Part 4

They were ushered through a large, smutty door, into a brick building, paved with bricks, and having arched recesses, here and there, at the lower part. Commodious retreats, in case the flames put forth their tongues beyond their usual range, and advanced towards the centre of the building,—as Mr. Diggs devoutly hoped they might. At one end, the wooden frame-work of a house, with ground-floor, and first and second floor, presented its front. It was black and charred from recent fire, with sundry repairs of new planks, which “brought out” the black of the rest, both without and within, to the greatest advantage. Level with the lowest window was a sort of lecturer’s stage of rough planks, at the back of which lay the model of a ship’s hull, some six or seven feet in length; and to the right of this, the model of a house, with lower and upper floor, of about two feet and a half in height.

Fronting this stage, model ship, model house, and actual house, was a semicircle of chairs and benches—not too near—with ample room left at the sides for the sudden flight of visitors who had seated themselves in an incredulous and unimaginative state of mind, nearer than subsequent events seemed to warrant. Then, there were the arched recesses; then, a low stage with seats; then, a broad flight of wooden stairs at the opposite end, by which visitors could ascend to a high platform, leading also to side galleries, on the same level. The whole place was most eloquent to the olfactory nerves of coal-tar, pitch, resin, turpentine, &c. A light sprinkling of sawdust completed the furnishing of this hall, in which one of the most extraordinary of all our modern discoveries (provided it prove thoroughly efficient) was about to be subjected to trial.

Mr. Diggs having planted his foreman at one horn of the crescent of chairs, and dragging his wife (whose thoughts of her handsome bonnet and shawl were written in shady lines all over her face) to a dirty-seated bench, on the other, he darted straight across to the scene of action, and without a moment’s hesitation or ceremony, ascended the lecturer’s stage, and diving with nose and hands into the model of the ship’s hull, began to explore its contents.

The hold, and, indeed, all the interior of the hull, he found to be full of patent fire-wood, for the rapid kindling of fire, each separate piece being sufficient to light an ordinary fire; but here, there was nothing else. He passed on to the model house; opened the door, and looked in. Here, also, he found a quantity of patent fire-wood, lying on both floors. A trap-door was left open in the roof to allow of the escape of the smoke. Mr. Diggs now descended from the little stage, and advanced to the door of the house which was to be set on fire. He entered the door-way, and immediately found himself in a dark chamber filled with charred planks, pitched planks, cross-pieces of new wood, blackened beams, and a variety of hangings and festoons made of shavings saturated with coal-tar, resin, and turpentine. A staircase, or, rather, a broad charred ladder, led up to the first floor. Mr. Diggs forthwith ascended, and stepped upon a flooring perfectly black; in fact, the whole room seemed made of charcoal, with here and there a new plank laid across, or slanting upwards, smeared with coal-tar, and adorned like the ground-floor, with shavings steeped in resin, pitch, turpentine, and other combustible matter. “Well,” thought Mr. Diggs, “at all events, there’ll be flames enough.” A second charred ladder formed a staircase leading to the top floor; but this was so dilapidated and rotten from recent burning, that our sceptical sugar-baker could venture to do no more than clamber up, and rest his chin on the blackened boards of the floor above, in which position he clung by the smutty tips of his fingers, and stared around, above him, and on all sides. He then slowly descended, and as he made his way out of the front door, he hugged himself with the firm belief that if the house were fairly set on fire (as he determined it _should_ be), and the flames were allowed to get into full play, nothing could stop them till they had burned the house to the ground, and communicated with the brick building—when the regular fire-engines, with their torrents of water, would, of course, be sent for, with all imaginable speed.

Meantime, a considerable number of people of all ranks had assembled, many of them of the aristocratic class, to judge by the row of liveries, coachmen, and footmen, who lined one of the side galleries. Mrs. Diggs comforted herself with the sight of many elegantly-dressed ladies, who seated themselves on the chairs and benches in front of the little stage, or platform. Perhaps the smoke and smuts might not be so very bad, after all, or might be driven back by the wind. Of this it was rational to entertain some hopes, as the whole building was in a thorough draught, evinced by many a sneeze and cough,—a condition some of the visitors thought very unnecessary to be endured before the conflagration commenced.

Mr. Phillips now ascended the platform, and commenced his brief lecture. He said he had no sort of intention to undervalue the real service of water in cases of fire, but only to show that water was by no means the most efficient agent. The more active part of fire was flame; all fire commenced with flame, and upon this, when at a great height, water in any portable quantities, was comparatively powerless. Moreover, there were many materials, forming the staple commodity of various trades, which, being ignited, not only defied the power of water, but their state of combustion was actually increased by the application of water. This was the case with oil or turpentine, when on fire, with tar, gas, ardent spirits, &c. Every distiller must know this—and so must every sugar-baker.

Mr. Diggs suddenly shifted his _pose_ from the right to the left leg; but said nothing. This was not the point at issue.

In illustration of his last remark, Mr. Phillips called upon his audience to imagine the hull of the model ship to be a ship at sea with a large crew, many passengers, and a valuable cargo on board,—part of the cargo consisting of highly combustible materials. The ship takes fire! The alarm is given, all hands called on deck, the fire-engine got out, the pumps set to work! But before this has been done, it happens that a cask of spirits of turpentine has taken fire! (So saying, Mr. Phillips sets light to a quantity of spirits of turpentine in an iron vessel in the ship). The flames rise rapidly!—terrifically—they ascend the fore-rigging, which, being all tarred, is quickly in a blaze! Now all is dismay and confusion, more especially among the passengers. Some of these, however, retain sufficient presence of mind to be able to assist the sailors in pumping. They drench the ship with water,—they pour a continual stream from the engine upon the flames of the turpentine! (At these words Mr. Phillips dips a jug in a bucket of water, and pours it upon the flames.) But it only increases them—(it does so)—more water is dashed upon the flames by the men (Mr. Phillips suits the action to the word) and by the boldest of the passengers, but with no better result. Now, the fire communicates with a second barrel of spirits of turpentine; the flames rise on all sides, and ascend with a continuous roar to the rigging of the mainmast, which is rapidly in a blaze. (The model ship is literally all in a blaze.) In despair and madness, buckets of water are flung at random—nobody knows what he is doing; all rush wildly about, preparing to leap overboard at the very moment they scream loudest for the boats!—the boats!—when an individual suddenly recollects, as by a flash of thought, that there is a machine on board called a Fire Annihilator. (Here Mr. Phillips seizes upon a small brass machine, out of which he causes a white vapour to issue.) In a second or two the flames are half extinguished;—he carries the machine to the other flaming mast, and to the casks in the forehold,—the flames are gone!

And so they are! Of the volume of flames in the model ship, which by this time had risen to the height of eight or nine feet, not a flash remains,—they were annihilated in four or five seconds. The machine which wrought this wonder was like a brass shaving-pot, or bachelor’s coffee-pot, and certainly not larger.

But how was Mr. Diggs affected by this? Did the worthy sugar-baker look peculiarly wise, or did he stand rather aghast at his own wisdom? Neither the one, nor the other. Had Mr. Phillips been a fine actor, the foregoing scene, with its fiery illustration, and the frantic yet fruitless use of water, would have had a tremendous effect; but his manner was not sufficiently excited, and, worse than this, he very much damaged the effect, and the conviction it would have carried with it, by turning his back towards the audience when he poured the water upon the flames, so that “standing in his own light,” it was impossible for many people to see whether the water was really poured into the model ship, or over the other side, unless they could have seen through his body. This was not lost upon John Diggs, who loudly murmured his dissatisfaction, accordingly, in opposition to the general applause of those who _did_ see, which followed the rapid extinction of the flames. How _this_ was accomplished Mr. Diggs did not know; he simply considered that water had not had fair play. He suspected some trick.

“The existence of water,” pursued Mr. Phillips, “is continuous, flowing, not quickly to be destroyed; the life of fire is momentary. (He explodes a large lucifer-match.) Now you see it at its height! (He dashes it into water). Now it is nothing! Its life is from instant to instant. Why has it become nothing? Because water is its natural antagonist? No—but because fire cannot exist without a certain quantity of _air_; and when it is entirely immersed in water, this requisite quantity of air is suddenly withdrawn, and the fire as instantly dies. The very same result would follow if I were to dash a lighted match into oil.”

“Let us see!” exclaimed Mr. Diggs; but he was called to order by a number of voices.

Mr. Phillips had been led many years ago, as he now informed us, to consider the nature of fire and water. It so chanced that he had witnessed most of the great conflagrations which have happened in London during the last twenty or thirty years. The destruction to the Royal Exchange, the Houses of Parliament—the fire at the Tower, theatres, great warehouses—he was present at them all; and he could not but observe amidst the prodigious efforts made to save them, that water was comparatively powerless upon violent flames; and therefore inadequate to the task it was called upon to perform. He was also witness of a series of terrible volcanic eruptions. He was in a seventy-four gun-ship in the Mediterranean at the time. For thirty or forty days there was an eruption, and sometimes two or three, almost daily. The most terrific of these—and by which they were nearly lost, having been driven towards it, and only saved by a sudden change of wind—was of such force, that the shock was felt throughout the south of Europe,—from the Rock of Gibraltar, to Stromboli. A volcanic island was thrown up in the middle of the sea, from a depth of four or five hundred feet. This island was of molten lava, and rose in the form of a crescent with an open crater, into which the sea continually rushed like a cataract. But the fire within was not extinguished. At each successive eruption, the water was ejected with a force that sent it up two miles, and sometimes three miles high—again to descend in thousands of tons upon the crater, but without extinguishing the fire. The sea was boiling for a quarter of a mile on one side of the island: the fire was completely beyond its power. Instead of extinguishing fire, the water was made to boil. But he observed this further phenomenon. A dense cloud of vapour was sometimes generated; and whenever the wind bore this vapour into the flames, they were immediately extinguished.

A consideration of these phenomena led Mr. Phillips to the following conclusions. Fire and water are not natural enemies, but very near relations. They are each composed of the same elements; and in the same proportions; the component parts of water can be turned into fire; and when fire ceases to be fire, it becomes water. (This latter proposition caused Mr. Diggs to prick up his ears, but he said nothing.) The two elements had by no means the direct and immediate power over each other that was generally supposed. Water was a compact body, and acting in this body, it could not act simultaneously on the particles of gases which produce flame; but a gaseous vapour being of an equally subtle nature with the gases it has to attack, can instantly intermix with them. Find, therefore, a gaseous vapour, which shall intercept the contact of the gases of flame, and thus prevent their chemical union, their inflammatory forces are thereby destroyed, and the flame is at once extinguished.

The means of immediately generating this gaseous vapour had, after numerous experiments during many years, been discovered by Mr. Phillips. With this composition, his machine, called the Fire Annihilator, was charged.

He pointed to the small model house. It was made of iron, and filled with combustible materials. He had had the honour of exhibiting it before many crowned heads.

“Like the Wizard of the North!” muttered Mr. Diggs, looking contemptuously at the model.

The fuel within it, is now ignited. The flames rapidly spread, and ascend to the upper floor. A thick smoke issues from the trap-door on the roof.

“Here,” said Mr. Phillips, “is a house on fire! Some of the inmates are trying to escape by the trap-door on the roof. They make their way out. The fire-escapes of the Royal Society are in attendance with their usual promptitude; their courageous men are ascending the ladders to assist the inmates in their descent. But where are the inmates? Two of them have fallen down somewhere, another has actually got back into the attic. The reason is, that life cannot exist in that smoke which the fire generates.”

A lighted match being held in it, instantly went out. This was repeated quickly, once or twice. It always went out. The interior of the house was full of flames. One of the little Fire Annihilators was now applied to the door of the model. The flames sunk to nothing almost immediately. A thick vapour was left in their place. But in this vapour life _can_ exist. Mr. Phillips again lights a match, and applies it to the vapour issuing through the trap-door. The match continues to burn. Mr. Phillips then thrusts his arm through the door, and holds the match in the interior of the house, where it still continues to burn amidst the vapour. In this vapour human life can equally exist.

“Don’t believe it!” muttered Mr. Diggs, amidst the otherwise unanimous applause, in which was lost his additional request,—“Set fire to the real house, and have done with it!”

Mr. Phillips here described his machine. Its various complications had been reduced to a simple form and action. As he has printed this for general circulation, it will be sufficient to state that the ordinary size is less than that of a small upright iron coal-skuttle, and its weight not greater than can be easily carried by man or woman to any part of the house. It is charged with a compound of charcoal, nitre, and gypsum, moulded into the form of a large brick. The igniter is a glass tube inserted in the top of the brick, inclosing two phials—one filled with a mixture of chlorate of potassa and sugar, the other containing a few drops of sulphuric acid. A slight blow upon a knob drives down a pin, which breaks the phials, and the different mixtures coming in contact, ignite the whole; and the gas of this, acting upon a water chamber contained in the machine, produces a steam, and the whole escapes forcibly in a dense and expanding cloud.

Preparations were now made for setting fire to the three-roomed house. A “sensation” passed over the room, and several ladies began to rise from their chairs, and retire from the semicircle in front of the lecture-stage. Mr. Phillips assured them there was no danger, as he had a perfect command over the flames; at the same time, he requested the company to observe that he had purposely arranged that every disadvantage should be against him. The house was full of combustible materials—the whole building was in a thorough draught (it was indeed) and they would observe that the commencement of the full force of the fire would be almost immediate, and without any of the gradual advances which were usual in almost all conflagrations. Lastly, he called upon them to take note that the fury of the flames would be such that no life could exist near them for a single instant.

Without further words a lighted match is applied to one of the tarred and turpentined shavings that hang in the ground-floor of the house.

It sparkles—blazes—and in one moment the lower room is full of flames! In the next, they have risen to the floor above—they crackle, roar, and beat about, springing up to the roof, and darting out tongues and forks to the right and left of the building, while a dense hot cloud of smoke, full of red fragments of shavings and other embers comes floating and dancing over the heads of the assembled company. Everybody has arisen from his seat,—ladies—gentlemen,—and now all the visitors, are crowding towards the other end of the building! The whole place is filled with the roar of flames, the noise of voices, hurrying feet, and rustling garments—and clouds of hot smoke!

But suddenly a man enters the building from a side-door, bearing a portable Fire Annihilator of the size we have mentioned; he is followed by a second. The machines are vomiting forth a dense white vapour. They enter just within the door-way of the blazing house. A change instantly takes place in the colour and action of the flames, as though they grew pale in presence of their master. They sink. There is nothing but darkness—and the dense white vapour coiling about in triumph.

“Life can now exist!” cries Mr. Phillips, rushing into the house, and ascending the blackened stairs. Mr. Diggs (hoping he might be suffocated) instantly follows. He gains the top of the ladder, and plants one foot on the floor. He cannot see for the thick vapour. The hand of Mr. Phillips assists him, and they both go to the window and look out upon the company. Mr. Diggs coughs a little, but, to his disappointment, is not suffocated. In another second or two, he can take his breath freely. Very odd.

Mr. Diggs is more than staggered by such a proof. He begins to suspect there may be something in it. As Mr. Phillips assists the worthy sugar-baker over a piece of very burnt and precarious-looking flooring, out at a side hole in the house, as the stairs are no longer safe, Mr. Diggs thanks him very civilly for his attention, and—he almost adds—for the satisfactory result of this last experiment; but he checked himself. Time would show.

Meanwhile, all was pleasant confusion, and applause, and wonder, and satisfaction, and congratulation, and the re-arrangement of habiliments, and the polishing of smutty faces, and laughing and good humour among the company. With some difficulty, Mr. Diggs discovered his wife, and with almost equal difficulty recognised her after he had found her. She had been honoured more than almost any one else, with the falling embers and black smut of the conflagration. Her pink and fawn-coloured silk shawl was spotted all over, and looked like a leopard-skin; the orange ribbons on her bonnet were speckled, and otherwise toadied, while her face, after a diligent use of her handkerchief (having no glass, or friend to ask), had a complete shady tint all over it, giving her the appearance of one of those complexions of lead colour, presented by unfortunate invalids who have had occasion to undergo a course of nitrate of silver. Many other persons were in a spotty and smutted predicament, but none so bad as poor Mrs. Diggs, except, indeed her husband; but he was insensible to such matters.

Issuing forth into the spacious yard of the gas works, a final demonstration was about to be given to the visitors on their way out. A circular pool, of eighteen feet in circumference, was filled with tar and naphtha. This thick liquid mixture was ignited, and in a few seconds the whole surface sent up a prodigious blaze of great brilliancy. A boy of about eleven years of age (apparently a stranger to the machine, to judge from his awkwardness) was desired to strike down the knob which put the portable Fire Annihilator in action. He did so; and immediately the thick white vapour began to gush forth. The boy carried the machine, with very little effort, to within four or five feet of the flames. Instantly the flames changed colour, as though with a sort of ghastly purple horror of their destroyer—and, in a few seconds, down they sank, and became nothing. There lay the black mixture, looking as if it had never been disturbed. But the machine, meantime, went on vomiting forth its vapour, with surplus power, like the escape-pipe of a steam-engine, and the boy being in a state of confusion, was bringing the machine back among the company assembled round, who all begun to retreat, when somebody connected with the Works told him to let it off against the dead wall. While this was taking place, the same individual remarked aloud, that the vapour could not only be breathed after it had ascended and extinguished a fire, but would not burn even as it gushed forth fresh and furious from the machine. As he said this, he passed his hand through it once or twice. Mr. Diggs suddenly thought he had a last chance,—and, rushing forward, passed his hand (hoping he might be dreadfully scorched) through the fierce vapour as it rushed out. Actually, he was not at all scorched. It was only rather hot. He passed his hand backwards and forwards twice more—a sort of greasy and rather dirty warm moisture covered his hand—this was all. John Diggs was fairly conquered—admitted it to himself—and, seeking out Mr. Phillips, went honestly up to him, and shook him heartily by the hand—saying, with a laugh, that if all was fairly done, and no necromancy, he had witnessed a great fact, and he congratulated him.

Still—in a friendly way—he could not help asking Mr. Phillips for a word of explanation as to his assertion that fire and water were of the same family—in fact, convertible, each into the other. Mr. Phillips accordingly favoured Mr. Diggs with the following remarks:—“Fire,” said he, “is mainly composed of eight parts of oxygen, and one part of hydrogen; thus making a whole of nine parts. When fire ceases to be fire, it becomes water, retaining the same elements and proportions, viz., eight of oxygen and one of hydrogen, and will weigh (if the measure has been in pounds) nine pounds or parts. If you decompose these nine pounds of water by voltaic battery, the gases generated will render eight pounds of oxygen and one of hydrogen. Moreover, this law of nature cannot be deranged or disturbed by human agency. If, to make fire, you take eight parts of oxygen, and _two_ of hydrogen, the false proportion will not prevent the product of fire; for the principle of fire, as if by instinct, will elect its own proper proportions, become fire, and throw over the excess, whether the error be an excess of oxygen or hydrogen.”

“Thank you, Sir—thank you!” said Mr. John Diggs;—but he determined to take a glass of punch with a friend of his, an experimental chemist, that same evening.