Life In The Red Brigade

CHAPTER ONE.

Wet, worn and weary--with water squeaking in his boots, and a mixture of
charcoal and water streaking his face to such an extent that, as a
comrade asserted, his own mother would not have known him--a stout young
man walked smartly one morning through the streets of London towards his
own home.

He was tall and good-looking, as well as stout, and, although wet and
weary, had a spring in his step which proved beyond all question that he
was not worn-out. As the comrade above referred to would have said,
"there was plenty of go in him still." His blue and belted coat,
sailor's cap, and small hatchet, with the brass helmet swinging by its
chin strap on his left arm, betokened him a member of "The Red
Brigade,"--a London fireman--one of those dare-anything characters who
appear to hold their lives remarkably cheap, for they carry these lives
in their hands, as the saying goes, night and day; who seem to be able
to live in smoke as if it were their native element; who face the flames
as if their bodies were made of cast iron; and whose apparent delight in
fire is such that one is led to suspect they must be all more or less
distantly connected with the family of Salamander.

The young man's expression of countenance, as far as it could be
discerned through the charcoal and water, was hearty, and his name--
Dashwood--was in keeping with his profession. The comrade, whose
opinion we have already quoted, was wont to say that he ought to change
it to Dashwater, that being his chief occupation in life. We need
scarcely say that this comrade was rather fond of his joke.

Arrived at a small street, not far from the Regent Circus, young
Dashwood entered a fire-station there, and found the comrade above
referred to in the act of disposing himself on a narrow tressel-bed, on
which there was no bedding save one blanket. The comrade happened to be
on duty that night. It was his duty to repose on the tressel-bedstead,
booted and belted, ready at a moment's notice to respond to "calls."
Another fireman lay sleeping at his side, on another tressel-bed,
similarly clothed, for there were always two men on duty all night at
that station. The guard-room, or, as it was styled, the "lobby," in
which they lay, was a very small room, with a bright fire in the grate,
for it was winter; a plain wooden desk near the window; a plain deal
table near the door, on which stood four telegraphic instruments; and
having the walls ornamented with a row of Wellington boots on one side,
and a row of bright brass helmets on the other, each helmet having a
small hatchet suspended by a belt below it.