"The engine! The engine! Who says my father was foolish now?"
"I say he was a Solomon," cried Manners. "Hurrah, boys! Let's have the
engine out! Plenty of water! Take it coolly; we'll soon have her going
now."
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.
"Ready!" he roared, as Will's father and Josh came out of the open
office door laden with heavy ledgers.
"All right!" shouted Will. "Now, boys, all together--pump!"
Cling, clang! Cling, clang! Cling clang! Three times over, the
handles rose and fell with a strange, weird sound, and then, as if moved
by one impulse, the workers stopped, and, sounding strangely
incongruous, a man whose voice was blurred by the north-west country
burr shouted--
"Why, t'owd poomp wean't soock!"
"Nay," cried another; "I never had no faith in t'owd mawkin of a thing.
She's only fit to boon the roads."
"What's the matter?" shouted Manners.
"I don't know," cried Will, despondently; "it won't go."
"Are the pipes screwed on right?" said Manners.
"Yes."
"Is your end down in the water?"
"Yes; three or four feet."
"We must have got something screwed on upside down."
"No," said Will, firmly; "it's all right, just as old Boil O put it
together when it was done."
"But it isn't all right," cried Manners; "the suckers or something must
have been left out."
"Oh, why didn't we try it? Why didn't we try it when it was done?"
groaned Will. "I did want to, but Boil O said there was no time for me
to be playing my games."
At that moment Mr Willows ran up.
"Well," he cried, "why don't you pump?"
"We did, father, but it won't go."
"Then don't waste time. Here, Manners!"
"Catch hold," shouted the artist, thrusting the copper branch into the
nearest man hands and running up.
"Yes!" he said.
"Ladders and buckets," continued Mr Willows.
"Right, and form a double line. I say," he whispered; "here's
treachery."
"I fear so; I fear so," said Willows, in the same tone. "It's revenge,
and the engine has been purposely left out of gear. No," he cried, as
if in agony, his words having given him intense pain; "I won't believe a
man could be so base."
There was the scuffling rush of feet just then, and the object of his
thoughts, wild and weird-looking from his dwarfish aspect, glistening
head, and staring eyes, dashed up.
"Here, fools! Idiots! Are you going to let the poor old mill burn
down?"
"Hurrah!" shouted Will; "here's Boil O! Here, old fellow, what is there
wrong? I can't get the thing to go."
"Stand aside!" cried the man, fiercely; and the next moment he was down
on his knees, rapidly examining the connections, valve, piston, and rod.
"Yah!" he roared, savagely. "The pins are left out here."
Clang went a box, as he threw up a lid in the front, snatched out a
screw hammer and a copper pin, and then, tap, tap, tap, some half-dozen
sharply given blows were heard, the hammer was thrown with a crash back
into the box, and the man's hoarse, harsh voice rose in an angry roar.
"Now, then, put your backs into it! Pump!"
_Clink, clank_! _Clink, clank_! _Clink, clonk_! _Clink, clunk_!
There was a whistling sound as the water forced the wind out of the
leather tubes, rushed along spurting in fine threads out of a score of
tiny holes, and from the joints where they were not tightly screwed up,
and then, just as, seeing what was about to happen, Manners rushed
forward and grasped the copper branch, a fountain as of golden rain
darted out of the glistening branch, rose higher and higher, making the
flames hiss and steam, and a roar of triumph rose above the thudding,
steady clank of the engine, now doing well its work, while the
north-country man who had spoken jeeringly before shouted lustily--
"Three cheers, boys, for good old Boil O!"