shadow of britain

Chapter 746: Parliament is gone, not because the king dissolved it, but because it was burned down
Although the Insurance Company Fire Brigade sounds like a business name, it was actually the most sophisticated and reliable force in London's fire emergency response system in the 19th century.

In this era, there was no government-run fire protection system. Even the so-called London Fire Department was actually a private sector jointly funded by several insurance companies to protect insured buildings from fire damage.

Although they are not subject to government control, the insurance contracts are clearly much more binding on them than Whitehall's administrative orders are on Scotland Yard.

These professional fire brigades are extremely loyal to the insured properties. Once this group of guys equipped with various fire-fighting equipment are dispatched, it means that a real professional team has been put into battle.

Moreover, unlike the mixed police force of Scotland Yard, the professional fire brigade, which is directly funded by insurance companies, is well-trained and well-equipped. Most of them are technical craftsmen familiar with construction and engineering, such as plumbers, blacksmiths, stonemasons and carpenters. As for their leaders, they are all architects.

Although London's fire brigade is not a government public department, due to the special nature of their work, they basically have detailed training plans and duty systems.

Even within their ranks there are operating specifications similar to the various police manuals of Scotland Yard, the most famous of which is "The Internal Structure of Fire-Fighting Machinery and Equipment, and the Methods of Training and Treating Firemen" published in 1830 by Sir James Bretherton, Commissioner of the London Fire Department.

The fire truck team came galloping down the high street, the horses' hooves raising dust, the metallic sound of the bronze water pumps and the roar of the carriage's wooden wheels rolling on the stone slabs mixed together, setting off a frenzy with a smell of rust.

The fire truck with the words "Gibson & Sons Insurance Company" and "Get 30% Off Insurance Now" painted on both sides of the car was the first to be hit. The firefighters on the truck wore tin helmets, leather overalls, and had water bags, axes and sheepskin tubes hanging around their waists.

As soon as they turned into Westminster Street, they were hit by a wave of heat.

The flames lit up half the sky red, and the entire Westminster Palace was like a burning beast, making loud howling noises in the wind. The collapsed spire on the tower had collapsed, and orange-red flames surged out from the stone windows and archways. One by one, the building bricks fell down like melted candy after losing their support, bringing up countless sparks and ashes from the burning wooden beams, swirling in the night sky like black snow.

A large crowd of onlookers blocked the street, with screams, exclamations and helpless cries coming one after another.

Some people opened street water pumps, filled wooden buckets, and tried hard to pour water to put out the fire, while others pushed and shoved and fled.

Of course, as is a characteristic of London, in this city accustomed to using plague, fire and succession to the throne as topics of conversation, the majority of the people around are there to watch the fun.

In the triangle where Whitehall Street and Parliament Street meet, Londoners have gathered in three layers, with the front group mostly being nearby residents and workshop apprentices.

They crowded on the low wall on the side of the street, some stood on the roof of the carriage, and some simply climbed up the lamppost, put one foot on the gas lampshade, and took out a pipe from their pocket with one hand and took a few leisurely puffs.

Farther up, several young men had climbed onto the roof and were sitting in groups of three or five, with beer mugs and ham on a tablecloth in front of them, looking like they were having a picnic.

"This is more exciting than the circus at Borough Fair." The hatter's apprentice, who was about 20 years old, said, "Do you think we can make a lot of money if we draw it and sell it to the French?"

Some even put their children on their shoulders and pointed at the burning tower and commented to others: "Look at the wooden beams over there. Were they repaired a few years ago? I remember it was the work of the Jackson brothers. They are really not strong."

The old man who lived on the third floor knew that his balcony had an excellent viewing position, so he set up a small table on the spot and shouted to the people downstairs: "One penny for the front row, two pennies for a chair, three pennies for a telescope, and five pennies for me to tell you how the Argyle Theatre on Regent Street burned down!"

"Tell me, is there anyone in the palace who didn't escape?"

"There shouldn't be anyone inside, right? The parliament has been dissolved, and the palace will be filled with a few tourists at most."

"Shh! Don't talk. Let me concentrate on the beam. It just shook a little! Look! It's about to fall!"

Just as the crowd was about to completely break through the isolation zone, the sound of several hurried horse hooves came from the direction of Whitehall Street, causing the cracks between the road bricks to tremble slightly.

Arthur was in the lead, riding on a shiny black horse. Under his cloak was a dark blue Flack suit, which looked somewhat similar to the uniform of a Scotland Yard police officer at first glance in the night.

"Get out of the way! Scotland Yard takes over the order at the scene!"

Arthur raised the whip in his hand high, and behind him were several Scotland Yard mounted policemen whom he had recruited on the spot when he returned from the City of Finance for help.

Although not numerous, the mounted police were arranged in an arrow-shaped wedge formation in accordance with the Royal Metropolitan Police Mounted Code, and looked like they could rein in their troops and run through the streets at any time.

"Get out of the way! Scotland Yard Mounted Police!" The police officer wearing a bowler helmet and a blue and white ribbon on his arm rode his horse and whipped the crowd. Dozens of mounted police followed closely behind to clear a passage for the fire truck behind.

However, four or five horses were clearly not enough to intimidate the onlookers. Most of them were just marveling at the sight. Although some people wanted to make way, they could not move either on such a crowded road unless others did.

Of course, there were always a few people in the crowd who tried desperately to escape. After all, they had witnessed it with their own eyes two years ago at the foot of the Tower of London - what consequences would result from not giving way to the police officer on a black horse.

Just as the Scotland Yard mounted police were trapped in the first human wall, a low and regular sound of metal collision suddenly came from behind.

Then, another loud roar was heard: "Don't block the road! Scatter!"

The first to bear the brunt of the attack were a row of red-clad cavalrymen, their high-drum breastplates reflecting a cold white light in the firelight, and the white feather crowns on their heads looked like cedars in flames.

Following closely behind was another team of cavalry wearing red robes and red feather helmets. Compared to the first team of cavalry, their red was darker and their riding posture was more upright. Their swords rubbed lightly against the metal armor plates on the edge of the saddle, making a sound like the prelude to a charge.

Just as the crowd was overwhelmed by the red torrent, a more steady and solemn blue army followed, wearing dark blue uniforms, silver helmets with red manes, white breeches and black high boots in sharp contrast.

Their identities can be immediately recognized just by the clothes they are wearing.

These are the Horse Guards, the 1st Horse Guards "Royals", the 2nd Horse Guards "The Reds" and the Household Horse Guards "The Blues", based at Knightsbridge and Regent's Park Barracks respectively.

These cavalry guards, who were urgently dispatched from Piccadilly and Knightsbridge barracks, made the crowds retreat like a tide wherever their horses passed.

Arthur turned his horse and shouted to the Scotland Yard mounted police and the commanders of the three cavalry units behind him: "The Horse Guards help disperse the perimeter, and the police officers isolate the fire scene! Clear the entrances and exits for the firefighters immediately!" The commanders of the three Horse Guards knew that now was not the time to check the other party's level, so they waved their hands and divided their troops into three groups to begin blocking the intersection of the blocks.

The 1st Horse Guards rushed into the southeast corner and dispersed the crowd on Parliament Street like sheep.

The 2nd Horse Guards Regiment made a detour from the north side at the Whitehall Street intersection to block the new influx of onlookers.

The Household Horse Guards was like a nail, firmly pinning down the center of the flow of people in the direction of Westminster Palace, preventing anyone from crossing the line.

At this time, the fire truck trapped in the crowd finally broke through the siege and drove to the west side of the burning Westminster Palace.

Before the fire carriages came to a complete stop, James Bretherton, the chief commissioner of the London Fire Department and a member of the Royal Institute of Architects, jumped off the first carriage, his helmet still covered in charcoal dust.

He glanced at the burning window lintels and the collapsed tower foundation, and immediately gave orders: "Team one, set up high-pressure water pumps along the east wall, ladder truck number two, set up water pipes and rush straight to the top of the tower! Team three, follow me, rush to the outer perimeter of the nave and dismantle the roof beams first! We must prevent the fire from burning into St. Stephen's Chapel!"

The high-pressure water pump he mentioned was not a steam pump in the modern sense, but a copper pump cart towed by a horse-drawn carriage and manually operated. It relied on two people in a group to alternately press the rod to push the piston, pumping water from the street well into leather water bags or brass tubes, and then pouring water into the building through high-pressure nozzles.

The most advanced version of London Fire Brigade equipment can output up to 90 gallons of water per minute, but in the face of the blazing Westminster Palace, this seems to be just a drop in the bucket.

Several firefighters who were former plumbers rushed to the wellhead, quickly set up a dog-mouth joint, and connected it to the copper pump.

Their leather overalls were already soaked with sweat, glinting in the firelight. As they worked, one could hear them cursing from time to time. It seemed that they were very dissatisfied with the unstable wind weather.

At the same time, a demolition team consisting of three stonemasons and carpenters had climbed up the remaining wall of the second floor using a telescopic ladder.

They used iron hooks, axes and winches to destroy the half-collapsed eaves into a controllable tilted structure, preventing the entire roof from falling and collapsing the street.

Bretherton personally climbed up the middle tower and shouted to his men: "Don't be afraid of the fire! Hold on for 30 minutes. As long as the tower doesn't collapse, St. Stephen's Chapel can still be saved!"

Arthur never took his hands off the reins in front of the saddle, and the black horse snorted nervously under his crotch.

"Charles! You take your men to guard the intersection of Parliament Street and Church Street. Once the stone beam falls, the entire wall will fall on the crowd. We don't know how many lives we will lose!"

Director Rowan, who had been busy near the fire scene for half a day, had taken off his coat and was only wearing a double-breasted grey vest. He had a half-smoked cigar in his mouth, and the ash was almost burning his lips.

While directing the police officers, he took the opportunity to swear a few times: "If anyone had listened to what old man William Manby said back then, we would have had steam fire pumps and metal hoses by now! Son of a bitch, the Parliament would rather spend money on gilding the roof than spend a few shillings to save its own life! Now what! Westminster Palace has burned down, they might as well move to the toilet next to Bessborough Gardens to hold meetings in the future. That place is drafty on all sides, so they don't even need to install a steam pump, they can just urinate to cool down!"

The gloomy deputy director, Sir Richard Mayne, finally couldn't hold it in any longer. The police officer, who was a lawyer, echoed the sarcasm: "But I have to remind the Treasury that toilet paper and voting ballots must be applied for separately."

Arthur was about to turn around and direct the police officers to deploy their forces, but he couldn't help laughing when he heard the conversation between his two old superiors.

It is obvious that these two people's resentment towards Whitehall and Parliament is no less than his, but they just don't show it often.

As Arthur turned his head, he saw Officer Huett standing beside him nervously, and the boy couldn't stop swallowing.

"First time experiencing a big scene?" Arthur looked at the flames rising into the sky and said, "Don't be nervous. The bigger the scene, the better the chance to make a contribution."

Huette was about to reply, "I'm not nervous," but before he could finish his words, he heard a muffled bang in his ears.

A carbonized beam as thick as a carriage axle collapsed from the roof of the chapel and hit the iron railing of the palace's outer corridor, causing sparks and flying debris at the scene.

But miraculously, the wall in front of Arthur and Hugh did not collapse, but the entire structure shook violently, as if it was teetering on the edge of collapse.

"Quick! Add support!" Fire Chief Bretherton yelled, his voice grabbing every firefighter's ear like an iron hook: "Use triangular supports to support the outer wall. Don't let it collapse an inch further!"

Upon hearing the news, three firefighters who were carpenters rushed to the scene. They were carrying reinforcement braces in their hands and moved quickly past Arthur and Hughie.

Huett was so frightened that he shuddered all over: "Oh my God! Sir, we were almost crushed to death!"

Arthur replied calmly, "I'm afraid St. Stephen's Church can't be saved. Now Benjamin and his team will really have to move to the toilet to hold the meeting."

Just as Arthur was savoring the fire scene in front of him, the red devil's sinister voice suddenly rang in his ears: "Dear Arthur, don't blame me for not warning you. The devil can't resurrect a pool of meat."

"Stand back a little, Hugh. You are standing so far forward. The news in The Times has already been published. Are you going to be in the obituary in The Times tomorrow?"

"But... Sir, didn't you just say you've made a contribution?"

"You have already made a contribution at Golden Cross Station. You should give others some opportunities."

"Yes, sir." Huett took a few steps back awkwardly.

"Go to the East Street Well and see if we can get another team of pump trucks." Arthur muttered, but in his heart he was already thinking about what to write in tomorrow's news: "God bless the firefighters, if they can rescue the original manuscript of the 1832 Reform Bill, they may even get a medal."

(End of this chapter)