The men were trying to do something to save us, for there was a tremendous noise and excitement below; but they could do absolutely nothing, so rapidly had the grinding-shop beneath us been turned into a fiery furnace.
And now the flames had mastered the end door, which fell inward, and flame and black and gold clouds of smoke rolled in.
“Quick, Cob!—into the office!” roared Uncle Dick; and I darted in with some of the papers, followed by the rest, Uncle Jack banging to the door.
“Keep cool, all of you,” he cried. “I must save these books and papers.”
“But we must save our lives, Jack,” said Uncle Dick. “The floor’s smoking. Our only chance is to jump into the dam.”
“Through that blaze of flame!” said Uncle Bob gloomily.
“It is our only chance,” said Uncle Jack; “but let’s try to save our boxes as well. They will float if we take care.”
“Now, then, who’s first?”
The window was open, the tin boxes and the packets on the table, the dam beneath but invisible; for the flame and smoke that rose from the window below came like a fiery curtain between us and the water; and it was through this curtain that we should have to plunge.
Certainly it would be a momentary affair, and then we should be in the clear cold water; but the idea of taking such a leap made even my stout uncles shrink and vainly look round for some other means of escape.