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Will of the Mill, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 15. It's A Mystery |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTEEN. IT'S A MYSTERY There was a desperate fight now for about a quarter of an hour between man's two best slaves--fire and water; and John Willows looked anxiously on, asking himself the question, which was to win. At the end of the above-mentioned time, in spite of the inflammable nature of the old building, the matter was no longer in doubt. The men worked away nobly at the clanging pumps, and every now and then in her eager excitement, some sturdy, strong-armed woman made a run forward to thrust husband or brother aside and take his place, working with a will, and sending quite a hissing deluge to flood the untouched parts of the roof, and gradually fight back the flames foot by foot, till their farther progress was stopped, and the rest was easy. All through the fight, Manners held his post right in the forefront, his face shining in the golden glow as he distributed the water. Will and Josh kept close up after the books had been saved, always ready to help, and bringing refreshment, while Drinkwater raged about like some lunatic, thrusting the men here and there, urging them on to pump faster, and nearly getting himself crushed over and over again, as he dodged about with a small oil-can, seeking to lubricate the old and stiffened parts of the machinery. It was all to save the mill from destruction, and the master from injury from whom he had cut himself adrift, and there was the result at last. The ruddy light which had illumined the fern-hung sides and curtains of ivy of the great gorge began to fail. The great, black cloud of smoke which hung over from side to side began to turn from ruddy orange to a dull lead colour, and at last the word was given to cease pumping. "There's nothing to do now, my lads, but to carry a few buckets inside and look out for sparks," cried Willows. "I thank you all! You've worked grandly, and you have saved our old mill." "There'll be a big sore place upon it to-morrow, master," said one of the men. "Nothing but what James Drinkwater and three or four workmen," said Willows, speaking meaningly, "can put right within a month. The machinery at this end seems to be uninjured." "I hope so," said Manners, "but the lads here and I have given it a tremendous washing where we sent the stream in through yon hole and those broken windows. What about the silk? Will it be spoiled?" "There was little there to signify, and the loss will be comparatively small. Now then, everyone round to the big office, and let's see what we can do in the way of finding you all something to eat and drink." There was another burst of cheers, and soon after, while the men and women were partaking of the mill-owner's cheer, he and his friends had been making such examination as the smoke, the darkness, and the water which had flooded the drenched part of the building would allow. "Terrible damage, Carlile," he said. "Still nothing compared to what might have been. But what has become of Drinkwater? Who saw him last?" "I think I did, father," cried Will. "He was busy with a lantern down there by the engine, wiping and oiling the different parts. I asked him to come in, but he only grunted and shook his head." "That's where I found him," chimed in Josh, "when you sent me with a message, father." "Yes, and I saw him there," said Manners. "My word, how he kept the pumpers up to the mark! The water never failed once. Why, you got quite a bargain in the old engine, Mr Willows, and that fellow did it up splendidly." "And worked gloriously," cried Will. "I think, father, he felt ashamed of all he had said, and wanted to put matters right." "I hope so," said Mr Willows; "at any rate I do for my miserable suspicions when the fire broke out." "Don't worry about that," said the Vicar. "It looked horribly black after his threatenings about revenge. But there, that's all past, and thank Heaven you can congratulate yourself upon the good that has arisen out of to-night's dark work." "Dark!" said Manners, wiping his black face. "I think we had too much light." "Not enough to show how that fire broke out," said Mr Willows, gravely. "I cannot understand how it was caused." "Couldn't be a spark left by one of the flashes of lightning in the storms we have had lately, could it?" said Josh, innocently. "No," said Will, mockingly; "but it might have been a star tumbled down." "No, it couldn't!" cried Josh, angrily. "Such stuff! It must have been started somehow." "Yes, my boy," said the Vicar, smiling; "but it is a mystery for the present." "Let it rest," said Mr Willows. "I don't concern myself about that now. I have something else on my mind. I shall not rest, Carlile, till I have thanked that man for all he has done, and shaken him by the hand." "Oh, he'll turn up soon, I daresay," said Manners. "Here, I know! he must have got himself drenched with water." "Of course!" cried Will. "I saw him lower himself down into the hole to move the suction-pipe." "That's it," said Manners, "and he's gone up to the cottage to have a change." "At any rate," said the Vicar, "I feel thankful that the trouble has passed, and I shall be seeing him back at his work to-morrow; eh, Mr Willows?" "I hope so," was the reply. "Now then, we must have three or four watchers for the rest of the night, and those of you who are wet had better see about a change." "Well, I'm one," said Manners, "for I feel like a sponge. I'm off to my diggings, but I shall be back in half an hour to join the watch." "No, no," cried Mr Willows, "you've done enough. I'll see to that." "Yes, yes," cried the artist; "I want to come back and think out my plan for a new picture of the mill on fire. It'll be a bit of history, don't you see, and I want to get the scene well soaked into my mind." "It ought to be burned in already," said Will, laughing. "Perhaps it is," said the artist, merrily; and he hurried away. So much time had been spent that, to the surprise of all, the early dawn was beginning to show, and as it broadened it displayed the sorry sight of one end of the mill blackened--a very mass of smoking and steaming timbers. "I say, Josh," said Will, "only look here! If the fire had got a little more hold and the wind had come more strongly down, the flames would have swept everything before them: the mill would have been like a burnt-out bonfire." "Yes," said Josh; "and the house must have gone too." "How horrid! But I say, why hasn't old Boil O been back?" The man had his own reasons. Not only did he not show himself again after his work was done, but when in the course of the morning, impatient at his non-appearance, his employer left the busy scene where a clearance of the ruined part was going on, and walked up to the cottage with the Vicar, it was only to catch a momentary glimpse of the man they sought, as he glided across his garden and made for the woods, utterly avoiding all advances made by those who wished him well; and instead of the breach being closed by his conduct, the wound purified by the fire, his rage against his master and all friendly to the mill seemed to burn more fiercely than ever. _ |
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