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Authors: Robert Graysmith
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pumper owned by New York’s Exempt Fire Company.
Sunday was the time allotted for repairing the pumper and equipment—high maintenance that Broderick and every wise chief demanded of his men. The rogues swarmed around the water carrier, bearing down on the nickel and brass pipes and silver fittings, rubbing and polishing them to brilliance. They scrubbed the signal lights and lamps, filled them with oil, charged the torches with fuel, and ground, cleaned, and oiled the bills, hooks, pikes, and axes until they gleamed in the flickering light. The yellow, red, and gold side-stroke engine was very heavy, hard to pull, and harder to pump. Its rear wheels were taller than Sawyer, but its front wheels were small and pivoted, an innovation that enabled the Mankiller to turn corners on a dime. All other types of engines except the Hunnemans had to be lifted up to wheel around corners.
The Mankiller possessed another clever feature: a ricklike set of double brakes by which twenty men or thirty men on each side manually moved the brakes up and down to operate the pump. When not in operation, these suction bars could be swung up over the top and locked into place with two large brass pipes called squirrel tails. When in operation, these brakes could swiftly be lowered from the folded position to the breast-high pumping position. The cross arms of the Mankiller’s pumping mechanism were slotted so the leverage could be altered without changing the length of the stroke. The hand engine operated at sixty strokes per minute (a stroke is a full up-and-down motion of the brakes) or could be sped up to double the tempo. The Mankiller’s two nine-and-one-half-inch cylinders were fitted with air-discharging valves (a nine-inch stroke could produce a steady single or double stream of water). At normal pace a man could last only aboutten minutes. As the rate of pumping increased, the time a man could pump lessened. The Mankiller was truly a killer of men. Fully manned and working for two minutes by the muscle power of forty volunteers, horizontal distances of between 150 feet and 196 feet could be achieved. If this old, reconditioned New York side stroker was so impressive, then what must “the King of All Fire Engines,” which Broderick recalled with such admiration, have been like?
Sawyer’s first job was to wash the leather apron covering the hose wheel and dress the cowhide casings and covers as others adjusted the brakes and greased the wheels. As he washed the coil of rope fastened to the Mankiller’s stern to control its operation when Broderick One hauled the pumper to a blaze, Volunteer George Oakes rushed up. He drew the coil out to its length and ran his hand along it to shake off excess water. “After a blaze,” Oakes ordered, drawing out the tail rope again and violently shaking it, “this is never put away wet. Nor are the drag ropes [thick cables used for pulling the engine to the fire].” Sawyer dried the ropes and then mended a bucket. As Oakes was rubbing down the silver pipes and pump handles, he smiled and asked, “Did you know that frost makes flames green?” Sawyer shook his head.
When the immaculate hose spanners, half spanners, and wrenches were put in place and the toolbox repolished, they were done. Sawyer smelled dinner cooking on the second floor and ascended behind the others into a true paradise. His breath caught in his throat at such magnificence. A huge engine might clutter the ground floor, but the upper floors were the most majestic in San Francisco. Grateful benefactors had converted the rooms into handsomely fitted-up clubrooms with billiard tables, card rooms, bars, parlors, and fine libraries. Such luxury was acceptable to a public who granted every luxury a frontier town could bestow on the men who kept the city alive when the citizens did not want to be bothered.
The Council expected the unpaid men to buy their uniforms, equipment, and engines out of their own pockets. Eventually they
Sunday was the time allotted for repairing the pumper and equipment—high maintenance that Broderick and every wise chief demanded of his men. The rogues swarmed around the water carrier, bearing down on the nickel and brass pipes and silver fittings, rubbing and polishing them to brilliance. They scrubbed the signal lights and lamps, filled them with oil, charged the torches with fuel, and ground, cleaned, and oiled the bills, hooks, pikes, and axes until they gleamed in the flickering light. The yellow, red, and gold side-stroke engine was very heavy, hard to pull, and harder to pump. Its rear wheels were taller than Sawyer, but its front wheels were small and pivoted, an innovation that enabled the Mankiller to turn corners on a dime. All other types of engines except the Hunnemans had to be lifted up to wheel around corners.
The Mankiller possessed another clever feature: a ricklike set of double brakes by which twenty men or thirty men on each side manually moved the brakes up and down to operate the pump. When not in operation, these suction bars could be swung up over the top and locked into place with two large brass pipes called squirrel tails. When in operation, these brakes could swiftly be lowered from the folded position to the breast-high pumping position. The cross arms of the Mankiller’s pumping mechanism were slotted so the leverage could be altered without changing the length of the stroke. The hand engine operated at sixty strokes per minute (a stroke is a full up-and-down motion of the brakes) or could be sped up to double the tempo. The Mankiller’s two nine-and-one-half-inch cylinders were fitted with air-discharging valves (a nine-inch stroke could produce a steady single or double stream of water). At normal pace a man could last only aboutten minutes. As the rate of pumping increased, the time a man could pump lessened. The Mankiller was truly a killer of men. Fully manned and working for two minutes by the muscle power of forty volunteers, horizontal distances of between 150 feet and 196 feet could be achieved. If this old, reconditioned New York side stroker was so impressive, then what must “the King of All Fire Engines,” which Broderick recalled with such admiration, have been like?
Sawyer’s first job was to wash the leather apron covering the hose wheel and dress the cowhide casings and covers as others adjusted the brakes and greased the wheels. As he washed the coil of rope fastened to the Mankiller’s stern to control its operation when Broderick One hauled the pumper to a blaze, Volunteer George Oakes rushed up. He drew the coil out to its length and ran his hand along it to shake off excess water. “After a blaze,” Oakes ordered, drawing out the tail rope again and violently shaking it, “this is never put away wet. Nor are the drag ropes [thick cables used for pulling the engine to the fire].” Sawyer dried the ropes and then mended a bucket. As Oakes was rubbing down the silver pipes and pump handles, he smiled and asked, “Did you know that frost makes flames green?” Sawyer shook his head.
When the immaculate hose spanners, half spanners, and wrenches were put in place and the toolbox repolished, they were done. Sawyer smelled dinner cooking on the second floor and ascended behind the others into a true paradise. His breath caught in his throat at such magnificence. A huge engine might clutter the ground floor, but the upper floors were the most majestic in San Francisco. Grateful benefactors had converted the rooms into handsomely fitted-up clubrooms with billiard tables, card rooms, bars, parlors, and fine libraries. Such luxury was acceptable to a public who granted every luxury a frontier town could bestow on the men who kept the city alive when the citizens did not want to be bothered.
The Council expected the unpaid men to buy their uniforms, equipment, and engines out of their own pockets. Eventually they
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