THE risks and dangers that firemen face in the discharge of their duty are known to very few. The outside world the public at large -hears little or nothing of them. Fires, in a large city like New York, are of such common occurrence that the newspapers rarely give them more than a paragraphic notice; and, in fact, all accounts of fires to-day are condensed SO as to occupy the smallest possible space. Of course, conflagrations of any magnitude receive their share of recognition in the columns of the daily papers; and reporters are never stinting in the praise they give the firemen for the brave and skilful work that they perform; but the fire departments throughout all our large cities are so perfectly organized to-day that the "large fire" does not often occur, and detailed accounts are therefore seldom found in the papers.

When we see a fire company dashing on its way in answer to an alarm, we stop to admire the stirring picture that they present. Instinctively we look in the direction that they are proceeding for the appearance of smoke if it be daytime, or the glare of the flames if it be at night, to indicate the location of the fire. We perhaps see none, and pass on our way; and in the whirl of city life this incident is soon forgotten. And yet this company may return with many of its members bruised and sore, while others are perhaps conveyed to near-by hospitals, mortally wounded. It is not always the fire that makes the biggest show that is the hardest to fight. The fire that goes roaring through the roof of a building, lighting up the city for miles around, is sometimes much more easily subdued than the dull, smoky cellar or sub-cellar fire that forces the men to face the severest kind of "punishment," the effects of which are felt for weeks afterward, before it is controlled.

At a sub-cellar fire that occurred one night,

a few years ago, on lower Broadway, I saw over a dozen men laid out on the sidewalk, overcome by the smoke. A gruesome sight it was, too, with the dim figures of the ambulance surgeons, lanterns in hand, working over them, and the thick smoke for a background.

These were brave fellows who had dashed in with the lines of hose, only to be dragged out afterward by their comrades, nearly suffocated by the thick, stifling smoke that poured in volumes from every opening in the basement. Over one hundred and fifty feet of "deadlights," or grating, over the sidewalk had to be broken in that night before the cellars were relieved sufficiently of the smoke with which they were charged, to allow the men to go in and extinguish the fire. This required the combined work of the crews of five hook-and-ladder companies, who broke in the iron-work with the butt-ends of their axes- the hardest kind of work. But the newspapers the following morning merely gave this fire a ten- or twelve-line notice, mentioning the location and the estimated loss, and adding that "it was a severe fire to subdue.” No word of the punishment and suffering the men were forced to face before this fire was under control; no mention of the dash after dash into the cellar with the heavy line of hose, only to be driven back to the street by the smoke, or to be dragged out afterward nearly unconscious; nor of the thud after thud with the heavy axes on the thick iron grating that required twenty or thirty blows before any impression could be made on it. This was muscle-straining, lungtaxing work that the average man has to face only once in a lifetime; but the firemen in a large city have it always before them; and each tap on the telegraph may mean the signal to summon them to a task that requires the utmost strength and nerve.

While speaking of cellar fires, let me relate

an incident that happened to some companies in the down-town district at a fire of this description. It occurred in Barclay street, in the sub-cellar of a crockery and glass warehouse, amid the straw used to pack the glassware. It sent forth a dense, stifling smoke, and was an ugly fire to fight. I will relate it in the rather characteristic way in which it was told me by a fireman in one of the companies that were summoned to subdue it. The story gives an idea of what the firemen in the business part of a big city may have to face at any time.

"The station came in one night at 11:30. We rolled, and found the fire in Barclay street in a crockery warehouse. Burning straw, jute, excelsior, and all that sort of stuff in the subcellar. Smoke? I never saw such smoke since I've been in the business. We went through the building, and found the fire had n't got above the cellar. We tried to get the line down the cellar stairs, but it was no No one could live on that stairway for a minute. The chief then divided us up, sent out a second [a second alarm], and we sailed in to

use.

drownd it out; 27 engine got the rear; 7 engine the stairway, to keep it from coming up; and our company, 29, got the front. We pried open the iron cellar-doors on the pavement, only to find that the elevator, used to carry freight to the bottom, had been run up to the top. Here were four inches of Georgia pine to cut through! And phew! such work in such smoke! Well, we got through this, opened it up, and out it all came! No flames, just smoke, and with force enough to suffocate a man in a second. We backed out to the gutter and got a little fresh air in our lungs, and went at it again. We brought a 35-foot ladder over from the truck and lowered it through this opening, and found we could n't touch bottom! A 45-foot ladder was put down, and only three rungs remained above the sidewalk; this showed that there was over forty feet of cellar and sub-cellar! And down in this place we had to go with the line. Well, the sooner we got at it the sooner it was over; so, shifting the line over the top rung of the ladder, so it would n't get caught, down we started. It was

only forty feet, but I can tell you it seemed like three hundred and forty before we got to the bottom. Of course, when we got there it was n't so bad; the smoke lifted, and gave us a corner in the cellar shaft where we could work, and we soon drove the fire away to the rear and out; but going down we got a dose of smoke we 'll all remember to our last days."

The company working in the rear fared even worse than the other. They had to descend into a narrow court only four feet wide, about twenty-five feet long (the width of the building), and forty feet deep, merely a shaft to give light and air to the cellar and sub-cellar. When the company in the front got to work, they drove the fire to the rear with such violence that this company was compelled to ascend rapidly to the street floor to save their lives.

Next to a dangerous cellar fire nothing is more dreaded by the men than what is known in their own language as the "back-draft." This is a sudden veering of the flames, usually caused by the burning away of some portion

of the building that gives the fire renewed draft, and changes its course completely.

The firemen arrive and find the whole second or third floor of a building in flames. Axes in hand, they smash open the doors, and with the hose dash up the stairway. This is all afire, and the flames are rolling above like a red pall. With the engine at work and good pressure on the line, the battle between the two elements, fire and water, begins. Inch by inch the men fight their way up the stairway, now to retreat as the fire gains upon them, and now to advance as it rolls away for a moment. The encouraging words of the commanding officer are heard behind them urging them on: "Now, get in, boys! That's it-get in - get in! Make the next landing! Hit it up, boys!" and all the other words of encouragement that he usually gives.

They finally reach the landing. They are on the floor with the fire. It rolls away from them. They drive it further back. Encouraged by their seeming victory, they drag up more of the