Fire Department of New York, 1851
This department is of acknowledged, and undoubted importance to the city. The essential service which its faithful members render daily, can never be fully known; and although the introduction of…
From: 1850 C.E. To: 1851 C.E.
Location: New York, New York, United States
Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.
“Fire Department” from What I Saw in New York; or, A Birds Eye View of City Life, by Joel H. Ross, 1851.
This department is of acknowledged, and undoubted importance to the city. The essential service which its faithful members render daily, can never be fully known; and although the introduction of the all-quenching Croton, which must be noticed hereafter, greatly promotes the security of the city from destruction by fire, yet our worthy and devoted firemen are still indispensable to our safety and prosperity.
The Fire department has at its head. Alfred Carson, Esq., Chief Engineer. It has also in each Ward an assistant engineer, fire companies, engines, hose, hooks, ladders, and engine-houses. The department contains thirty-four engine companies, forty-seven hose companies, nine hook and ladder companies, three hydrant companies, five thousand feet of hose, and about two thousand men. The members are free from jury and military duty, and after serving five years, they are exempt for life.
The city is divided into eight fire-districts, and in case of fire in the first district, the signal is one stroke from the alarm-bells, with a sufficient interval, before repeating the single stroke. For the second district, two strokes; for the third, three strokes, and so on. The number of fires during the year ending August 1, 1850, was 289.
One of the most frightful, though often truly sublime sights to be witnessed in the city, is a large fire; and especially in the night. How rapidly does the devouring element, on certain occasions blast the hopes of multitudes, and turn a glittering, flourishing town into a melancholy mass of smouldering ruins. It is an awful spectacle to behold agitated thousands making every possible effort for the general good. Behold some trying to arrest the flames—some to save their property—some to save their friends, and others to save themselves.
Pestilence, may make greater havoc among flesh and blood, but it is an invisible agent. It goeth where it listeth, but we cannot hear the sound thereof, nor tell whence it cometh, or whither it goeth.
Not so with fire. We see the glowing, flashing flame; hear the dismal roar; feel the scorching heat; smell the fetid gas; breathe the smothering smoke, and with instinctive horror shun its dread approach.
To hear in the dead of night, the long, loud, deep, and solemn cry of "fire—fire—fire," mingling with rattling engines, shouting firemen, flashing lightning roaring thunder, and tolling bells; to see the fearful flame burst through the imperiled habitation, and light up the firmament, darkened by volumes of soot and smoke, and blast the hopes of the terror-stricken, semi-naked, half-insane household who are driven into the street, is truly enough to strike the spectator with an indescribable feeling of pity and awe.
In great haste, with short notice, and in much confusion, men, women, and children are hurried into the streets; also beds, bureaus, and boxes; hats, coats, carpets, and crockery; chairs, sofas, settees and side-boards; portraits, paintings, portfolios, and pianos; books, birds, and baskets; teapots, tables, and tapestry.
These and such other articles of value as can be snatched away from the merciless flames and hurried into the streets, are piled up at a little distance from the fire, to await the decision of owners and others.
It is now evident that the bell has not spoken in vain, for, with surprising agility, the ready, faithful firemen are on the spot to make the first move, and the essential agent which has come fifty miles to render important assistance, rushes into the thickest of the fire and smoke, and then the two contending elements pour and roar, and dash and flash, and spatter and shatter, in the awful and momentous strife.
But with all the combined forces of the Fire Department, and all the virtues of the Croton, combustion marches on at a fearful rate, and with disastrous results.
At length it is discovered that the enemy cannot so well be drowned out as starved out, and hence the efficacy of gun-powder is put to the test—a tremendous concussion is felt—one or more buildings instantaneously demolished—combustibles enough to feed the flames for hours are at once removed, and the undaunted firemen resume their usual mode of obtaining the victory, without a murmur or a doubt.
This is the harvest time for the light-fingered, and black-hearted. Why should not the guilty wretches be on the alert while the night lasts and the fire burns, lest they should find out a little too late that they had applied the torch in vain? Hence they work fast, sleep little, toil hard, keep a good look-out, fill their pockets and baskets, steal all they can, keep all they get and care not who suffers.
But what sometimes makes the sudden occurrence of fire in the night, more terrible than anything else, is, the fearful prospect that some precious immortal will perish in the flames. About two years since, a case of this kind occurred in my own street. In the dead of night, a fire broke out in the lower part of a dwelling-house, the first story of which was occupied as a store, and in the upper part of which the family were asleep. When the alarm was given, there was no retreat but through the windows. The mother jumped out and fell upon a stoop, somewhat injured, though not seriously.
In the mean time the father went into the adjoining rooms to save his children, a son and daughter—the former about twelve, the latter about sixteen years of age. In entering the apartments he found that they had left their beds, but he soon came in contact with his son, and took him to the window and raised it, and told the boy to stand perfectly still until he found his daughter.
But for her he searched in vain, and when he found that he was likely to suffocate himself, he rushed for the window, and then, alas! he could not find his son! How, or why he had disappeared, he knew not. He felt that he could do no more, and crawled out and hung by his hands until a ladder was raised for his escape, which was quickly done; and almost as quick as thought, a noble fireman entered the windows, and soon returned with the two stupified, and almost lifeless children.
Now, it will be much easier for the reader to imagine than for the writer to describe the state of mind to which these distracted parents were subjected during their awful suspense. And what must have been the feelings of those children in such awful peril? I saw them the next day, and the young lady told me that the last that she remembered was, that she gave up all hope of escape, and laid down on the floor to die.
But the worthy fireman is not always so successful, as regards saving others, or even himself. He enters a house which is in flames, with his life in his hand, and as he enters, his fellow laborers pour upon him a flood of Croton, to render him somewhat fireproof. He disappears amid volumes of vapor, fire, and smoke. With intense anxiety all watch and wait his return. But, alas! he does not appear, and all that is again seen of the noble fellow is a few whitened calcined bones in the bottom of the cellar, after the work of devastation is finished. His mother, or his companion mourns and weeps, and for months and years can hardly hear the tolling bell without painful recollections of the sad and trying event.
But not only does this agent remind surviving friends, from time to time, of some mournful catastrophe, but the engine houses, which are so often dressed in black (and if they are not at the present moment, it is because they have recently thrown off the mournful badge), proclaim in solemn silence to the passing spectator, that one or more have fallen, while in the discharge of perilous duties.
Now we perceive no reason why the widows and children of such unfortunate men should not be as much entitled to a pension as if the. victim had fallen in battle. And as the firemen discharge their arduous, perilous duties, without any remuneration, we think that all will admit that Jenny Lind turned her benevolence in the right direction, when, among numerous other donations, she contributed to the "Firemen's Fund," for the relief of the disabled and needy, the liberal sum of three thousand dollars!
Such nightingales are rare, in more respects than one.
It may be said that firemen have some advantages. Some advantages! Who has not? Their exemption from jury and military duty is not worthy to be named, compared with the essential service which they render to the city. We hardly know of another equal number of men, as devoted to the prosperity of the metropolis. True, it is a volunteer service, and so much the better. It is also true that none are compelled to go where it is known to be positively unsafe. But who does not see that there must often be much danger where little or none is anticipated.
But this is not all. After the fireman enters the ranks, no ordinary plea can excuse him from duty. No urgency of business—no inclemency of weather—no unseasonable hour—no love of social enjoyments, or obligations to friends—no sanctity of the Sabbath, or solemnity of the sanctuary can excuse the fireman when the alarm bell rings. Nay, he must go, and go at once; go instanter. And not only go, but hurry; and not only hurry, but run; and not only run, but drag an engine, mount a ladder, scale the walls, and quench the flames, if he can; and it is not his profession to say, "I can't."
But there is one source of danger to which I have not alluded—namely, the shameful, nay, criminal manner in which dwellings are sometimes erected. One example will suffice.
On the 15th of January, 1851, at a quarter past one o'clock, P.M., six brick buildings, in the upper part of the city, fell, with a tremendous crash, while thirty-two workmen were upon them, killing five, and maiming others. Said buildings were four stories high, and the fifth was about to be added. Such a scene of desolation I have rarely witnessed. It seemed almost a miracle that any came out of the ruins alive.
There were heaps upon heaps of timber, brick, and mortar, and so completely was everything crushed, that for a long time I could not find a solitary stick of timber unbroken. It was literally ground to oven-wood. One of the principal deficiences of said buildings, appeared to be in the miserable, worthless quality of the mortar, which was little better than dry loam. From its appearance, one could hardly be very positive that it contained any lime at all, and the bricks were not cemented together in the least degree.
Now, suppose the workmen had escaped, that they had been fortunate enough to tie the walls together by means of timbers and the roof, so as to leave them not only standing, but apparently safe, and then let one or more take fire and burnout the ties; and it would not be very difficult to perceive that every fireman within the reach of a falling brick, would be in peril, for the walls would be almost certain to fall.
At the last great fire in New York, that is, the fire of 1845, the number of buildings consumed and demolished was 240. The amount of property destroyed was estimated at 85,000,000, and far worse than all, nine precious lives were sacrificed.
At that, time, goods, wares, and merchandise were piled up in the streets in every direction around the burnt district, and the military and the police guarded them day and night. And what may seem almost incredible, the fire remained in some of the smouldering ruins more than a year!
Ross, Joel H. What I Saw in New York; or, A Birds Eye View of City Life. Derby & Miller, 1851.
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