“Ahoy!” I shouted; and a ringing cheer went up from twenty throats.
“We’re all right,” I cried, only nearly smothered. “Can you get a short ladder?”
“Ay, lad,” cried another familiar voice; and another shouted, “Owd Jones has got one;” and I was sure it was Gentles who spoke.
“How’s the place, Pannell?” cried Uncle Dick, leaning out of one of the windows.
“So dark, mester, I can hardly see, but fire’s put right out, and these here buildings be aw reight, but wheer the smithies and furnace was is nobbut ground.”
“Swept away?”
“Pretty well burned through first, mester, and then the watter came and washed it all clear. Hey but theer’s a sight of mischief done, I fear.”
A short ladder was soon brought, and the boxes and papers were placed in safety in a neighbouring house, after which in the darkness we tramped through the yard, to find that it was inches deep in mud, and that the flood had found our mill stout enough to resist its force; but the half-burned furnace-house, the smithies, and about sixty feet of tall stone wall had been taken so cleanly away that even the stones were gone, while the mill next to ours was cut right in two.
There was not a vestige of fire left, so, leaving our further inspection to be continued in daylight, we left a couple of men as watchers, and were going to join the hurrying crowd, when I caught Uncle Dick’s arm.
“Well?” he exclaimed.