It was a gin palace. Mary almost wished herself away, so fearful (as Margaret had said) was the sight when they joined the crowd assembled to witness the fire. There was a murmur of many voices whenever the roaring of the flames ceased for an instant. It was easy to perceive the mass were deeply interested. "What do they say?" asked Margaret of a neigh hour in the crowd, as she caught a few words, clear and distinct from the general murmur. "There never is anyone in the mill, surely!" exclaimed Mary, as the sea of upward-turned faces moved with one accord to the eastern end, looking into Dunham Street, the narrow back lane already mentioned. The western end of the mill, whither the raging flames were driven by the wind, was crowned and turreted with triumphant fire. It sent forth its infernal tongues from every window hole, licking the black walls with amorous fierceness it was swayed or fell before the mighty gale, only to rise higher and yet higher, to ravage and roar yet more wildly. This part of the roof fell in with an astounding crash, while the crowd struggled more and more to press into Dunham Street, for what were magnificent terrible flames--what were falling timbers or tottering walls, in comparison with human life? There, where the devouring flames had been repelled by the yet more powerful wind, but where yet black smoke gushed out from every aperture--there at one of the windows on the fourth story, or rather a door-way where a crane was fixed to hoist up goods, might occasionally be seen, when the thick gusts of smoke cleared partially away for an instant, the imploring figures of two men. They had remained after the rest of the workmen, for some reason or other, and, owing to the wind having driven the fire in the opposite direction, had perceived no sight or sound of alarm, till long after (if anything could be called long in that throng of terrors which passed by in less than half an hour) the fire had consumed the old wooden staircase at the other end of the building. I am not sure whether it was not the first sound of the rushing crowd below that made them fully aware of their awful position. "Where are the engines?" asked Margaret of her neighbour. "They're coming, no doubt; but, bless you, I think it's bare ten minutes since we first found out th' fire; it rages so wi' this wind, and all so dry-like." "Is no one gone for a ladder?" gasped Mary, as the men were perceptibly, though not audibly, praying the great multitude below for help. "Ay, Wilson's son and another man were off like a shot, well-nigh five minutes agone. But th' masons, and slaters, and such like, have left their work, and locked up the yards." Wilson! then, was that man whose figure loomed out against the ever-increasing dull hot light behind, whenever the smoke was clear,--was that George Wilson?
Mary sickened with terror. She knew he worked for Carsons; but at first she had no idea that any lives were in danger; and since she was aware of this, the heated air, the roaring flames, the dizzy light, and the agitated and murmuring crowd, had bewildered her thoughts. "Oh! let us go home, Margaret I cannot stay." "We cannot go! See how we are wedged in by folks. Poor Mary! ye won't hanker after a fire again. Hark! listen!" For through the hushed crowd, pressing round the angle of the mill, and filling up Dunham Street, might be heard the rattle of the engine, the heavy, quick tread of loaded horses. "Thank God!" said Margaret's neighbour, "the engine's come." Another pause; the plugs were stiff, and water could not be got. Then there was a pressure through the crowd, the front rows bearing back on those behind, till the girls were sick with the close ramming confinement.