"Fire! Fire! Turn out, everybody! Fire! Fire!"
This cry, coming like a clarion1 call, at midnight, awoke the inhabitants of the peaceful little New England village of Lakeville.
"Fire! Fire!"
Heads were thrust out of hastily-raised windows. Men and women looked up and down the street, and then glanced around to detect the reddening in the sky that would indicate where the blaze was. Timid women began sniffing2 suspiciously, to learn if it was their own homes which, unsuspectingly, had become ignited.
"Fire! Fire! Stimson's barn is burning! Fire! Fire!"
A man ran down the principal village street, shouting as he ran. At some doors he paused long enough to pound with his fist, awakening3 the dwellers4 who had not heard his call, for he was Rodney Stickler5, the town constable6 and watchman, whose duty it was to sound the fire alarm, and summon the bucket brigade, in the event of a blaze.
"Hurry up!" Constable Stickler shouted, as he ran from house to house, striking with his fist on the doors of the residences where the members of the bucket brigade lived. "The barn is 'most gone! Fire! Fire!"
Men jumped from bed, pulled on shirts, trousers, and shoes or boots, and thus scantily7 attired8, rushed forth9 to do battle with the flames.
In a small cottage, near the end of the village street, a lad, hearing the midnight alarm, got up and hurried to the window. He could make out the short, stocky form of Constable Stickler rushing about. Then, off to the left, he could see a dull glow in the sky. There was, also, the smell of wood burning.
"What is it, Herbert?" asked a woman's voice from another room.
"Fire, mother," replied Herbert Dare. "Mr. Stickler is giving the alarm."
"Whose place is it? I hope it isn't around here. Oh! fire is a dreadful thing! Where is it, Herbert?" And Mrs. Dare put on a dressing-gown and came into her son's room.
"I think he said it was Mr. Stimson's barn, mother. I can see a blaze over in that direction."
"Mr. Stimson's barn? He has a fine lot of cattle in it. Oh, I hope they save the poor creatures!"
Herbert, or, as he was usually called by his chums, Bert, grabbed up his clothes from a chair, and began to sort them in the darkness, looking for his trousers.
"What are you doing, Herbert?" asked his mother.
"I'm going to dress."
"What for?"
"I'm going to the fire."
"Herbert! Don't go! You might get hurt. Suppose some of the horses should run away and trample10 on you? Don't go!"
"I must, mother. They'll need all the help they can get. I must go!"
From the village street once more came the alarm.
"Fire! Fire! Fire!"
Now, however, more voices were shouting it. There was also the rush of feet, and Bert, peering from the window, saw a crowd of men and boys, many of them carrying buckets, hastening along. The glare in the sky had become brighter.
"I'm going to dress and go, mother," said the boy. "I want to aid all I can. We'd like help if our house was on fire."
"Oh, Herbert! Don't suggest such dreadful things!"
Mrs. Dare left her son's room, and in a few minutes he had dressed sufficiently11 to go out.
"Now do be careful, Herbert," called his mother, as he ran downstairs. "If anything should happen to you, I don't know what I'd do."
"I'll be careful."
Herbert Dare was the only son of a widow, Mrs. Roscoe Dare. Her husband had died several years previous, leaving her a small income, barely sufficient to support herself and her son. It may be added here that Mr. Dare had been a city fireman before his marriage. This, perhaps, accounted in a measure for the interest Herbert took in all alarms and conflagrations13.
"It certainly looks like a big fire," thought the boy, as he broke into a run down the street. He soon caught up with the crowd hastening to the blaze.
"Hello, Bert!" shouted a lad to him. "Going to help put the fire out?"
"If they need me, Vincent. I see you have your bucket."
"Yep," replied Vincent Templer, one of Bert's chums. "It's dad's. He belongs to the bucket brigade, but he's away from home, and I took it."
"I wish I had one."
"Oh, I guess they'll have plenty at the barn."
"They'll need 'em, for it looks as if it was pretty well on fire."
The reflection of the blaze was now so bright that objects in the street could be plainly seen, and faces easily distinguished14 at a considerable distance.
"There's Cole Bishop15!" said Bert to his chum, pointing to another lad, who was running along, evidently much out of breath, as he was quite fat.
"Hello, Cole!" called Bert.
"Hello--Bert! Goin'--to--the--fire?" came from Cole, with a puff16 between each word.
"Naw, we're goin' to a Sunday school picnic," replied Vincent, who was something of a joker.
"Humph! Funny--ain't--you!" remarked Cole.
The boys continued to speed on toward the burning barn, which was one of the buildings belonging to Anderson Stimson, a farmer, and located just on the edge of the village. The crowd had increased, and several score of people were on their way to the conflagration12.
"They'll--have--a--hot--time--putting--out--that--fire," spoke17 Cole, with labored18 breath. "They--only--got--buckets."
"That's all they've had in Lakeville since the time it was founded by Christopher Columbus," remarked Vincent. "It's a good thing we don't have many fires."
"If I had my force pump I could show--show--'em--how--to--squirt-- water," said Cole, who had begun the first part of the sentence very fast, but who had to slow down on the last section. He was almost completely out of breath.
"Why didn't you bring it along?" asked Bert.
"Huh! How--could--I--when--it's--fast--on--the--cistern?"
That argument was, of course, unanswerable. Cole Bishop was a lad quite fond of mechanics, and was usually engaged in making some new kind of machinery19. His force pump was his latest effort, and he was quite proud of it.
"Say! I should think it was burning!" suddenly exclaimed Bert, as he and his chums turned a corner of the street and came in full view of the blazing barn. The structure seemed enveloped20 in flames, great tongues of fire leaping high in the air, and a black pall21 of smoke hovering22 like an immense cloud above it. "They can't save that!"
"Guess not!" added Vincent. "What good are buckets in a blaze like that? You can't get near enough to throw the water on."
"Wish--I--had--my--force--pump," panted Cole.
By this time the boys had joined the crowd that was already at the scene of the fire. The heat could be felt some distance away.
"Come on, everybody with buckets!" cried Constable Stickler, who sometimes assumed charge of the bucket brigade. "Form a line from the horse trough to the barn. Pass the full buckets up one side and the empty ones down the other. Let the boys pass the empty buckets an' the men the full ones."
"Let's form two lines for full buckets," proposed another man.
"We'll need three," put in a third individual.
"Who's runnin' this here fire, I'd like to know?" inquired the constable indignantly. "Git to work now."
"Yes, I guess they'd better, or there won't be any barn to save," spoke Bert.
The flames were crackling furiously. The crowd was constantly increasing, and nearly every man had a bucket or pail. Some had brought their wives' dishpans, as they could not find their pails in the darkness and confusion.
"Come on, Bert, let's get in line," suggested Vincent.
"Yes--let--me--git--to--a--place--where--I--can--rest," begged Cole.
"Here, I'll help," added John Boll, another of Bert's chums.
"I'd rather pass the full buckets," said Tom Donnell.
"Now then, everybody begin to pass," cried the constable, who had his men in some kind of shape. There were three lines extending from the burning barn to the horse trough, some distance away. The trough was fed by a pipe, running from a spring, and there was plenty of water.
"Dip an' pass," cried the constable, and the word went along the lines. Men standing23 near the trough dipped their pails in, handed them to the person standing next, and so, from hand to hand went the dripping buckets of water. At last the pail reached the end of the line, and the man nearest the blaze proceeded to throw on the quenching24 fluid.
But here a new difficulty presented itself. The blaze was so hot that no person could approach close enough to make the water effective. The whole front of the barn was in flames.
"This ain't going to be no good!" exclaimed one of the men on the end of a line up which the full buckets traveled. He tried to throw the water on the flames, but, approaching as close as he dared, he could not come within ten feet of the fire.
"I should say not," agreed his companion.
"Hey! What's the matter?" called the constable. "Why don't you throw the water on the flames, instead of on the ground?"
"Let's see you do it," was the angry answer.
"We'll have to go around to the back, and throw the water on there," was the advice of a tall, lanky25 farmer.
"What good'll that do?"
"Wa'al, we can't do no good here."
"That's so," was the general agreement.
The lines began to shift, to get out of the heat of the blaze. Meanwhile, those at the trough, not understanding what was going on, continued to pass up the full buckets, but as no one gathered up the empty ones to pass back, the waiting line of boys had nothing to do. Several began to leave, to get in a position where they could view the blaze better.
"Here, where are you boys going?" demanded Constable Stickler, who was running back and forth, not knowing what to do.
"There isn't anything for us to do," replied Bert. "We can't save that barn with buckets. We'd better help get some of the machinery and cattle out."
"That's right," added Vincent, and several men agreed with this.
"You--ought to have my force pump," spluttered Cole Bishop, who had now recovered his breath.
"Pass up the buckets! Pass the buckets!" was the cry that now came from the line of men, that had been extended to reach around to the rear of the barn, where, for the time being, there was no fire. "Pass the buckets!"
"Yes, pass the buckets!" shouted the constable. "Here, boys, come back to your places!" For a number of the boys had left, and there were long gaps in the line.
"Can't something be done to save the barn?" cried Mr. Stimson, who had been rushing back and forth, mainly engaged in carrying out some valuable harness from the blazing structure.
"We're tryin' to," replied the constable.
"Are all the cattle out?" asked Bert.
"Cattle? Land, no; I forgot all about them!" exclaimed the farmer. "I was busy taking my valuable harness out, and saving some of my deeds and mortgages in the house. I'm afraid that'll go next!"
"The house is in no danger as long as the wind keeps this way," said Bert, "but the cattle are. How many are in the barn?"
"Five horses and six cows. The cows are in the lower part. They're in no danger yet, but I guess the horses are done for. I forgot all about 'em!"
At that moment a shrill26 cry, almost like a human being in agony, rose above the crackle of the flames.
"Those are the horses!" cried Bert. "Come on! We'll try to save 'em!"
收听单词发音 |
1
clarion
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| n.尖音小号声；尖音小号 | |
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2
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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stickler
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| n.坚持细节之人 | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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10
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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11
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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12
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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conflagrations
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| n.大火（灾）( conflagration的名词复数 ) | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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15
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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17
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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22
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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24
quenching
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| 淬火，熄 | |
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lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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