Cyril was now between eighteen and
nineteen, and had grown into a powerful, young fellow, having, since
he recovered from the Plague, grown fast and widened out greatly. He
was able to shoulder heavy trunks, and to carry them down without
difficulty.
By six o'clock, however, all were exhausted by their labours, and
Captain Dave's proposal, that they should go back and get breakfast
and have a wash, was at once agreed to.
At this time the greater part of Fish Street was in flames, the
Church of St. Magnus had fallen, and the flames had spread to many of
the streets and alleys running west. The houses on the Bridge were
blazing.
"Well, father, what is the news?" Nellie exclaimed, as they entered.
"What have you been doing? You are all blackened, like the men who
carry out the coals from the ships. I never saw such figures."
"We have been helping people to carry their goods down to the water,
Nellie. The news is bad. The fire is a terrible one."
"That we can see, father. Mother and I were at the window for hours
after you left, and the whole sky seemed ablaze. Do you think that
there is any danger of its coming here?"
"The wind is taking the flames the other way, Nellie, but in spite of
that I think that there is danger. The heat is so great that the
houses catch on this side, and we saw, as we came back, that it had
travelled eastwards. Truly, I believe that if the wind keeps on as it
is at present, the whole City will be destroyed.
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