Jack, the Fire Dog

Lily Wesselhoeft

Lily F. Wesselhoeft

Jack, the Fire Dog

CHAPTER FIRST

ENGINE 33 was kept in a substantial brick building that stood on a little hill in a pleasant part of the city. The brass shone so brightly that you could see your face in it, and not a speck of dust or rust was to be seen on any part of it, as it stood ready for use at a moment’s notice. Directly over the shafts hung the harnesses, to be lowered down upon the horses when they took their places in front of the engine; and this was the work of an instant.

The floor was just as clean as the engine; and so were all parts of the building. Three strong beautifully groomed gray horses stood in their well-kept stalls, ready to dart out at the sound of the gong and fall into their places before the engine.

Not a boy or girl in that part of the city but thought that Engine 33 was superior to all the other engines in the big city. She was always the first at a fire, and she could throw a stream higher than any of the others. One boy made a little verse on the subject, and his companions thought it very beautiful, for it expressed their views about Engine 33. This is the verse,—

“Number Thirty-three

Is fine as she can be.

She’s never late

And plays first-rate.”

Not only did the children think there was no other engine equal to theirs, but so did Jack the Fire-Dog. Why, it was his engine! Jack lived in the engine-house and went to all the fires just as the horses did. He never ventured far from the engine-house, but kept within hearing of the gong that struck the alarm. How fast he raced back when he heard that well-known sound, to be ready to start with the engine! So eager was he to be on hand, that on one occasion when he could not get the screen door at the head of the stairs open, he went through it. Sometimes in winter Jack was harnessed to a little sled and carried salt for the firemen to melt the snow on the hydrants, to keep them clear in case of a fire.

Jack was a dog of no particular breed, spotted black and white like a coach-dog, but larger and heavier in build. Those who knew Jack did not care if he were not a well-bred dog, they loved him for his intelligence and affectionate nature. The children in the neighborhood were as proud of him as they were of the engine.

Our story opens on a cold evening in winter. The wind had been blowing fiercely all day, catching up the light snow and scattering it wildly about, until it was hard to tell whether it were snowing or not, so full of snow was the sharp air. Toward the latter part of the afternoon the wind began to go down, but as it grew less the air became colder, and the mercury fell lower and lower, until it reached zero. It went even lower than that, and at seven o’clock stood at eight below. A dreadful night for our brave firemen to work in, but they never fail us.

Below, in the engine-house of Number 33, stands the engine ready for duty, her shining brass reflecting a hundred-fold the lights that shine on her. The horses are warm and comfortable in their stalls, and still, except when one gives an occasional stamp or rubs against the side of his stall. On the floor above, in their cosey, warm room, the firemen are assembled. Some are reading, others talking together. One young man is putting Jack through his tricks, of which he has a long list. He has just told to what engine he belongs,—not in words, for Jack cannot speak the human language. When he is asked what is his engine, and the numbers of several are mentioned, he is silent until Number 33 is called, then he gives a sharp bark.

This evening no sooner has he given his answer than the gong below strikes, and in an instant men and dog are on their feet, and on the way to the floor below. Jack rushes headlong down the long, steep flight of stairs, while the firemen take a shorter cut by sliding down the pole. In a very few seconds the horses have taken their places in front of the engine, the harness is let down and fastened into place. The fire is started under the boiler of the engine, the