Barbara Bradford - A Woman of Substance

‘Yes, Father.’ Edwin swung himself up into the saddle and galloped out of the mill yard, one thought piercing into his brain with the most penetrating clarity: Emma’s father had saved his life.

Adam now turned his attention to the burning warehouse. Fortunately, he had had the foresight to buy one of the new small steam-powered fire engines several years before, for just such an emergency. Ten of the men had already dragged it out of the shed where it was stored. The coal to power it was burning and the men were expertly coupling two hoses to the hydrants. Other mill hands from one of the back buildings were swelling into the yard, including the bully boys and little bobbin liggers. Amongst them was Frank Harte, who had not witnessed his father’s accident in the fire. Under Wilson’s organization, this group was formed into a chain between the mill yard and the river Aire, passing the brimming buckets of water up to their mates, returning the empty ones down the line to be filled and refilled again and again, until their arms ached. Issuing orders, fully in command of the situation, Adam worked alongside the mill hands grateful for these tough and hardy Yorkshiremen who were going about their duties with cool heads and extraordinary courage in this unexpected and dangerous emergency.

Suddenly the wind shifted. Adam sighed with relief and then he groaned, dismay flooding his face when he saw that part of the burning roof had toppled on to a patch of shrubs adjoining a small copse of trees which edged right up to the main street of the village. Now, with the change in the direction of the wind, the copse was in danger.

‘Wilson, send some of the other men over to me,’ Adam yelled. ‘They’ve got to handle that copse at once! The trees will go next, if we’re not careful. The wind’s blowing the fire that way.’

‘But the mill itself-’ Wilson began.

‘Damn it, man! Do as I say. I can always rebuild the mill. But there are women and children in those cottages. If the trees catch, the fire will spread up into the village itself in no time at all.’

Wilson dispatched five men to consult with Adam, who took them aside urgently. He spoke rapidly but concisely. ‘Grab some axes from the shed and get over to the copse. Chop down small trees and bushes in front of those shrubs burning at the edge of the copse. Cut right down to the soil, clearing a narrow strip in front of the fire, so that any embers flying as it encroaches will fall into the strip and can be quickly extinguished. Then get buckets of water and start dousing all of the trees. We must prevent the fire taking hold in the copse at all costs.’

The five men nodded their understanding and silently scattered to fetch the axes and buckets of water. They set to work in the copse at once. Meanwhile, Adam hurried back to Wilson, who was supervising the spraying of the warehouse. Under the force of the water from the hoses and the buckets the fire was beginning to die down, and with the change in the wind it was now relatively well under control.

Adam took out his handkerchief and wiped his sweating, smoke-streaked face. Then he swung around as he heard wheels turning into the yard. Clive Malcolm leapt out with his bag almost before the trap drew to a standstill. He threw the reins to his wife, Violet, who had accompanied him. Edwin cantered into the yard, just behind the trap.

Adam pointed grimly at the offices. ‘Harte’s in a bad way, Clive. Do the best you can.’

‘Any other casualties?’ Clive cried as he raced across the yard.

‘A few men have small burns and one was struck by a piece of falling roof. But nothing too serious, as far as I can ascertain. Get to Harte first. Edwin, go along with the doctor and Mrs Malcolm. See if there is anything you can do to assist them.’

Adam coughed. His lungs were filled with smoke and he felt nauseous from it. He looked over at the copse anxiously. The men had already made progress and were preventing the fire from spreading and, although the shrubs were still burning, the trees leading up to the village were unharmed. Embers flying up into the air were falling into the narrow strip which had been cleared, just as Adam had predicted they would. They were being rapidly dampened and put out with water from the continuous supply of buckets being passed along.

As he looked about him, surveying the damage to the warehouse, Adam slowly became conscious that the wind had dropped unexpectedly. He looked up at the sky. Damnation, why doesn’t it rain? he muttered. He glanced yet again at the overcast sky, praying silently. Wilson hurried to him. ‘I thinks we’ve about got it under control, Squire. I don’t believe the mill’s in any danger now.’ As he spoke Wilson stared at Adam and a smile spread itself across his grimy face. ‘By God, sir, I thinks it’s going ter rain. Do yer knows, I just felt a drop.’

And Wilson was right. Rain it did. For once in his life, Adam Fairley welcomed the deluge that began to pour out of the sky, rippling down in heavy sheets, drenching them all and slaking the smouldering warehouse and the bushes in the copse. The mill hands stopped working and all of them turned to Adam, their voices rising in one single triumphant cheer.

‘We’re allus grumbling and grousing abart the blinking weather on t’moors, Squire, but this bloody rain’s a gift from ’eaven,’ shouted Eddie, one of the foremen.

Adam grinned. ‘I couldn’t have said it better myself, Eddie.’

Eddie now approached Adam standing with Wilson. ‘Do yer mind if I goes up ter see me mate, Jack Harte, sir? There just might be summat I can do for t’doctor.’

‘Yes, Eddie, please do so. I’m coming in myself.’ Adam rested his hand on Wilson’s shoulder. ‘I think you can manage down here now. By the look of the sky this is no light summer shower.’

‘I agree, sir. I’ll get the men organized with grappling hooks and ladders. We can start clearing up a bit of this mess.’ Wilson glanced at the blackened and charred ruins of the warehouse, still smouldering and steaming under the rain falling in torrents. ‘We was lucky, Squire. We was that!’

Adam nodded. ‘I’ll talk to you later about this, Wilson.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘It baffles me how the damn thing started in the first place.’ Wilson returned Adam’s steely gaze but was silent.

Before he went into the offices Adam called the men together in front of the wreckage. ‘I want to thank you, lads, for pitching in the way you did, with such efficiency and coolness. And also with such bravery. There will be bonuses for all of you in your pay next week, as an expression of my very sincere gratitude. You saved the mill, and incidentally, the village as well. I won’t forget this.’

Some of the men grinned, others touched their foreheads with brief little salutes, yet others nodded. All murmured their thanks. One of the men stepped forward and said, ‘There weren’t owt else we could do, Squire, now was there? It being our mill as well, so ter speak like. And yer didn’t do so bad yerself, Squire, if yer don’t mind me saying so. I thinks I speak for all t’lads when I say yer were a right trooper, sir.’

A half smile flickered in Adam’s eyes. ‘Thank you, Alfie.’ He nodded cordially and left. Adam found Clive Malcolm in his office attending to Jack Harte. Eddie was standing near the window, talking quietly to Edwin.

‘How is he?’ Adam asked from the doorway. Clive looked around and frowned. ‘Not good. But I think he’s going to be all right, Adam. He’s suffering from shock, of course, and bad burns on his back, shoulders, and thighs. Third-degree burns. I’m trying to make him as comfortable as possible, and then I must move him down to the valley hospital as quickly as possible. I shall need your big carriage, Adam, so I can keep him flat. I thought Edwin could ride up to the Hall and send Tom Hardy back with it right away. This is a real emergency with Harte. I just don’t have the equipment and the medicines I need to treat him efficiently. I’ve got to get him into that hospital.’