A
Novel
By Smcallis,this is a work of fiction. No similarities between any person living and dead are intended, and any such similarity is purely coincidental. All characters © 2007 by Smcallis.
Chapter Eight
AFTERMATH
ONLY AFTER THE ARRIVAL of Ladder Company no. 39 was the total inadequacy of the London Municipal City Council fire planning laid bare. To the horror, of everyone who witnessed the carnage, the spectators, newspapermen, the fire-victims themselves who clung screaming from the upper floors. Most of all to the frustration of noble brave firefighters who responded, the high-rise ladders only reached to the sixth floor. The firefighters found themselves literally dodging the falling bodies that plunged "Thud-dead" from the upper floors of the doomed Asch building.
One hundred and forty-nine women, young-girls and a few men, Mr. Crowley included either jumped or burnt to death on that dreadful June day. The shroud-covered corpses littered the streets.
A few people did make it out alive. Those, the lucky ones on the lowest floors all made it out alive. Mr. Smith, Mr. Fenner veritably strolled out of their Greene Street office, their initial concern was the lateness of their mid-morning tea. Mr. Smith even had the audacity to inquire as to what all the commotion was about. A few people from the mid-level floors were the object of heroic rescue. The vast majority; those on the upper floors were either cut down by smoke and flame or succumbed to the inevitable and jumped to their death.
I, for whatever reason, luck, or providence, was the only one who made it off the tenth-floor alive. Not due to any great cleverness on my part, I had the means and the opportunity; it was my own stupidity that thrust me further into the path of mortal danger.
For my part, for the first ten or fifteen minutes of the initial outbreak of the fire, I was relatively safe from danger. The air was clear to breath; I clung there against the building, the fact I wasn't already dead, gave me a false sense of security, like I was some how above the fray, immune to the effects of the fire. It was my own failure to act, my grave miscalculation to take immediate advantage of my situation, this was my ultimate undoing.
What I didn’t realize was that every second I tarried, the iron lag bolts that held the copper fittings of the downspout that was my lifeline softened under the immense heat of the fire. I shimmied down a little bit, but evidently not enough.
With one cataclysmic bang, the drown spout gave way. I jerked; I along with my here to secure perch, tore away from the side of the building like a zipper in one sudden catastrophic collapse. I fell screaming. I found myself three-quarters-of-a-second later, not dead as I imagined, but dangling in mid-space, legs flailing akimbo, the copper down spout now jutted out from the side Asch building at a ninety-degree angle, with me, on the furthest end, I looked down, I could see the pavement looming seventy-five feet below me.
"UGH! Oh God! I am stuffed!" My grip slipped a little.
The crowd below uttered an audible gasp, as I swung there in mid-space. After so many unsatisfying “thud-deads,” I unwittingly provided them with the drama they craved. At this point, any thought of lack of knickers was damned. I was terrified out of my mind. I clung for dear life, flailed about and screamed for my Henry.
“HENRY!”
My Henry had no possible way to hear me. He was on the North side of the building, the Greene street side. Shoveling coal, for all he was worth, the needle on steam pressure gauge surged. The reciprocating piston chugged back and forth in its relentless effort to do work. The governor whirled, the two steel balls, spun, driven out by shear centrifugal force. Occasionally pure physics caused them to reaching their maximum zenith, it was then the engine belched and hissed as excess steam pressure released. The water pressure on the fire-hoses dropped, the engine slowed down. This is how a steam engine works. Still Henry poured on more coal, the governor spun, the engine hissed and slowed.
Henry continued to shovel coal. It was then while he was in mid-shovel fling he experienced a most horrible thump. It was a body, a body of a young woman, she fell sqaushed next to him; "thud-dead." She missed the rig by less than six feet . . . Henry looked up, the flames from the furnace flushed his face, he paused only long enough to examine the crumpled corpse. The soot covered face was a girl, maybe fifteen, it was not me. Henry found himself over come with a desperate sense of relief and guilt. Yet he was an experienced firefighter, he knew very well what fire was capable of, and he knew very well that even if I was not yet dead, he knew what fate awaited me.
It was then that Henry Jr., the Fire-Captain called for more pressure.
“MORE PRESSURE!” Henry Jr. screamed through his megaphone.
“She’s at 160 pounds; it won’t take any more turns!”
“Tie it down, tie it down, damn you! More pressure!” The fire-hoses were trained on the fire, but the water stream only reached to the sixth floor. The monstrous entity that was fire, burst from every seam and orifice of the Asch building, Henry Jr. was desperate. It was then; my Henry did exactly what his brother told him to do. With a loop from a belt strap, he tied down the governor. Like a pressure cooker without the little diddler to rattle, the steam pressure surged.
In all this cacophony of confusion, it was then that word was past that a girl, on the far side of the building, was dangling in mid-air. Domino, circled the fire-wagon adamantly, he barked, tugged with such furry, with such devotion and determination that he could not be ignored.
Henry, my Henry, made the fateful decision to abandon his post. A split-second, gut-felt decision that undoubtedly saved my life, but inevitably cost the lives of others, how could he have known?
FIRE, remember fire? In an odd twist of physics, alchemy and fate, in order to put out a fire, firefighters used fire, or more specifically steam and the reciprocating steam engine. The steam engine, in its relentless ability to do work, is both slave and master. It cannot be trusted, can never be left left unattended. A steam engine, like fire, has a limitless capacity to do work, it can do the work of 100 men, and yet in a scant second, the same relentless furry which drives it forward, possesses the infinite capacity to destroy, maim or kill. One does not shovel forty pounds of pure black Cardiff coal into a boiler, tie down the governor and leave the fire to burn unattended. This is what my Henry did. Henry did not abandoned his post because he was incompetent or a lazy person. Neither was my Henry a coward.
I always like to think, that if there was any blame to be laid at Henry’s doorstep, it was he fell victim to his own goodness. Henry was truly the most honest, noble, and bravest person I have ever known. I should think Henry abandoned his post because he had witnessed a girl fall to her death, not more than six feet in front of him. He was compelled, he was determined not to allow this tragedy to happen again. The fact that it was me he came to rescue, Henry could not have known that at this time.
Domino barked, he charged, nipped, tugged, growled and whined. Domino led my Henry away. Domino, he knew it was I; he led Henry straight to me. Domino, he was a clever dog but he didn't understand boilers, pressure, the dangers of falling bricks and such. He only knew that I was in danger, he knew only my Henry could save me.
Henry, on the other hand, he should have known better, we talked a lot about this later. As second assistant to the boiler engineer, he knew better. How can I fault the man I love? Henry, he saved my life; in doing so, he changed his life, he changed my life, and cost the lives of others.
Henry called to his mates, the boy’s from Ladder co. 39. He called for them to follow him, to bring their safety net. Henry, Domino, and the boys from Ladder co. 39 charged round the corner. There they were met with the spectacle that was I, dangling in mid-space, some seventy-five feet above the ground.
There was no doubt I was in fear of falling. I was going to fall. Two seconds from now, I was destined to fall. I along with the whole rotten structure, any second, me included, in the next two half-breaths, I was going to come crashing down to earth. "Thud-dead."
“TESSA, JUMP!”
I let go, I aimed for the bulls-eye of the safety-net, I think some copper pipe tumbled down after me, it was that close.
In that very same second, in that very same instant, I think it is safe to say I was still in mid-air. From on the other side of the building, on the Greene street side, the boiler on Pumper no. 99 exploded. It was the most fantastic thunderous roar, a noise that made itself heard over the already din of fire and confusion. A noise so loud, so devastating, that it made you stop, take notice and say, "What the hell was that?" Henry knew, I landed, I bounced, I looked over at Henry, a little bit scared, a little bit triumphant, Henry, his face was ashen, in the very same second I went "Thump" into the safety-net, Henry knew, he had killed his brother.
George, Bill-Bob and Clyde were killed outright. Henry Jr. was thrown some two-hundred feet, smashed and scalded beyond recognition. He died, two days later at Saint Mary’s Our Mother of Mercy Hospital; he never regained consciousness.
It seemed that everything happened in that very same second. The boiler exploded, I went thump, and God, in his infinite wisdom chose cruelty over mercy. The whole East side of the Asch building collapsed in one thunderous cataclysmic roar.
Four days later, after the funerals, after the newspapers, amidst the still smoldering rubble, we searched for Domino’s body, we never found Domino.
The day's death was done; Henry and I, we clung to each other, we cried, we consoled each other, Sally, Henry Jr., Domino, even Mr. Crowley. I prayed for my Henry, I prayed for his poor departed brother and I prayed for my dog. The pain, scope of the tragedy seemed too great to bear. There was an outpouring of grief, outrage, indignation; there was a board of inquiry, speeches were made in Parliament calling for better fire protection. All the city of London turned out for Henry Jr.’s funeral. The Union Jack was dutifully folded and presented to Henry's Mother, Mrs. Hawkins. In the end, when it was all over, nothing seemed to matter. Henry and I found ourselves alone, on the streets, I for the most part was free. Mr. Wallace Squeers, Pierce, Fenner and Smith were far too busy answering law-suits and skirting the questions of the official board of inquiry to concern themselves with four pounds and nine shillings that represented the likes of me.
Henry, and I were penniless and destitute. We were flung out on the street, hungry, without so much as a brass-farthing between us. I begged Henry to go back to the firehouse, gather his things, at least there we could get something to eat. Henry refused, his shame was too great. We spent that night sleeping in the park, the same park where Domino and I used to play.
I will admit, I was the one who first spied the recruitment poster for the twenty-fourth regiment of foot.
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