“Oh, Jack—I do not know! Shame on me to forget them!” I ran toward the stable. Already the roof was ablaze, and the straw yard, beyond, a very furnace. Rushing in, I found the two horses cowering in their stalls, bath’d in sweat, and squealing. But ’twas all fright. So I fetch’d Molly’s saddle, and spoke to her, and set it across her back: and the sweet thing was quiet in a moment, turning her head to rub my sleeve gently with her muzzle: and followed me out like a lamb. The bay gave more trouble; but I sooth’d him in the same manner, and patting his neck, led him, too, into safety. By this, all hope to save the house was over: for the well in the court yielded but twenty buckets before it ran dry, and after that no water was to be had. Of the wing where the fire burst out only the walls stood, and a few oaken rafters, that one by one came tumbling and crashing. The flames had spread along the roof, and were now licking the ceiling of the hall and spouting around the clock tower. In the roar and hubbub, Billy’s men work’d like demons, dragging out chairs, chests, and furniture of all kinds, which they strew’d in the yard, returning with shouts for more. One was tearing down the portraits in the hall: another was pulling out the great dresser from the kitchen: a third had found a pile of tapestry and came staggering forth under the load of it. I had fasten’d the horses by the gate, and was ready to join in the work, when a shout was rais’d— “Billy!—Where’s Billy Pottery? Has any seen the skipper?” “Sure,” I call’d, “you don’t say he was never alarm’d!” “Black Sampson was in his room—where’s Black Sampson?” “Here I be!” cried a voice. “To be sure I woke the skipper before any o’ ye.” “Then where’s he hid? Did any see him come out?” “Now, that we have not!” answer’d one or two. I stood by the house door shouting these questions to the men inside, when a hand was laid on my arm, and there in the shadow waited Billy himself, with a mighty curious twinkle in his eye. He put a finger up and signed that I should follow. We pass’d round the outbuildings where, three hours before, Matt. Soames and I had hid together. I was minded to stop and pull on my boots, that were hid here: but (and this was afterward the saving of me) on second thoughts let them lie, and follow’d Billy, who now led me out by the postern gate. Without speech we stepp’d across the turf, he a pace or two ahead. A night breeze was blowing here, delicious after the heat of the fire. We were walking quickly toward the east side of the headland, and soon the blaze behind flung our shadows right to the cliff’s edge, for which Billy made straight, as if to fling himself over. But when, at the very verge, he pull’d up, I became enlighten’d. At our feet was an iron bar driven into the soil, and to it a stout rope knotted, that ran over a block and disappeared down the cliff. I knelt and, pulling at it softly, look’d up. It came easy in the hand.