A hazardous length of time elapsed before the inmates of the Three
Tranters knew of their danger. When at length the discovery was made,
the rush was a rush for bare life.
A man’s voice calling, then screams, then loud stamping and shouts were
heard.
Mr. Springrove ran out first. Two minutes later appeared the ostler and
chambermaid, who were man and wife. The inn, as has been stated, was a
quaint old building, and as inflammable as a bee-hive; it overhung the
base at the level of the first floor, and again overhung at the eaves,
which were finished with heavy oak barge-boards; every atom in its
substance, every feature in its construction, favoured the fire.
The forked flames, lurid and smoky, became nearly lost to view, bursting
forth again with a bound and loud crackle, increased tenfold in power
and brightness. The crackling grew sharper. Long quivering shadows began
to be flung from the stately trees at the end of the house; the square
outline of the church tower, on the other side of the way, which had
hitherto been a dark mass against a sky comparatively light, now began
to appear as a light object against a sky of darkness; and even the
narrow surface of the flag-staff at the top could be seen in its dark
surrounding, brought out from its obscurity by the rays from the dancing
light.
Shouts and other noises increased in loudness and frequency. The lapse
of ten minutes brought most of the inhabitants of that end of the
village into the street, followed in a short time by the rector, Mr.
Raunham.
Casting a hasty glance up and down, he beckoned to one or two of the
men, and vanished again. In a short time wheels were heard, and Mr.
Raunham and the men reappeared, with the garden engine, the only one in
the village, except that at Knapwater House. After some little trouble
the hose was connected with a tank in the old stable-yard, and the puny
instrument began to play.
Several seemed paralyzed at first, and stood transfixed, their rigid
faces looking like red-hot iron in the glaring light. In the confusion
a woman cried, ‘Ring the bells backwards!’ and three or four of the old
and superstitious entered the belfry and jangled them indescribably.
Some were only half dressed, and, to add to the horror, among them was
Clerk Crickett, running up and down with a face streaming with blood,
ghastly and pitiful to see, his excitement being so great that he had
not the slightest conception of how, when, or where he came by the
wound.
The crowd was now busy at work, and tried to save a little of the
furniture of the inn. The only room they could enter was the parlour,
from which they managed to bring out the bureau, a few chairs, some old
silver candlesticks, and half-a-dozen light articles; but these were
all.
Fiery mats of thatch slid off the roof and fell into the road with a
deadened thud, whilst white flakes of straw and wood-ash were flying in
the wind like feathers. At the same time two of the cottages adjoining,
upon which a little water had been brought to play from the rector’s
engine, were seen to be on fire. The attenuated spirt of water was as
nothing upon the heated and dry surface of the thatched roof; the
fire prevailed without a minute’s hindrance, and dived through to the
rafters.
Suddenly arose a cry, ‘Where’s Mr. Springrove?’
He had vanished from the spot by the churchyard wall, where he had been
standing a few minutes earlier.
‘I fancy he’s gone inside,’ said a voice.
‘Madness and folly! what can he save?’ said another. ‘Good God, find
him! Help here!’
A wild rush was made at the door, which had fallen to, and in defiance
of the scorching flame that burst forth, three men forced themselves
through it. Immediately inside the threshold they found the object of
their search lying senseless on the floor of the passage.
To bring him out and lay him on a bank was the work of an instant; a
basin of cold water was dashed in his face, and he began to recover
consciousness, but very slowly. He had been saved by a miracle. No
sooner were his preservers out of the building than the window-frames
lit up as if by magic with deep and waving fringes of flames.
Simultaneously, the joints of the boards forming the front door started
into view as glowing bars of fire: a star of red light penetrated the
centre, gradually increasing in size till the flames rushed forth.
Then the staircase fell.
‘Everybody is out safe,’ said a voice.
‘Yes, thank God!’ said three or four others.
‘O, we forgot that a stranger came! I think she is safe.’
‘I hope she is,’ said the weak voice of some one coming up from behind.
It was the chambermaid’s.
Springrove at that moment aroused himself; he staggered to his feet, and
threw his hands up wildly.
‘Everybody, no! no! The lady who came by train, Mrs. Manston! I tried to
fetch her out, but I fell.’
An exclamation of horror burst from the crowd; it was caused partly
by this disclosure of Springrove, more by the added perception which
followed his words.
An average interval of about three minutes had elapsed between one
intensely fierce gust of wind and the next, and now another poured over
them; the roof swayed, and a moment afterwards fell in with a crash,
pulling the gable after it, and thrusting outwards the front wall of
wood-work, which fell into the road with a rumbling echo; a cloud of
black dust, myriads of sparks, and a great outburst of flame followed
the uproar of the fall.
‘Who is she? what is she?’ burst from every lip again and again,
incoherently, and without leaving a sufficient pause for a reply, had a
reply been volunteered.
The autumn wind, tameless, and swift, and proud, still blew upon the
dying old house, which was constructed so entirely of combustible
materials that it burnt almost as fiercely as a corn-rick. The heat
in the road increased, and now for an instant at the height of the
conflagration all stood still, and gazed silently, awestruck and
helpless, in the presence of so irresistible an enemy. Then, with minds
full of the tragedy unfolded to them, they rushed forward again with
the obtuse directness of waves, to their labour of saving goods from the
houses adjoining, which it was evident were all doomed to destruction.
The minutes passed by. The Three Tranters Inn sank into a mere heap of
red-hot charcoal: the fire pushed its way down the row as the church
clock opposite slowly struck the hour of midnight, and the bewildered
chimes, scarcely heard amid the crackling of the flames, wandered
through the wayward air of the Old Hundred-and-Thirteenth Psalm.