The Thorogood Family

Among the sleepless, on that calm dark night, there was one man to whom we draw attention. His bronzed cheeks and tall muscular frame told that he was not one of the wakeful sick, neither was he a sick-nurse, to judge from things around him. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped, gazing into the fire and meditating—perhaps building castles in the flames. His eyebrows were very bushy and his looks stern, but there was a play of gentle, kindly feeling round his mouth. He was one of a gallant band of picked men whose duty it is to do battle with the flames, a member of the London Fire-brigade. Two other men like himself lay on two little iron beds sound asleep with their clothes on. There was this difference between them, however, that the wakeful man wore brass epaulettes on his shoulders. Brass helmets and axes hung round the room. A row of boots hung in a rack, a little telegraph instrument stood on a table near a map of London, and a small but sociable clock ticked on the wall.

That clock had quite a lively, cheerful tick. It seemed to talk to the fireman with the bushy brows until he smiled and looked at it.

“Tic—tic—tic!” said the man, “how low and gentle your voice seems to-night. Everything is so still and quiet, that you appear to be only whispering the flight of time.”

“Tic—tic—tic,” replied the clock.

But the fireman heard no more, for just then a faint, far-distant sound broke upon his ear. It drew near, like a rushing wind. Then like the noise of hurrying feet. The man rose and nudged one of the sleepers, who sat up and listened, after which he got up quickly, reached down his helmet, and awoke his companion, while the first fireman went to the station door. Some one ran against it with fearful violence as he laid his hand on the lock, and the alarm-bell rang a tremendous peal as he threw it open.

“Fire!” yelled a man who seemed all eyes and hair.

“Just so; where is it?” replied the fireman, calmly glancing at the clock.

“Fire!” again yelled the man of eyes and hair, who was for the moment mad with excitement.

“You’ve said that twice; where is it?” said the fireman, seizing the man by his arm, while the two men, who had been asleep, slipped out like fleet but quiet ghosts. One called up the sleeping firemen, the other got out two horses which stood ready harnessed in their stalls.

The fireman’s grasp sobered the madman. A street was named. The outbreak of the fire was instantly telegraphed to head-quarters, and thence to other stations concerned. Round came the horses; in flowed the roused firemen, buttoning their garments as they ran each to his own peg for helmet and axe. At the same time two or three hauled out the steam fire-engine and yoked the horses. Three minutes from the first shout of fire had barely elapsed when the whip cracked, eight or ten helmeted men sprang to their seats, the steeds bounded away and tore along the no longer quiet streets, leaving a trail of sparks behind them.

Haste! haste! was the one idea. One minute saved may be a matter of life or death in cases of fire.

Constant training, stern drill, made every man act like a calm, cool, collected thunderbolt. No fuss, but tremendous energy. No noise, but now and then a deep bass roar when any vehicle chanced to get in the way, and a quiet smile when the danger was passed.

Thus they rushed along, like a fierce fiery monster, until they reached a square in the great city which was bright as with the sun at noon-day. A mansion was blazing from cellars to attics!

Our engine was soon at work. Other engines, whose stations lay nearer to the scene of action, were already pumping volumes of water into the flames. A strong force of police kept back the vast crowd, so as to let the firemen do their work undisturbed. It was deadly work they had to do! Not only were flames spouting from every window, but masses of brickwork and blazing beams were falling in various places, rendering the service full of danger. A London crowd is usually well-behaved, but there are sometimes a few forward geese in it who think they can do things better than other people. One such, a huge man with a foreign accent, became excited, shouted, “Oh! vy don’t you put ’im hout?” broke through the crowd, and rushed among the firemen.

Our friend with the brass epaulettes and bushy eyebrows chanced to pass at the moment.

“Vy you not put more vatter on ’im?” shouted the foreigner.

The stern countenance of the fireman relaxed, and a humorous smile lit up his countenance for one instant; but he took no other notice of the foreigner, who was quickly collared by two policemen as strong as himself, and thrust back into the crowd, where he was received with laughter, and presented with much good advice. One little boy in particular recommended him seriously to go home and ask his mamma to put him to bed—a remark which was received with great delight by the bystanders.

But there was not much laughter; for the fire was very terrible, and there was a report that some of the inmates had not been rescued by the fire-escape men.

Meanwhile, our fireman with the epaulettes, who was foreman of that district, went about like a general in action, watching the flames sternly,—giving a quiet order to one, indicating a point of vantage to another, giving a helping hand here and there with the hose, answering a quick question promptly, and doing his utmost to dispose his force in such a way as to quell the raging fire. All this time he moved about among smoke and flames and falling materials as if he bore a charmed life—which, indeed, he did: for, as he afterwards said himself, the hand of God shielded him, and nothing on earth could kill him till his work on earth was done; and nothing on earth could save him when his time to die should come. This sentiment was, partly at least, the secret of the fireman’s cool courage in the midst of danger.

But the enemy was very strong that night, and the brigade could make no impression whatever on the burning house, the inside of which glowed like a smelting furnace.

“Try the drawing-room window, Jim, wi’ the fire-escape,” said our foreman to one of his men.

He helped Jim to push the huge ladder on wheels to the window mentioned, and placed it in position. While Jim ran for a nozzle and hose, there was a great cry from the crowd. A woman had got out on the ledge of an attic window, and knelt there shrieking and waving her arms, while the smoke curled round her, and the flames leapt up at her. She was high above the head of the escape; but there were fly-ladders which could be raised above that. These were instantly hoisted, and our foreman sprang up to the rescue.

The danger of the attempt lay in this—that, though the lower and upper parts of the escape were comparatively free from smoke, the middle was shrouded with a dense mass, through which now and then a lurid red flame burst. But our hero thought only of the woman. In a second or two he had disappeared in the smoke.

Two of the firemen stood below holding a nozzle of the hose and directing it on a particular spot. They did not dare to move from their post, but they could see by a glance upwards what was going on.

“Fred,” said one to the other in a low voice, “He’ll save her, or there’ll be a man less in the brigade to-night. He never does anything by halves. Whatever he undertakes he does well. Depend on’t, that Harry Thorogood will save that woman if she can be saved at all.”

As he spoke Harry was seen emerging above the smoke, but when he reached the top of the highest ladder he was fully six feet below the spot where the woman knelt.

“Come! girl, come!” he shouted, and held out his arms.

The terrified creature hesitated. She was afraid. She doubted the strength of the escape—the power of the man.

“Come! come!” again he shouted.

She obeyed, but came against the fireman with such force that the round of the ladder on which he stood gave way, and both were seen to go crashing downwards, while something like a mighty groan or cry rose from the multitude below. It was changed, however, into a wild cheer when Harry was seen to have caught the head of the escape, and arrested his fall, with one powerful hand, while, with the other, he still grasped the woman.

“God favours them,” said a voice in the crowd, as a gust of wind for a few seconds drove smoke and flames aside.

Our bold fireman seized the opportunity, got the woman into the shoot, or canvas bag under the lowest ladder, and slid with her in safety to the ground.

The pen may describe, but it cannot convey a just idea of the thrilling cheers that greeted the rescued woman as she was received at the bottom of the escape, or the shouts of applause and congratulation that greeted Harry Thorogood as he emerged from the same, burnt, bleeding, scraped, scarred, and blackened, but not seriously injured, and with a pleasant smile upon his dirty face.

Chapter Five

We turn now to a battlefield, but we won’t affect to believe that the reader does not know who is one of the chief heroes of that field.

Robert Thorogood is his name. Bob does not look very heroic, however, when we introduce him, for he is sound asleep with his mouth open, his legs sprawling, his eyes tight shut, his bed the ground, his pillow the root of a tree, and his curtains the branches thereof. The only warlike point about Bob is the trumpet-sound that issues from his upturned nose.

Bob’s sentiments about soldiering are queer. His comrades laugh at him a good deal about them, but they never scoff, for Bob is strong and full of fire; besides he is a pattern of promptitude and obedience, so they respect him. Moreover, he is a kindly and jovial man, therefore they are fond of him.

The battlefield of which we write was in the East. The fight had been between the British and Russians. The British had been victorious, and slept on the field.

When the bugles sounded the next morning they stopped the nasal trumpets everywhere, and Corporal Robert Thorogood was the first man of all the host to “fall in”—which he did by himself. But he was not long alone; others quickly joined him.

The companies were soon numbered, proved, formed into column, and marched off. Then there was a short halt for breakfast.

“Why, you’re not half a soldier, Bob,” said a hearty young comrade, while hastily eating his rations. “I saw you spare a Russian officer yesterday after he had cut off the little finger of your left hand.”

“What good would it have done to have killed him?” asked Bob, with a smile, as he looked at the bloody stump, which had just been dressed by the surgeon; “the poor fellow’s leg was broken by a bullet the moment after he had done it, so he could do us no more harm in this campaign. Then, his death would not make my little finger grow on again. Besides, I don’t like killing men.”

“Why did you join the army, then, if you did not do so for the honour and glory of fighting, (which means killing), our enemies?”

“Ah, you may ask that indeed! I mistook my profession, I suppose. However, I’ll do my duty while I remain in the service.”

As he spoke, firing was heard in the distance, and the men were ordered to fall in hastily before breakfast had been quite finished.

The firing increased, and soon the advance guard was seen falling back in good order over the brow of a small hill or slope. Rifle balls began to fly overhead, and a few to drop unpleasantly near the troops. Suddenly our Corporal was startled by an appalling cry behind him. He turned quickly, and saw the young soldier with whom he had been so recently conversing lying on his back stone dead, with the blood oozing from a hole between his eyes.

There was no time to think, however. His battalion was ordered to the front to defend a narrow rocky pass which the enemy were attempting to carry by storm. Twice already they had made the assault, and had almost succeeded on the second attempt. A third assault was being made when Thorogood’s company came up. They rushed forward just as the Russians crowned the heights and were driving the British back. The reinforcements checked them, but did not turn the scale at first.

There was one gigantic Russian who stood towering above his fellows with clubbed rifle, furiously knocking down all who came within his reach, like Horatius or one of the other heroes of ancient Rome. At him Corporal Thorogood sprang, grasping his rifle by the muzzle as he ran, and whirling it on high. The Russian saw him coming. The two rifles met with a crash, and flew into splinters. Bob dropped his weapon, grasped his adversary by the throat, thrust him back, and bore him headlong to the ground. This incident turned the scale. A cheer followed. The British swept forward with such irresistible fury that the men in front were thrust upon the foe in a mass, Bob and his enemy being turned heels over head in the rush. A well-sustained fire scattered the foe like chaff, and those who had been thrown down were taken prisoners. Among them was the gigantic Russian, with the Corporal still holding his collar tight in his iron grasp.

“Well done, my man!” said the Colonel of the regiment as he rode past Bob.

The Colonel was a man of few words. He said no more on that occasion, but every one knew that he would not forget the man who had so bravely turned the tide of battle that day.

Bob, however, did not escape altogether unhurt. He had been rather severely wounded, and afterwards had to spend a considerable time in hospital. As his wound did not prevent him from moving about, he soon became a valuable assistant to the surgeons and nurses in the hospital.

“Ah!” said he one night, when smoothing the pillow and attending to the wants of a severely wounded soldier, “this comes more natural to me. It suits me better than fighting.”

“I wish you were one of the regular nurses, Corporal,” said one of the surgeons heartily; “you do everything so thoroughly, and with such a will.”

But Bob was not allowed to remain long at his peaceful work. Being a healthy and temperate man he soon recovered, and ere long found himself in the trenches before Sebastopol.

It was winter. One bleak, raw morning, just before daybreak, Bob plodded down with his party through slush and mud to take his turn of fighting before the great fortress. It was bitterly cold and dark. Some of the men were grumbling terribly.

“Ah, then, won’t you shut your ’tatie traps?” said a big Irishman, who had won the Victoria Cross the week before for conspicuous gallantry.

“We engaged for this sort o’ work, lads, when we ’listed,” remarked Bob, “an’ are paid for it; so let’s stick to our bargain wi’ the Queen, an’ do our duty well.”

“Troth, that’s well said,” remarked the Irishman. “‘What’s worth doin’ at all is worth doin’ well,’ as my ould grandmother used to say when she whacked me.”

There was a faint laugh at this, and the grumbling ceased.

“Come, Corporal Free,” said Bob, “as we’ve got to sit here till morning you’d better tell us one of your far-famed stories to make the time pass pleasantly—at least as pleasantly as circumstances will allow.”

“Ay, Jacob Free,” cried the Irishman, “that’s well said. Give us that one about yoursilf whin ye was a schoolboy. A good story, you know, is niver a bit the worse o’ bein’ twice towld.”

“Hear! hear!” cried Bob, “come along now, Corporal, an’ give us the schoolboy’s story.”

Corporal Jacob Free, who was a gentlemanly man, somewhat advanced in years, said he would rather tell about some one else than himself, but this only made his comrades more determined.

“Well, then,” said he, at last, “since you will have it, I’ll give you what Bob Thorogood has named:– The Schoolboy’s Story.

“It was with an intense hatred of lessons and books that I began my school-days. Not an unusual experience, I believe, with boys. My parents were poor—though I have every reason to conclude that they were scrupulously honest; hence I began my school career rather late in life—at about twelve years of age. But previously to that, my much-loved, much-abused, and long-suffering mother had taught me to read and write, so that my brain was not altogether unfurnished when I went to school.

“It was a village school, in a remote district of Scotland; the master was a tall, thin, cadaverous and kindly man, of considerable attainments, and with a strong affection for boys. Had it been otherwise he must have died younger—of a broken heart. I loved that man—but I worried him. A pang of toothache-like remorse shoots through me still when I think of the sorrows I caused that good man, but the pang is mitigated by the reflection that I lived to make amends to him.

“I liked the school-days well enough at first; chiefly because I devoted myself entirely to play and refused work. Besides, there was something amusing in the novelty of the thing, and there was much interest in the mischief that could be done in school; also in the deeds of daring and violence that could be done out of it, with the able assistance of a score or so of boys of almost every age and size. But the liking moderated with experience, especially when the master, having tried every method of encouragement and persuasion in vain, adopted the trying method of keeping me in during play-hours. To escape this punishment I tried to learn a little.

“I was a bully when I went to school, being big and strong for my age. I mention the fact with shame, but it is some satisfaction to be able to add that I was not a bully when I left it. My chief enemy, and, afterwards, dearest friend, saved me from that state. He and I were the biggest and strongest boys in the school. His name was Tom Turner.

“In nearly all respects Turner and I were opposites. He was clever and studious; I stupid and idle. He was gentle and kind—especially to little boys; I rough and disobliging. He was usually dux, I invariably booby.

“‘You shouldn’t be so hard on little Spinks,’ he said to me in a quiet way, one day in the playground, ‘he can’t defend himself, you know.’

“‘You let me an’ little Spinks alone,’ I replied angrily, yet with some hesitation, for I did not feel quite sure that I could thrash Turner. I expected a sharp rejoinder, but he merely smiled and turned away.

“From that date I set Tom Turner down as a coward, and worried Spinks more than ever, just to spite him.

“One day I had been harder than usual on little Spinks, who was a mere human spider—all legs and arms, with a roundish body—when Tom called me aside and quietly began to lecture me, just as if he had been a grown-up man. I kept down my indignation at first, having made up my mind to have a quarrel with him, but the amiable tone of his voice subdued me.

“‘You should consider, Jacob,’ he went on, taking no notice of my flushed face and angry frown, ‘what a poor little squirrel of a thing Spinks is, and what a great powerful fellow you are. It’s not fair, you know, and he’s a kindly, harmless sort of a fellow too. Besides, if his poor mother knew how you treat him it would almost break her heart, for she’s very delicate, and he is her only child. You know I visited her last year, on my way from London, in passing the village where she lives. You’ve been there, haven’t you?’

“‘No,’ I replied sulkily.

“‘Oh, man, Jacob! you would enjoy a visit to Spinks’s home,’ returned Tom, still taking no notice of my state of mind, ‘it’s such a splendid place for trout-fishing, with a burn full of the deep oily pools you are so fond of, and lots of sea-trout; and Mrs Spinks is so kind and jolly—though so delicate; just like little Spinks himself, but of course a good deal larger.’

“From this point Turner went on to describe his visit in such a cheery way, that I was forced into a better state of mind, though I did not forgive him for lecturing me.

“It chanced that I received a lecture also, the same evening, from our master.

“‘Jacob, my boy,’ he said, laying his large hand gently on my head, ‘you ought to give more attention to your studies, and try to be a better boy. You’ve got the elements of a smart man in you, but a man must be made, Jacob. If a lad grows up without any self-training he is generally fit for nothing, and only a trouble to society. You’re fond of your mother, I think—are you not?’

“‘Yes, sir,’ said I, in some surprise at the question.

“‘Then you would be sorry to give her pain, I know, and your present course of conduct is sure to do that if you don’t mend. You would be sorry to see your mother take handfuls of her small income and fling it into the sea, would you not?’

“‘Of course I would, sir,’ said I, still more surprised.

“‘Well, you have caused her to do that, for your school fees might as well have been flung away for all the good you have done hitherto. But come, I’ll say no more just now. I feel sure you will try to do better. You have only got to try, asking God to help you, and you’re certain to succeed. I expect to be proud of you yet, Jacob. There, be off and play.’

“I was somewhat touched by this brief reproof, but not humbled. The lecturing tone assumed by Turner still rankled, and a feeling that I deserved severer treatment than I received, made me worse. I resolved to harden my heart; and from that date became more mischievous and domineering as well as idle—if possible. I saw that the master was grieved, but did not care.

“One day in autumn, some of us were sitting on a rail swinging our legs and chatting. Turner was not there, but little Spinks was.

“‘I tell you what,’ said I, referring to a remark made by one of the boys, ‘I think it is not only contemptible to try to learn one’s lessons, but ridiculous.’

“‘I’d rather learn them than get whacked,’ said one.

“‘Well, I would rather get whacked than learn them,’ said I; ‘besides, of what earthly use are Latin and Greek, I should like to know?’

“‘Fellows can’t get along in the learned professions without them,’ said a boy whom we named Tiddler. He was a follower of Turner, and usually kept pretty near him in the class.

“‘Very true,’ said I, with a look of mock respect; ‘but as none of us intend to enter the learned professions except Doctor Tiddler and Professor Turner, we don’t want Latin or Greek; what we want is fun.’

“‘Hear! hear!’ burst from Spinks, who was an impressionable little fellow, and easily influenced for good or evil. His exclamation was so genuine and heartfelt that there was a general laugh, and one of the boys suggested that, as little Spinks did not mean to go in for any of the learned professions, they should elect him ‘Professor of Fun.’ This was unanimously agreed to.

“‘But, come,’ said I, jumping down, ‘we must not spend all the evening here idling. What shall we do?’

“‘Go an’ study Greek,’ said the newly-elected Professor of Fun; a suggestion which was received with a shout of derisive laughter.

“‘I should like to have some of old Maggie’s apples for supper,’ said I.

“‘But who’s to crib them?’ asked a large-headed boy, whose appearance reminded one of a tadpole.

“‘Little Spinks, of course,’ said I. ‘Come, be off—and be sure that you take good ones. I’ll follow, and watch to see that no mischief happens to you.’

“‘It’s a shame to rob the poor old woman,’ said Tiddler. ‘I’ll have nothing to do with it. I’m sure that Tom Turner would object if he were here.’

“‘Oh! you needn’t come if you’re afraid,’ said I, with a sneer; ‘and if there are any other cowardly Turnerites here, they may join you. Whoever has got pluck will follow the Frees. Lead on, Spinks!’

“The greater number of the boys followed me; and from that date the school was divided into two sections—Turnerites and Frees.

“We went straight to the back wall of old Maggie’s garden, and I helped little Spinks over, desiring him to gather a capful and fetch them, and then he could return for more if thought desirable.

“My enemy Turner was fond of old Maggie, and frequently went to see her and have a chat. It chanced that he was visiting her on the evening we had decided to steal her apples. While sitting beside her, listening as earnestly to a prolonged and graphic account of the old woman’s troubles as if he had been the minister of the parish, he chanced to look out of the window, and saw a boy descending one of the apple-trees. One of old Maggie’s troubles was the stealing of her apples by village boys. She had dilated extensively on the subject and aroused her friend’s anger. With a burst of indignation, he rushed out, and caught little Spinks in the act of making off with his second capful of apples.