the warm room where we first made Jack’s acquaintance. He was placed in a chair and the blanket taken off.

“Now let’s see what you look like,” said the fresh-faced young man who had rescued him. “How are you now?”

“I’m all right,” replied the boy.

“Well, that’s hearty,” said the man.

He did not look hearty, though. His face was very pale and thin, and he did not look about him as children do who have the use of their eyes.

“Can’t you see anything at all? Can you see me?” asked the young man.

“I can see a little mite of light if the lamps are lighted and if the sun shines very bright,” replied the boy.

“I suppose you are hungry, aren’t you?”

“Not very,” replied the boy.

“When did you eat last? What did you have for supper?”

“I didn’t have any,” replied the boy.

“Well, what did you have for dinner, then?”

“I didn’t have any dinner, either.”

“Didn’t have any dinner, either?” repeated the young fireman. “When did you eat last, for goodness’ sake?”

“Some of the children in the house brought me some of their breakfast. They were very kind to me.”

“Well, that beats the Dutch!” exclaimed the young man. “You sit right there till I come back!” and he rushed out of the room as speedily as he answered the summons of the big gong below. In a short time he was back with his arms full of packages which he proceeded to open hastily. In one were sandwiches of thick rolls with pieces of ham in between, in another a loaf of bread, some butter in another, and a small can of milk in another. These he proceeded to place on a small table which he drew up before the blind boy.

“There, begin on that,” he said, placing one of the sandwiches in the boy’s hands.

“Thank you, sir,” said the boy; “you are very good.”

“You needn’t call me sir,” replied the young man; “my name is Reordan.”

“You don’t intend to have the kid eat all that stuff, do you, Reordan?” asked one of the other firemen.

“Why, he hasn’t eaten anything since morning, and this such a cold day,” replied Reordan.

“That’s no reason why you should kill him. He ought to come around to it gradually. That’s the way they do when people are starved.”

So the boy was given another sandwich followed by a glass of milk, and the firemen and Jack made a lunch off the rest. Then a bed was made up for the boy in a snug corner, and he was covered with plenty of warm clothing. He was so comfortable, from the warm air of the room and the hearty meal, that it was not many minutes before he was in a deep sleep. The Fire-Dog seated himself near by and watched him earnestly.

“I’d give a good deal to know what Jack is thinking about,” said one of the men.

“He’s probably thinking over what’s best to do for the kid, and will settle it in his mind before he goes to bed himself,” replied Reordan.

Jack responded by an appreciative glance and a wag of his tail, that said as plainly as words could have done,—

“That is just it!”