Rowe left the rudder and came forward, and
Fred, who had had his head low down listening, ran towards us from the
bows and cried,
"There _are_ sixteen, and they're ringing backwards--_it's a fire_!"
The driver mounted the horse, which was put to the trot, and we
hurried on. The bells came nearer and nearer with their fantastic
clanging, and the sky grew more lurid as they rang. Then there was a
bend in the canal, and we caught sight of the two towers of S. Philip
and S. James, dark against the glow.
"The whole town is in flames!" cried Fred.
"Not it," said the barge-master; "it's ten to one nothing but a
rubbish-heap burning, or the moors on fire beyond the town."
Mr. Rowe rather snubbed Fred, but I think he was curious about the
matter. The driver urged his horse, and the good barge _Betsy_ swung
along at a pace to which she was little accustomed.
When we came by the cricket-field Mr. Rowe himself said--"It's in the
middle of the town."
Through the deafening noise of the bells I contrived to shout in his
ear a request that I might be put ashore, as we were now about on a
level with my home. Mr. Rowe ran a plank quickly out and landed me,
without time for adieux.
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