1893: Firefighters rush to extinguished the flames

Central Fire Station in Montreal on Craig Street

So it's May 16 in the year 1893 in Montreal, and and smoke is sighted by the fireman on night duty in the tower of the Montreal fire station. He rings the alarm bells that wakes up the men down stairs.

In the past there was only a volunteer fire force, with only the night watchman on duty.  His job was to sit in the tower above the fire department and watch for smoke.  Whent he rang the bell, men were aroused from their beds, or from the doings of their daily lives. Then business as usual, or sleeping as usual, was suspended while the citizens rallied to fight the flames, according to the March 11, 1893, isue of The Dominion Illustrated Monthy.

The authors said:

Hand engines were used in those days, and forty men formed the complement for each engine. Forty muscular men make a force that is not to be despised, and they contrived to pump out a strong stream of water for some time— but muscles were apt to become overtaxed, and the volume of water to vary in Consequence. When the alarm bells rang, the first available horse (provided it didn't belong to a doctor) was pressed into service to haul the equipment to the scene of action. The owner of the animal might or might not protest, but he must submit perforce—and he could get indemnified in due course by filing his claim at the City Hall. The water supply was by no means pertect in Montreal, in the days of the volunteer force. Indeed it was largely in the hands of a body of men who owned vehicles, which are commonly called watercarts. The corporation had a standing reward for the first water puncheon that put in an appearance to feed the engines. This was supplemented by a smaller sum to those that came later. Consequently, as may be imagined, there insued a great rush of "drawers of water" when the fire bells rang out. Of course the river furnished the volunteer brigade with a
supply in many instances, and in others a well would often be available.

The Montreal Fire Brigade is responds to an alarm.

On the first day of May 1863, however, a full and paid force of firefighters were on duty in the house for the first time, and they had equipment that was organized and ready for any emergency.  The men sleep in the station's dormitory, and each man has a bed, a chair, and a cupboard of his own.  Each man is always expected to be ready for the call to duty, whether it be day or night.

There were nine stations in total, and 30 alarm boxes in different parts of the city. All someone had to do when smoke was sighted was set off one of the alarms and the force was called to duty.

The Montreal paid firefighters on the way to a fire.

As the alarm on this night, all the men are sleeping in their beds except one.  The article notes that...

...the men sleep in their clothes, with their top-boots placed conveniently near. One man always keeps watch in the room below. When an alarm sounds, the first thing is for all hands to haul on their heavy boots. Then a rush ensues for a man-hole that is cut in the floor of the dormitory. This has a sliding-pole of polished brass running through the centre, stretching from the ceiling overhead to the ground-flat where the reels, engines and things are. The men slide down this brass slidingpole swiftly and safely; the horses are already standing in position and the snapping and automatic maneuvring ensues, as before described. Coats, gloves and helmets are always kept on the vehicles, and they are usually donned long after the wild rush to fight the flames has commenced. They have systematized things so that the actual time lost in answering a night alarm is only a couple of seconds longer than when one occurs in the light of day.

So the alarm sounds, resulting in the following sequence of events,

Montreal Fire Brigade in action. 

The clock stops, the doors of the stalls fly open, the halters attaching the horses unbuckle, and the animals, trained to that end,rush forth and wait, each in front of its allotted vehicle. Then the harness, suspended over the places where the beasts are taught to stand, drops upon their backs.

The collar is so constructed that a slight pressure snaps it around the animal's neck, the reins are made fast to the bit by means of a flexible steel spring fastening, and the belly band is also snapped secure. Of course each man is drilled to know his own particular duty. The driver mounts the box, and, when the harness is literally snapped on

The horse's back as aforesaid, he gives the reins a sharp jerk. This opens the street door and at the same time detaches the harness from the gear whereby it was suspended from the ceiling—and it also signals to the intelligent beasts that the time for actual starting has come. Then the other men spring upon their assigned vehicles, and the grand gallop through the streets to the scene of action ensues. These events that take so long to describe, are done in a marvellously short space of time. Eight seconds after the stroke of the alarm sees the detachment on the street enroute to the box whence the signal sounded—think of it, eight seconds! Truly this is a fast age.

This may be the dream job for men, yet it is not so glamorous as one might think.

One may see from the things aforesaid, that the life that seems so attractive when viewed through the glamour that is lent by the galloping of steeds, the ringing of bells, and the frantic excitement of citizens, great and small, is not altogether to be envied. For it is not nice to be on duty for twenty-one hours out of the twenty-four, with only one afternoon and burning building fell and buried three firemen beneath it. Those of their comrades that saw this thing, rushed to he rescue. In this they were joined by several citizens. It was known that the rest of the wall might tumble down upon them at any moment.

You see they did not dream of allowing their mates to perish without making an effort to save them —and it happened that the rest of the wall did fall. Of course no time was lost in digging beneath the ruins, and ultimately all were exhumed. The three that had suffered from the first falling of the wall lived—eleven of their would-be rescuers lost their lives. This, I repeat, is a simple tale.

But it manifests that there are brave hearts amongst those paid to fight an evening off every week. This particularly when one has a home to go to which is brightened by the presence of a wife and children. Decidedly it is not. But there is the spice of danger, the excitement of constant alarms, and the fierce joy of combat— the things in short that make small boys and grown men regard firemen as heroes—as indeed they are! For if it is heroic to do one's duty without the dread of danger, it is doubly so, in men's eyes, to die in the doing, which is no unusual occurrence.

For example, take the fire that burned the Woodware Manufacturing Company's place on St. Urbain street, in April, 1876. The alarm sounded early on a Sunday morning, and was promptly responded to by the brigade. It is a simple tale! It happened that part of the wall of the fire fiend in Montreal. Many other instances might be mentioned: indeed they are all too common. Allusion is made to the above because the number that perished is unusually large.

Apart from the actual danger to life and limb, there is the discomfort. It is no small thing to jump from a warm bedon a cold winter's night, to mount the driver's seat on a hose reel sleigh, and to go tearingfull tilt through the streets, too busy managing the horse to find leisure even to put on a coat.

It means the loss of a second or more to finish dressing before starting. Maybe that space of time would involve letting the detachment from another station reach the destination first. For there is a friendly rivalry in these things. Then again, when the temperature is very low, strange results befall. The hose freezes and refuses to work be towed back to snake-like thing, plugged with solid ice.

The men are necessarily exposed to the streams of water that are turned upon the burning building. This freezes, and their clothing becomes caked. They cease to look like beings of flesh and blood in consequence, and come to resemble perambulating ice columns.

Ultimately their trowsers crack at the knee, because being continually on the move, there is a constant strain on the ice formation, that has eaten into the fibres of the cloth. In due course this strain overtaxes the strength of the material, wherefore it breaks with a break that resembles the cut of a keen knife.

The same thing occurs with other portions of their apparel; but ordinarily the knee is affected first. Since the adbent of the present chief, Alderman Stevenson (who is Chairman of the Fire Committee) has ordered rubber coats and boots to be supplied, which is a great improvement on the old order of things. A few smart blows and the ice peels in cakes from the impervious surface of these. But in the days when the department served out pilot cloth pea-jackets and leather boots, it was not easy for the men to remove their clothing after a fire in winter. Sometimes they doused the buttons with boiling water, to make them flexible ; frequently they were obliged to cut them off altogether.

While all the men were paid differently, the average annual salary for regular privates in the year 1892 was a measly $500 to $600.  The fire chief was paid a bit more, and had a much better living arrangement.

This post is published here in honor of all the firefighters who lost their lives over the years trying to help other people, and all those who have risked, and those who presently risk, all that life has to offer to help those in need.  While the equipment and the training has changed over the years, the job is still the same with all the same risks.  This is in honor of National Fire and Safety Week.

The article concluded with these words, that still ring true today.

It is impossible to do the brigade full justice in an article like this. If one reads the daily papers, one gets an idea of the work they are called upon to perform, and of the dangerous nature of that work. The nearest approach to the old time man of blood and war in these days is surely the fireman. He is used to danger, because it is in the ordinary course of his daily duty. He is trained to obey implicitly and to act unmindful of what may befall—and his life is subject to constant alarms.

The end.

References:

1. "Montreal Fire Brigade," The Dominion Illustrated Monthly, March 11, 1893, volume 2, number 2, Montreal and Toronto, pages 67-73

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1871: The Great Fire

Built in 1888, the Manistee fire station is the oldest continuously operated
fire station in the state of Michigan.  The station opens daily for visitors.

In honor of National Fire and Prevention week, I thought it would be neat to look into a few stories of what inspired the occasion.  It all began in a hot and dry October back in 1871.

If you look at the old, and still used, fire station in downtown Manistee, Michigan, you will see that it is equipped with a tower. While it barely sees any action today except for an array of sleeping bats, once upon a time a watch-man was hired to sit up there and watch for fires.  When he saw smoke, it was his job to ring the bell that notified the force of volunteer fire-fighters, or the full time force sleeping in their upstairs quarters, that their labor was needed.

The fire station must have been built with a clear understanding that a fire ravaged through the city in the summer of 1871, the same year that fires ravaged through other cities, including Holland and Chicago. It was a dry year, and once the first started, it burned fast, using the dry material of old homes as kindling.

The men slept upstairs in an array of beds set up against the white plastered walls. The men slept with their clothes on and their boots alongside their beds so they could easily slip into them and rush into action.  They would, one at a time, safely slide down a poll that put them in a room where the fire engine stood, waiting for its call to action.  Helmets were set in the areas of the vehicles where each man was trained to work, and they were quickly strapped on, along with other safety gear, as the garage door was being opened.  The horses were outside, and in only a few short minutes the horses, too, were ready for action.

So once the smoke was spotted, and the alarm sounded, and the men were set into action, every effort was made to put out the fire. Men who owned businesses and homes near the fire could be spotted on their roofs pouring bucket of water onto it in order to prevent the fire from destroying them. More often than not, such efforts were futile, for that was the day a large portion of the city burned to the ground, burdening the city with over $1 million in damages.

The following is was published in 1882 by H.R. Page and Company, in Chicago.

The city of Manistee was one of the victims of the great fire period of the month of October, 1871. Its partial destruction was simultaneous with that of Chicago, Holland, Peshtigo, and several other towns. The total loss of property burned in Manistee was about $1,000,000.

Immediately after the fire, Gen. B. M. Cutcheon visited Grand Rapids for the purpose of securing relief for the homeless and destitute, and prepared a very accurate and most graphic description of the fire for the columns of the Grand Rapids Eagle, which was widely copied at the time. We copy so much of that article as was purely descriptive of the fire, as follows:

Origin, Progress and Extent of the Conflagration.

First, to describe the locus in quo. Manistee Lake is a body of water nearly five miles long, and from one-fourth to three-fourths of a mile wide, lying nearly parallel with, and about a mile or two miles from Lake Michigan. Near the northern extremity it is connected with the latter lake by the Manistee River, a large navigable stream, from 75 to 125 yards in width. On the north side of this river, between the two lakes, lay the First Ward of the city, and on the south side of the river, and adjacent to it, divided nearly equally by Maple Street, on which was the swing bridge, lay the Third Ward, next the Manistee Lake, and the Second Ward to the west, next to the 'big lake.' To the southeast, bordering on the 'little' lake, was the Fourth Ward. The Third Ward was the most populous and embraced the greater part of the foreign and poor population. The Second Ward was the best built part of the town, especially that part between Oak and Maple Streets.

Within the city limits, and directly south of the space embraced between the latter-named streets, was a tract of about twenty acres of dead hemlock forest; the trees partly standing and partly lying upon the ground, but the whole as dry as tinder and as combustible as gun-powder.

On the fatal Sunday, October 8, the fire alarm sounded at about 9 a.m., and the fire department hastened with the steamer to the vicinity of Gifford and Ruddock's mills in the Fourth Ward, where an old chopping was burning furiously, and threatening destruction to that part of the town. By the most unwearied efforts, continued all day, the fire was subdued and that part of the town was saved.

About dark the engine returned to its quarters. It was scarcely housed when the wind, which had been blowing highly all day, rose to a perfect gale.

At about 2 o'clock p.m., while the fire in the Fourth Ward was raging, an alarm whistle was heard from the east side of Manistee Lake, and through the thick smoke it was discovered that the large steam mill of Magill & Canfield, on Blackbird Island, was in flames. In an incredibly short space of time, mill, boarding house, stables, shops, docks and lumber were consumed.

As soon as darkness began to close in, a lurid light appeared in the southwest on the shore of Lake Michigan, showing that the pine woods, that line the shore, were on fire. About 9:30 p.m., just as people were returning from evening services, the fire alarm again sounded, and every one now was on the alert, for the wind was blowing a fierce gale. Instantly a red, angry glare lighted up the western sky near the mouth of the river. The fire department rushed to the rescue. At the mouth were located the large mill and tug interests of John Canfield, with boarding house and about twenty-five or thirty dwellings. On the beach several acres were covered with pine saw dust, highly inflammable. Along the river, near the piers, were piled several hundred cords of dry pine slabs - fuel for tugs.

Down from the circling hills on the lake shore pounced the devouring monster. The burning sawdust, whirled by the gale in fiery clouds, filled the air. Hundreds of dry, pitchy slabs sent up great columns of red flame, that swayed in the air like mighty banners of fire, swept across Manistee, two hundred feet wide, and almost instantly, like great fiery tongues, licked up the government lighthouse, built at a cost of nearly $10,000, and situated a hundred and fifty feet from the north bank of the river.

A large fleet of vessels, wind-bound, lay opposite Canfield's mill, with four tugs, including the tree large barges of tyson & Robinson and the great steam tug 'Bismarck.' Now commenced a furious effort to remove the vessels and barges. The wild puffing and screaming of tugs, the hoarse hallooing of the sailors, the loud roaring and crackling of the flames, the awe-stricken faces of the gathered multitude, luridly lighted, made up a scene never to be forgotten or adequately described. The efforts of the firemen were in vain - the engine became disabled - and the flames came sweeping all before them. But now 

A New Source of Terror arose. A bright light came up out of the south, directly in rear of the town, and the fierce gale bearing it on directly toward the doomed city. Those who resided in that part of town, including the writer, rushed to the new scene of danger, the full extent of which few comprehended. The fire had originated two miles south of the city, on the lake shore. It first came upon the farm of L.G. Smith, Esq., which it devoured. Eighty rods north the extensive farm and dairy of E.W. Secor shared the same fate, with all his barns and forage. Another quarter of a mile, and the large farm buildings of Mayor R.G. Peters were quickly annihilated. Here the column of fire divided, the left hand branch keeping to the lake shore hills, and coming in at the mouth; the other taking a northeasterly course and coming in directly south of the town, as before described. Here a small band of determined men, fighting with the energy of despair to protect their homes, kept it at bay till past midnight. But all was vain - at 12:30 o'clock the gale became a tornado, hurling great clouds of sparks cinders, burning bark and rotten wood through the air in

A Terrific, Fiery Storm. "Every man now fled to his own house. The fire now came roaring through the dead hemlocks south of the blocks included between Maple and Oak Streets, in the Second Ward. The flames leaped to the summits of the great hemlocks, seventy, eighty or ninety feet high, and threw out great flags of fire against the lurid heavens. The scene was grand and terrible beyond description. To us, whose homes and dear ones and all were in the track of the fire, it was heart-rending. Then came

A Deluge of Fire like that rained on the cities of the plains. The wooden town, the saw-dust streets, the stumpy vacant lots, the pine clad hills north of the river, all burst into a sea of flame, made furious by the most fearful gale of wind I have ever experienced.

On toward the river and the Manistee Lake, spread the tempest of fire. Men, women, and children, in night clothes, half clothed, or fully clothed - some bareheaded, on foot, in wagons, on horseback, fled for their lives. It was

Pandemonium On Earth. Families were separated - husbands and wives, parents and children. The writer, when he gave over to the unequal contest south of the town, rushed to his residence to find it deserted, and for nine hours he could get no word whether his family were dead or alive. They had fled before the tempest of fire across the bridge, which burned behind them, only to be surrounded and almost perished in the smoke and fire on the north side.

Everything Went Down before the storm - dwellings with their home-treasurers, mills with their machinery, stores and their stocks, warehouses and their contents, the fine swing-bridge at the foot of Maple Street, vessels and their cargoes.

All Mingled In Common Ruin. From Fifth Street, half of a mile south of the river, to Cushman & Calkins' mill, half a mile north of the bridge, and from the foot of Oak Street eastward to Tyson & Robinson's mill, at the outlet of Manistee Lake, three-fourths of a mile, was one surging sea of fire. The steam fire engine burned in the street where it stood, the men and horses barely escaping with their lives. About three o'clock the wind abated, but the work of ruin was complete. When Monday morning's sun glared red and lurid through the heavy masses of smoke, where had stood Manistee, it beheld

A Scene of Desolation scarcely to be described. In the First Ward three buildings remained - the Catholic Church, the Ward Schoolhouse, and a small dwelling - and I should add some small fishing shanties near the mouth of the river. The Third Ward was swept clean except a few buildings near Manistee Lake. In the Second Ward the six platted blocks lying between Oak and Maple Streets, and about thirty buildings near the mouth, were swept away. The Fourth Ward escaped nearly untouched, the fine residences of J.L. Taylor, banker, formerly the residence of M. Engelmann, situated in the very corner of the ward, being the only one burned. His loss was great and almost total.

The Fire Made Thorough Work. The buildings were built mostly on wooden foundations, and their very site was scarcely distinguishable. Buildings, foundations, fences, sidewalks, trees, shrubbery - everything - were mowed close to the surface of the earth, and grass burned out by the roots.

A Thousand People Homeless.  A thousand men, women and children, houseless, homeless, and many of them penniless, wandered sad and blinded in the black and smoking streets, or had taken refuge on vessels, tugs, boats and barges, to escape the devouring element.

Nothing but the cleared fields of Messrs. Canfield and Peters, south of the western part of the Second Ward, saved that part of the town from utter annihilation, and hundreds from perishing in the tempest of fire.

The After Scenes. The writer of this, at 10 o'clock the next morning, found his family three miles northeast of the desolated city, having barely escaped with their lives, with scanty clothing snatched in the moment of flight. The night before surrounded with the comforts of a beautiful and happy home, at dawn we found ourselves, blinded with heat and smoke, without home, or so much as a change of raiment - but thankful for life, strength and unconquerable hope and courage.

Then was seen a spectacle to gladden the heart! Every house that remained was opened to receive the sufferers. Hearts and hands were as open as the homes. We almost felt it worth while to suffer for the sake of witnessing how much of generosity was latent in human nature.
"Monday everyone staggered with the blow. Tuesday men were strong, cheerful and hopeful, and set their faces to the future with brave hearts. Wednesday night came the terrible tidings from Chicago, almost crushing out all hope, for we felt that our insurance was gone. But from this our people are rallying.

On Tuesday we organized for the serious work before us. Good men are in charge to alleviate the necessities of the sufferers; at receive aid from abroad and distribute to the needy.

What Of The Future? Manistee will rise from her ashes. The work of rebuilding is already commenced. We have hope, energy, faith in the future, and some capital.

We have a splendid natural situation, at the mouth of a beautiful navigable stream penetrating the interior through pine forests 300 miles, on whose banks stand 4,500,000,000 feet of good pine, most of which must be manufactured at, and shipped from Manistee.

Help us through this Winter, and the future, though dimmed, is safe. In the name of the suffering and destitute of Manistee, I thank the noble and generous-hearted men and women of Grand Rapids for their prompt and noble response to our call. May God bless them, and keep them from like calamity.

I have written this in great haste, and I fear incoherently. It is the first time that I have had the heart to take the pen in hand since the disaster, and I only hope it may avail to help the needy and suffering.
- Byron M. Cutcheon.

The calamity was very great and the needs of the people very pressing. Manistee was remote, in a northern wilderness, eighty miles from any railroad, without telegraphic communication, reached only by way of the lake, and a five months Winter of deep snow and cold just ahead, and the weather upon this bleak shore already inclement.

It is such trials that test the recuperative power of a people, but it is usually true that they are equal to the emergency, and the citizens of Manistee were not an exception. Amid the ruin and disaster there were some consoling features. There had been no loss of life, and no very serious accidents. Friends were left, and a generous world outside was ready to furnish aid.

The appeals for relief were met with ready response. Nearly $5,000 were received and distributed, besides commodities of all kinds in great abundance. With true Western energy, the sufferers applied themselves to the task of rebuilding and repairing their losses. Brick took the place of wood to a large extent in the work of rebuilding, and a substantial and beautiful city gradually rose from the ashes of the conflagration.

Another neat thing to note is that, while Manistee is now a small town of about 8,000 residents, at the time of the fire Manistee had more millionaires per capita than any other city in the state of Michigan.  This was a result of the logging era, of which there were many great pines in Manistee to cut down.  Of course nothing was replanted, so when all the trees were gone by the turn of the 21st century, so too went the lumbering industry.

According to the National Fire and Prevention Association:

Fire Prevention Week was established to commemorate the Great Chicago Fire, the tragic 1871 conflagration that killed more than 250 people, left 100,000 homeless, destroyed more than 17,400 structures and burned more than 2,000 acres. The fire began on October 8, but continued into and did most of its damage on October 9, 1871.

According to popular legend, the fire broke out after a cow - belonging to Mrs. Catherine O'Leary - kicked over a lamp, setting first the barn, then the whole city on fire. Chances are you've heard some version of this story yourself; people have been blaming the Great Chicago Fire on the cow and Mrs. O'Leary, for more than 130 years. But recent research by Chicago historian Robert Cromie has helped to debunk this version of events.

Now we know that there was more than one city that burned during that hot and dry October back in 1971.  A lesson was learned from these fires, however, and now we many efforts to prevent such fires, thus making life safer for all of us.  National Fire and Safety Week is October 5-11, 2014.