CHAPTER XI.

HALF-TRAINED FIREMEN AND POLICE.

There are two classes of men in our cities and larger towns who, more than almost any others, need daily and systematic bodily exercise, in order to make them efficient for their duties, and something like what men in their lines ought to be. In times of peace they do in many ways what the army does for the whole country in war-time--they protect life and property. These are the police and firemen.

The work of some of the firemen before they reach a fire is even more dangerous than when actually among the flames. The examining physician of one of our largest life insurance companies told the writer that he frequently had to reject firemen applying for insurance, because they had seriously injured their hearts by running hard to fires when quite untrained and unfit for such sudden and severe strain on the heart and lungs, imposed, as it usually is, under much excitement. The introduction of steam fire-engines has in part done away with this, though even they often have a man to run before and clear the way; but in smaller places, of course, the old danger exists. Thorough and efficient as this steam-service is in many ways, and trained as the men are to their duties, they are, very many of them, not nearly so effective as they might easily be, and as, considering the fact that the fireman's work is their sole occupation, they ought to be. Men of pluck and daring, and naturally strong, often for days together they have no fire to go to, and so sit and stand around the engine-house for hours and hours. Soon they begin to fatten, until often they weigh thirty or forty pounds more than they would in good condition for enduring work. Having no daily exercise which gives all parts of the body increased life and strength, neither the stout nor thin ones begin to be so strong, so quick of movement, or enduring as they would be if kept in good condition. To carry from an upper story of a high building a person in a swoon or half suffocated, and to get such a burden safely down a long narrow ladder through stifling smoke and terrible flame, is a feat requiring, beside great nerve and courage, decided strength and endurance. Exposure during long periods, perhaps drenched through, perhaps holding up a heavy hose in the winter's cold, or in many another duty all firemen well know, often without food or drink for many hours, taxes very severely even the strongest man.

And what training have these men for this trying work outside of what the fire itself actually gives? Practically, none. Suppose every man on the force was required to spend an hour, or even half an hour, daily in work which would call into play not all their muscles, but simply those likely to be most needed when the real work came. Suppose each of them a wiry, hard-muscled, very enduring man, good any day for a three or five mile run at a respectable pace, and without detriment to himself, or to go, if need be, hand over hand up the entire length of one of their long ladders--to be, in short, as strong, as handy, as enduring, as even a second-rate athlete. Is there any question that a force made up of such men would be far better qualified for their work, and far more efficient at it, than the firemen of any of our cities are now?

And if they think they at present have considerable daily exercise, so does a British soldier decidedly more, in his daily drilling, and the whole round of his duties; and yet, after Maclaren had one of them exercising for but a brief period, but in a way to bring up his general strength, the soldier said, "I feel twice the man I did for anything a man could be set to do." Would it hurt a fireman or a policeman any to have that feeling? Would the latter not be more inclined to rely on his own strength, and less on his club?

If the training suggested seems too hard, look at the younger men in blacksmithing, for instance, and many other kinds of iron-work, swinging, as they often do, a heavy sledge for the whole day together; at the postmen, walking from morning to evening, often up many flights of stairs, and all the year round, and in all weathers; at the iron-puddler, the hod-carrier, the 'longshoreman--all at work nearly or quite as hard, not for one short hour only, but through all the burden and heat of the day. Many of these men are not nearly as well paid as the firemen, and none of them begin to have as great responsibility, or are at any moment likely to be called on to take their lives in their hands, and perhaps to save other lives as well.

Let us look at the policeman. What exercise has he? Standing around, and considerable slow walking, for six hours out of each twelve. Is there anything to make him swift of foot? No. Anything to build up his arms and expand his chest, to make those arms help him in his business, and those hands twice as skilful for his purposes as before? Very little. Taught to use his hands he is, but never empty; there must be something in them--a club or a revolver. And so comes what legitimate result? Why is it that in a conflict, or even a threatened one--or, too often, not even then--and when the culprit, while drunk, is wholly unresisting, we constantly hear of these dangerous weapons being drawn and freely used? Some of the very men set to preserve the peace are themselves every now and then making assaults wholly uncalled for, always cowardly, and often brutal, and such as an athletic man, proud of his strength, would have scorned the idea of making, but, instead, would have so quickly displayed his skill and strength that the average offender, especially when he recalled the fact that the officer had the law on his side, would have soon ceased resisting. Every intelligent New Yorker will at one recognize that there is far too frequently good ground for such editorial comment, grim as is its satire, as the following from a well-known New York journal, of September 20th, 1878:

"A COMPLICATED POLICE CASE.

"We have recorded from time to time in the T---- various interesting police cases. With all our skill and experience, however, we could not prevent a shade of monotony stealing over them. When in nine cases out of ten the picture presented is that of a policeman clubbing a man nearly to death, by what resource of rhetoric can you avoid monotony? For the sake of variety, as well as for the public good, many people wish that a citizen would occasionally kill a brutal policeman; only that, in thus ridding the world of a human brute not worthy to live in it, the mockery that is called justice in New York and Brooklyn would probably also send out of the world the inoffensive citizen who had accomplished the good work. In a recent case, however, matters have become most ingeniously complicated. One policeman has arrested another. On Tuesday night two men got into a fight in the Bowery. Detective Archibald, who was in plain clothes, undertook, it is said, to arrest them. Then, it is stated, Officer Lefferts arrived, and arrested the whole party, detective and all. We say that this is a complicated case; but so it did not seem to Justice Morgan, of the Jefferson Market Police Court. If a policeman arrests a citizen, it is no longer possible for the latter to get justice. He is glad if he can get away with a whole skull and unbroken ribs. But one policeman arresting another! The only way in which this can be set right depends upon which policeman had the most influence at head-quarters."

And what sort of man is he who is thus too free with his weapon? Take him in New York city, for instance. Out of nearly twenty-five hundred policemen, it is entirely safe to say that one-third--and it would probably be much nearer the truth to say that all of two-thirds--are unathletic men, and that a very large proportion of these are either clumsy, unwieldy, and short-winded, or not possessed of even average bodily strength. Even in their uniforms this is quickly apparent; but the true way to judge is to see them stripped, either in gymnastic costume or at the swimming-bath. Any number of them have indifferent legs; there are any number of stout, paunchy fellows; and old ones, too, doubling over with their years; flat-chested ones, big-footed and half-built men.

Try to select some of these men for a physical feat, say of speed and endurance, like running or rowing, and see how few would be fit for the work. Pair them off, give them gloves, and set them to boxing, and there would scarce be one hundred good sparrers out of the whole brigade. Once, right in front of Trinity church-yard, on Broadway, we saw two of the Broadway squad put up their hands for a little good-natured sparring, and the way they did it would hardly have been creditable to a ten-year-old. To see two great, hulking six-footers, ignorant of the first rudiments of good sparring, actually whirling their fists round and round each other as if winding yarn, and with no sort of idea how to use even one hand, let alone two, was positively ridiculous. A hundred-pound thief, handy with his fists and quick of foot, could have slapped their faces, and, if they could run no better than they sparred, could have been at the Battery before either of them was half-way. And what good would their weapons have been? Their revolvers they would hardly dare to use in a crowded street at broad noon, nor would they have been justified in so doing. And their clubs--of what use would they be if the culprit was a block away?

The writer once saw a fellow, apparently a sneak-thief, cutting across the City Hall Park, in front of the _Tribune_ building, at a clipping pace, while some distance behind came one of those majestic but logy guardians of the peace, making about one foot to the other's two, and, finally, seeing how hopeless was the pursuit, bringing his club around and throwing it after the escaping thief--and with what result? Excellent for the thief, for, instead of coming anywhere near him, it passed dangerously close to the abdomen of a worthy but obese citizen, who chanced to be passing that way.

At a public exhibition, held early in 1878, under the auspices of these very Metropolitan Police, at the Hippodrome, in New York, where doubtless the very best boxers on the whole force were on the boards, and with ten thousand spectators to spur them on to their utmost, the thoroughly skilful and accomplished workmen could be counted almost on the thumbs; while, in the tug of war, the string of policemen were overhauled and pulled completely down by the Scottish Americans, who weighed half a hundred weight less per man than their uniformed antagonists; though it is but just to add that, later on, the latter did manage to win, yet what was that to brag of?

The same Police Department held a regatta on the Harlem River on the twenty-ninth of August, 1878, for which there were many entries; yet out of them all with one or two exceptions, there was no performance which was not of the most commonplace character, unworthy of an average freshman crew, and this though many of the rowers were burly, heavy men. One of the single-scullers actually did not know how to back his boat over some fifty feet of water, and, after four ineffectual endeavors, had to be told how to do so from the referee's boat.

Now place the whole force abreast on a broad common, or in half a dozen lines, and set them to run a mile at no racing pace; at no such gait even as John Ennis went in March, 1879, when, after 474 miles of walking and running in one single week, he ran his 475th mile in six minutes eleven seconds, but let them go at even a horse-car pace; and if five hundred get over even half the distance it will be a surprise, while of those who do, many stand a good chance to feel the effects for days, if not for life. We asked the best known police captain in New York city, the president of the old Police Athletic Club, whether he thought one-half of the whole twenty-five hundred could run a mile at any pace which could actually be called a run. After deliberating a little, he said he did not think they could. One of the most successful athletes on the force, in reply to the same question, said: "I'll bet my neck against a purse that not one-third of them can do it." Another, a magnificent-looking man, standing over six feet three in height, and weighing upward of two hundred and fifty, not only strongly inclined to the same opinion, but, when urged to tell how successful he himself would probably be in such a trial, he gave, with a little sudden color in his cheeks, substantially as follows, this most interesting incident from his own experience:

Standing in a rear room on the main floor of the station-house of the ---- Precinct, he heard a scream. Going quickly to the street, a lady told him that she had been robbed of her pocket-book, while a young person gliding gracefully, and, as the sequel proved, quite fleetly, around the corner, lent force to the statement. Away went the engine of the law, his mighty form bending to the work, with his best foot foremost. Turning up one of the broad avenues, the one hundred and twenty-five feet or so of the thief's start had now shrunk to seventy-five, and, as the two sped on at a grand pace,

"All and each that passed that way Enjoyed the swift 'pursuit.'"

Block after block was passed, but the gap would not close. Go as he would, do his mightiest and his best, it was of no use; that lawless young man would somehow all the time manage to keep just seventy-five feet to the fore. Four blocks are now done, and so is the policeman; and bringing up all-standing--blown, gasping, exhausted--he cannot even muster breath enough to shout, but, reaching his big hand out in front of him, and looking at the young person gently fleeting, with seemingly unabated vigor, into the dim distance, he sadly points to him, for that is all he is just now equal to. Fortunately for the interests of justice and good order, that point is well taken, for a brother officer sees it, and, rising to the occasion, dashes off after the misguided young person up the avenue. "Life is earnest" now, surely, for the latter. Still he has nearly a hundred feet start, and maybe this second guardian of the peace will not stay any better than did his illustrious predecessor. So down to it he settles again, and the street enjoys the fun. Block after block slips away, and so does the official wind, for, at the end of four blocks more, no perceptible decrease of the gap having yet been made, patrolman number two "shuts up." Yes, literally, for he too cannot even yell, but, like the first, striking a tragic position, he points to the flying culprit. And is justice to be cheated out of her victim after all, even now, when she a second time is sure that she has reached the point? And is this light-fingered and light-heeled young person to escape the minions of the law--and all this in broad daylight too, and right on Sixth Avenue? So it certainly seems. But stop! Justice, after all, is to prevail, for lo! a third pursuer has now caught the trail, and is off like a fast mail-train. Have a care now, young man! No brass buttons adorn your pursuer this time; but the self-appointed private citizen, now in your wake, runs as the wicked flee. There is no cart-horse pace about his work; but with one clean, business-like spurt, he swoops down on the now disturbed young man, and, clutching his upper garments, holds him neatly until the reserves come up, and then hands him over for his six months on the island."

One more illustration may suffice. The _New York Herald_ of December 20th, 1878, referring to a burglary which had been committed in the 28th Precinct, said that suspicion fastened on a young man known as "Sleepy Dick." Detective Wilson got on the supposed offender's trail, and the nearer he got to him the worse grew his character for strength, daring, and ferocity. At last he came up with "Sleepy Dick" on Second Avenue yesterday.

"'The jig's up, Sleepy,' said the detective; 'you're wanted.'

"'What for?' calmly inquired the other, straightening upon the coal-box.

"'Cracking a crib.'

"'How long a stretch?'

"'A fiver, sure.'

"'I'm not your meat then, cully,' and Dick bolted for the corner with no sleepiness about him. Wilson grabbed him firmly by the collar, though, and there was a scene of plunging and tearing witnessed by the crowd around them that eclipsed Cornwall or Graeco-Roman wrestling.

"Suddenly a revolver came flashing out of Wilson's pocket.

"'I'm taking this pot,' said he, coolly.

"'Show your hand,' growled 'Sleepy.'

"'A straight flush;' and Wilson levelled the pistol at his head.

"'That takes this pile,' Dick sullenly assented, and he moved on quietly as far as Sixty-first Street. Once at the corner, he plunged backward and broke loose. The detective's revolver came down on his head with a thud, but he rallied under the blow, sprung aside, and made for the river. He was fleet of foot, and, as he flew down the street, he kept looking over his shoulder, evidently in fear of a passing bullet. But the detective was coming on after him, bound to run him down, and as they passed First Avenue the hue and cry was taken up by two other policemen, who joined in the pursuit. There was fully a block between 'Sleepy' and his pursuers when he neared the river. He saw his advantage, turned into a stone-yard, dodged among the bowlders, scaled a fence, and made off. Dick has been in the hands of the police before this week, but managed to get away."

Is there no lesson for our city rulers in such facts as these? If our police are men of only four block power; if they are so blown in that little distance that they are utterly helpless, and all they can do is, one after another to point to the escaping felon and indulge in these "brilliant flashes of silence," inwardly imploring some good civilian to kindly catch that thief; if a youngster can first indulge in a tough wrestle with a detective, and then, taking a heavy blow on his head from the butt of a revolver, not only empty-handed get away from his would-be captor, but, although the latter is joined by two policemen, soon put a whole block between him and them, and springing over a fence, go, after all, "unwhipt of justice," does it not strike the reader that a little improvement in the speed and stay of our policemen might do no harm? Had it not better be conceded that it is hopeless for many of the Broadway squad, for instance, in their present condition, to attempt to catch a thief by running; after him, and would it not be well to provide each of them with a lasso, for short-range work, and initiate them in its uses at once? In this way they could certainly make sure of one of those light-heeled gentry once in a while, perhaps--for example, one fond of lady's ear-rings. And who believes that officers always report their failures to catch thieves, or that the public ever hears of one-half of such cases?

Let us see, too, where this physical incapacity may lead to graver consequences than the mere allowing a detected thief to run at large. In the great cities there have sprung up within a few years back storehouses for the safe-keeping of securities, plate, important papers, and other valuables. Hedged around with plates of steel, chronometer-locks, massive bolts, and several watchmen, and connected with the nearest police station by wires so arranged that the doors cannot be opened without sounding the alarm at the station-house, the public naturally put their trust in them, and their property too. Within recent years we also hear far more than formerly of burglars going not in pairs or threes, but in gangs of half a dozen or more, and of cracking safes always thought impenetrable. Now, suppose that a descent were made on the largest one of these safe depositories in America, the one under the New York Stock Exchange, and by a dozen first-class cracksmen. Their business hours are generally between one and four in the morning. That they work with wonderful sagacity, daring, and despatch, is attested by such brilliant performance as that at the Northampton Bank robbery, or when they in a little time, one morning, relieved the Manhattan Bank of a few millions, and that right within a block of police head-quarters in New York city. Suppose that, by collusion or otherwise, the robbers get through the outer door. Unlike the Bank of England, there is no platoon of soldiers on guard. They silence the three or four who oppose them. They come to the inner doors, the opening of which alarms the police. At the station-house, when that alarm sounds, three or four, or maybe more, more or less drowsy officers start and run for the Stock Exchange, some eight hundred feet away. Is there any especial reason why they should be any less exhausted when they get there than the two policemen who failed to catch the Sixth Avenue thief, or the two who let another on First Avenue run clear out of their sight? The four blocks the former two policemen ran do not make much over eight hundred feet. Suppose that three or four, not half-grown fellows like "sleepy" Dick, but stalwart desperadoes, used to rough work, quietly await the arrival of these worthy, but well-blown patrolmen. How long would it take the thieves to at least check the advance, if not also considerably impair the usefulness of men so nearly gone that they could not speak, and whose hands shook so that aiming a revolver effectively would be practically out of the question?

And might not the Press justly have some pretty plain comment to make, then, on the physical inefficiency of our police force, and wonder why it had not been insisted on long ago that they be trained as men have to be in other callings, until they are fit for their work? Hear Dr. Morgan, in "University Oars," on fat and unwieldy men, and their unfitness for emergencies calling for strong and quick work: "When, therefore, we hear of a man who, at twenty years of age, weighed 12 stone (168 pounds), and in after-life inclining to corpulency, has reached the abnormal weight of 17 or 18 stone (238 or 252 pounds), we must not consider him proportionately stronger: on the contrary, he should rather excite our pity and commiseration--the _five or six stone distributed over his body being composed wholly of adipose tissue_. He is thus as completely enveloped in blubber as though he were a whale or a seal. His muscles being heavily weighted, _his powers of locomotion are necessarily limited_; and, handicapped in this manner, it is no easy task for him to drag his unwieldy frame on some sweltering 12th of August over the trying inequalities of a Highland moor."

The broken-winded man, or a man out of wind, is almost as useless in an emergency calling for sharp and sudden work as a broken-winded horse. The standing around of the policeman, heavily shod and heavily clad, and the lazy, aimless walking, will never make him hardy, tough, and difficult to face, or likely not to use his club where a strong, quick man would never need it. Swollen hands and feet, and soft, flabby flesh will be the result; and for the variety of sudden and dangerous work which he may be called upon to do at any moment he is not half fitted; and if he trains no more for his work than he does now, he never will be.

Again, in the matter of looks--not the least important, by any means, of the qualifications of a police-officer--are they all that they might be, and that they really ought to be?

When a thousand of them, averaging two hundred pounds apiece, parade down Broadway, with brass buttons gleaming, and every belt well filled, it is easy enough for Press or citizen to say, "What a fine-looking body of men!" But now, notice them closely, and most of them are inerect, many are round-shouldered, and few are at once thoroughly well-built men and in good condition, being either loose-jointed, too fat, or too thin. Contrast their marching and bearing with that of the little West Point battalion on parade, every man erect, clean-cut, precise, wiry, and athletic; light and young, to be sure, but most hardy, quick, and manly. Now, we know what it is to be erect. We soon discover that the bulk, the sunburn, and the uniforms have gone far toward making the favorable impression, which ought to have been better based, and that almost every one of these policemen is plainly faulty.

Now, suppose every one of these twenty-five hundred men, besides being, as most of them already are, both courageous and faithful in the performance of duty, was a skilful and hard-hitting boxer, a good, steady, long-distance runner, a fair wrestler, a strong swimmer, a sound, hale, thoroughly well-made man. Let the vicious classes once know--and how long would it take them to learn?--that in a race between them and the policeman the latter would be pretty sure to win; let it be known that, when he once caught his man, the odds would be decidedly in his favor, and that that man would not get away; let every member of the force be justly known as a formidable man to face, and one whom the offender had better avoid--and what an advance it would be in both the moral and physical efficiency of the force! Now let the riot come, and see what that little band of twenty-five hundred trained men could do against ten times their number. To-day they have nothing which makes them enduring at quick, hard work, and that is what is wanted for mobs. If they had an abundance of that which would make them so, the plying of a locust for an hour or two among a lot of unorganized roughs would be almost a diversion, and a game they could continue at by the week if need be.

And why should not every city in our land have, instead of men very many of them too often far out of condition, these same well-trained men, educated, as men have to be in nearly every other calling, directly for their work, and all dexterous and able? Is it asking too much? The preparation necessary to it will not compare in its exhausting effects with what the war-policeman--the soldier, who is not paid a quarter as much--must do without a murmur: the long forced marching, weighted like a pack-horse, the broken sleep, the stinted food, the bad shoes, the long absence from home, and the lack of all comforts. Why not insist on a regime which, if the fat man could go through and retain his corporosity, would make him welcome to retain it; if the thin man could be up to every day's work in it, then he could stand far more than he looked equal to? But if either failed, out with him. There need be no fear that good substitutes could not be had in abundance.

This is no question of mere health, and symmetry of make, and reasonable strength, as with the ordinary citizen. It is a matter of fitness for ordinary duties--duties often of very great importance to the public weal, which may spring up at any moment, and which call for unusual physical resources. It is a matter of substituting for dangerous weapons, rashly wielded, and when that wielding is often wholly uncalled for, men who, in any ordinary street-brawl, need no weapon, and would scarcely think of using one, any more than would a Morrissey, a Heenan, or a Hyer.

As nearly as possible in the centre of each four precincts in the larger cities hire a hall, say about eighty feet by forty, and the higher the better, well lighted and ventilated, and easily heated. Two hundred dollars, carefully spent, would buy all needed apparatus, and as much more would keep it swept and dusted, lighted and warmed. Twenty-five cents a month from each of four hundred policemen would be twelve hundred dollars a year, which would cover, beside these items, rent and salary of teacher as well. For the teacher need be with them but a little while daily; for, in about all the exercises necessary to make men good ordinary runners and boxers, a teacher up to his work can drill the men in squads. What they want is not intricate and technical knowledge, but plain, straightforward, swift, hard work, and plenty of it, and the condition which keeps them easily up to it. Or, better yet, put these gymnasiums in charge of the department, if equally rigid economy could be insured. Then require each man to spend fifteen minutes there every other day, sparring--after he had the rudiments--with some companion who can give him all the exercise he wants, and on the alternate days let an equal period of time be spent in running, not at racing pace, but still good lively work of the kind which brings good lungs and good legs. Now, at the annual or semi-annual athletic meeting, let picked men from each precinct contend in foot-races, both for short and long distances; and, to give their work an even more practical turn, give some sneak-thief a reasonable start in such contests, and let the officers, in full uniform of course, catch him if they can. Now the waistbands will begin to lessen, and a considerably smaller measure of cloth will cover the man, but it will clothe a man who, unarmed and unaided, can whip almost half a dozen such flabby, untrained, unskilful fellows as he used to be. For every duty which may at any moment become his, whether light or heavy, mild or violent, he will be far better qualified in almost every respect than before, yet no better in his line than any good business man requires each person in his employ to be in his, no matter what their particular duties may be.