He had hardly finished speaking when John Willows’ voice rose loudly above the babble of the little crowd, giving orders; and, as the boys rushed up with their friend, an iron bar was heard to rattle, two doors were flung back, and the grinding and crushing sound of wheels over gravel followed, as the little engine was run out with a hearty cheer; the excited men who took the place of horses and pushed wherever they could find a place for their hands, running the machine along the mill front right up towards where the fire was blazing fast, and bringing to it a current of air as it rose, which made the flames burn moment by moment more fiercely, as they obtained a greater hold.
“No, no, no!” yelled Will. “You’re wrong, you’re wrong, you’re wrong! Back with her at once!”
“Nay, it’s all right, boys,” cried one of the men; “it’s all right; go on!”
“It isn’t,” shouted Will. “Back with her close to the dam!”
“Nay,” cried the same voice; “the fire’s here.”
“I know that!” shouted Will, rushing at him and thrusting him aside. “Ah, here’s father! Give orders, father; it must be close to the water. The suction-pipe is short.”
“Yes, of course,” cried Willows. “You’re wrong, men. Back with her to the pool there below the wheel! Mr Manners, take the lead, please, over getting out and connecting the hose. Will, see to the suction-pipe, and that its rose is well clear of the gravel. Get to work as soon as you can. Josh, my boy, follow and help me. I’m afraid the place is doomed, Mr Manners; I must go to the office and get out the safe and books.”
“Right, sir; we will do our best,” cried the artist. “How did it occur?”
“Goodness only knows,” was the reply, and each hurried to his appointed task.
They worked well, but, as a matter of course, there was little discipline; every worker thought he knew best, gave his opinions, and hindered the progress of the rest; but at last the engine was in the most favourable place for operating, the suction-pipe attached and hanging down in a deep, dark hole, scooped lower year after year by tons of the water falling from the wheel; while forward, under the artist’s guidance, length after length of the hose had been unrolled and the gun-metal screws fitted together till it stretched out far in the glowing light towards the burning timbers. Here, as near as it was safe for man to go, the artist stood in shirt and trousers, sleeves rolled up over his massive arms, bending down, a picturesque object, like some gladiator fitting his weapon before doing battle with the fiery monster wreathing upwards above his head, as he screwed on the glistening copper branch.