Part 66 (1/2)

Then there was a cry for picks and shovels--some one was buried; and on these being brought the men plied them bravely till there was a warning shout, and the rescue party had only just time to save themselves from a falling wall which toppled over with a tremendous crash, and sent up a cloud of dust.

The men rushed in again, though, and in an incredibly short s.p.a.ce of time they had dug and torn away a heap of broken rubbish, beneath which moans could be heard.

I stood close beside my uncles, as, blackened and covered with dust and sweat, they toiled away, Uncle Jack being the first to chase away the horrible feeling of fear that was upon me lest they should be too late.

”Here he is,” he cried; and in a few minutes more, standing right down in a hole, he lifted the poor maimed creature who had been crying for our help.

There was a tremendous cheer raised here, and the poor fellow was carried out, while Uncle d.i.c.k, who, somehow, seemed to be taking the lead, held up his hand.

”Hark!” he said.

But there was no sound.

”If there is no living creature here,” he said, ”we must get out. It is not safe to work till the roof has been blown down or fallen. If there is anyone alive, my lads, we must have him out at all risks.”

There was a cheer at this, and then, as soon as he could get silence, Uncle Jack shouted:

”Is anyone here?”

There was a low wailing cry for help far back beyond the ripped-up boiler, and in what, with tottering wall and hanging roof, was a place too dangerous to approach.

”Come, lads, we must have him out,” cried Uncle d.i.c.k; but a gentleman, who was evidently one of the managers, exclaimed:

”No, it is too dangerous.”

”Volunteers!” cried Uncle d.i.c.k.

Uncle Jack, Uncle Bob, Pannell, Stevens, and four more men went to his side, and in the midst of a deathly silence we saw them go softly in and disappear in the gloom of the great wrecked boiler-house.

Then there was utter silence, out of which Uncle d.i.c.k's voice came loud and clear, but ominously followed by the rattling down of some fragments of brick.

”Where are you? Try and speak.”

A low piteous moan was the reply.

”All right, my lads, down here!” we heard Uncle Jack cry. ”No picks-- hands, hands.”

”And work gently,” cried Uncle d.i.c.k.

Then, in the midst of the gloom we could hear the rattling of bricks and stones, and though we could see nothing we could realise that these brave men were digging down with their hands to try and get out the buried stoker.

The flames burned up brightly, casting curious shadows, and though we could see nothing, lighting the men over their gallant task, while I, as I gazed in, trying to penetrate the gloom, felt as if I ought to be there by my uncles' side.

This feeling grew so strong that at last I took a few steps forward, but only to be seized by a pair of strong arms and brought back.

”Nay, nay, lad,” said a voice that I started to hear, for it was Gentles'; ”there's plenty risking their lives theer. Yow stay.”

Just then there was a hoa.r.s.e shriek of terror, a wild yell from the crowd, for a curious rus.h.i.+ng rumble was heard, a dull thud, and another cloud of dust came rolling out, looking like smoke as it mingled with the fire.

In the midst of this the men who had been digging in the ruins came rus.h.i.+ng out.