My father made no effort to induce me to climb up after the first wave struck us, till the water had risen well up into the loft, when he said quietly—
“Up with you, Morgan, on to the ridge.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, I—”
“Silence, sir! Out and up with you, and be ready to take your wife’s hands.”
It was the officer spoke then, and Morgan crept out through the rough dormer window, and directly after shouted briefly—
“Ready.”
“Now, Sarah, my good woman, be brave and firm; creep out here,” said my father. “Don’t think about the water, and grasp your husband’s hands at once.”
I heard Sarah give a deep sigh, and she caught at and pressed my shoulder as she passed; then with an activity I should not have expected of her, she crept out of the window, my father holding her dress tightly; there was a loud scrambling sound heard above the hissing and roaring of the water, and my father spoke again.
“Safe!” he muttered. Then aloud, “Now, boys—both of you—up, and on to the ridge.”
“You first, Pomp,” I said; and the boy scrambled out, and I followed, the task being, of course, mere play to us as we crept up the well-timbered roof, and got outside of the ridge-pole.