“Nay, I weant go,” cried Pannell, “aw want to stay here and see them mesters come out.”
“Let him rest,” said the manager, and upon his asking me I raised Pannell’s head, and let him rest against my chest.
Then amidst the painful silence, and the fluttering and crackling of the fire, we heard again the rattling of bricks and stones; but it was mingled with the falling of pieces from the roof. Then there was a crash and a shriek from the women as a cloud of dust rose, and my heart seemed to stand still, for I felt that my uncles must have been buried; but no, the sound of the bricks and stones being dragged out still went on, and the men gave another cheer.
The manager went round again to the back of the place, and came tearing back with three or four men shouting loudly:
“Come out! Come out! She’s going!”
Then there was a horrible cry, for with a noise like thunder the left side and part of the roof of the building fell.
The dust was tremendous, and it was some minutes before the crowd could rush in armed with shovels and picks to dig out the bodies of the brave men buried.
The murmur was like that of the sea, for every man seemed to be talking excitedly, and as I knelt there by Pannell I held the poor fellow’s hand, clinging to him now, and too much shocked and unnerved to speak.
“They’re killed—they’re killed,” I groaned.
But as I spoke the words the people seemed to have gone mad; they burst into such a tremendous cheer, backing away from the ruins, and dividing as they reached us to make way for my uncles to bear to the side of Pannell the insensible figure of the man they had saved.