Together they hauled upon the rope. The timber did not give an inch. They summoned Reuben to assist them, but the oak, worm-eaten though it was, resisted their united efforts.
"Once more! Pull all together," cried Dick in despair. The post did not move.
"Ha, Squire!" shouted a voice behind, "I see what you are about. 'Tis a good notion. Give me a hold."
"Polwhele, 'tis you. We'll be glad of your arm."
"Did you ride, sir?" cried Dick eagerly.
"I did," replied the riding-officer. "Egad! I see your meaning. My horse is hitched to the fence. I'll bring him in a second."
He ran off, returning soon with his horse, which pranced and snorted when it came within the smoke and heat. Mr. Polwhele and Dick knotted the rope to the animal's collar, while the Squire covered its eyes with his coat. They turned its head away from the flames, and smote its flanks. It started forward, almost escaping from the grasp of Mr. Polwhele, who held it by the bridle. The post, already weakened by the previous straining, gave at last, and a portion of the roof fell in with a crash. The same operation was performed on a similar post in the opposite corner. This was brought down at the first pull, and all that remained of the brew-house was a heap of laths, beams, tiles, and broken utensils.
They proceeded then to smother the ruins with water and earth, paying no heed to the blazing tool-house. After some twenty minutes the flames began to subside; they poured more water, as quickly as it could be drawn, on the glowing ruins, and had the satisfaction of seeing that the demolition of the brew-house had been effective. The fire spread no further; the Towers was saved.
Panting and perspiring with their exertions, the four men stood for a while in silence, watching the gradual dwindling of the flames.
"That bell may stop," cried Mr. Polwhele suddenly. "'Tis well pulled, whoever is doing it, but to little good, it seems. 'Pon my soul, I'm the only man that has come to its call."