Mary Barton Page #17

Mary Barton: A Tale of Manchester Life is the first novel by English author Elizabeth Gaskell, published in 1848. The story is set in the English city of Manchester between 1839 and 1842, and deals with the difficulties faced by the Victorian working class.

• Novel

								

Another pressure like the former! Mary clung to Margaret's arm with
a pinching grasp, and longed to faint, and be insensible, to escape
from the oppressing misery of her sensations. A minute or two.

"They've taken th' ladder into th' Temple of Apollor. Can't press
back with it to the yard it came from."

A mighty shout arose; a sound to wake the dead. Up on high, quivering
in the air, was seen the end of the ladder, protruding out of a
garret window, in the gable end of the gin palace, nearly opposite to
the doorway where the men had been seen. Those in the crowd nearest
the factory, and consequently best able to see up to the garret
window, said that several men were holding one end, and guiding by
their weight its passage to the door-way. The garret window-frame had
been taken out before the crowd below were aware of the attempt.

At length--for it seemed long, measured by beating hearts, though
scarce two minutes had elapsed--the ladder was fixed, an aerial
bridge at a dizzy height, across the narrow street.

Every eye was fixed in unwinking anxiety, and people's very breathing
seemed stilled in suspense. The men were nowhere to be seen, but the
wind appeared, for the moment, higher than ever, and drove back the
invading flames to the other end.

Mary and Margaret could see now; right above them danced the ladder
in the wind. The crowd pressed back from under; firemen's helmets
appeared at the window, holding the ladder firm, when a man, with
quick, steady tread, and unmoving head, passed from one side to
the other. The multitude did not even whisper while he crossed the
perilous bridge, which quivered under him; but when he was across,
safe comparatively in the factory, a cheer arose for an instant,
checked, however, almost immediately, by the uncertainty of the
result, and the desire not in any way to shake the nerves of the
brave fellow who had cast his life on such a die.

"There he is again!" sprung to the lips of many, as they saw him at
the doorway, standing as if for an instant to breathe a mouthful of
the fresher air, before he trusted himself to cross. On his shoulders
he bore an insensible body.

"It's Jem Wilson and his father," whispered Margaret; but Mary knew
it before.

The people were sick with anxious terror. He could no longer balance
himself with his arms; every thing must depend on nerve and eye. They
saw the latter was fixed, by the position of the head, which never
wavered; the ladder shook under the double weight; but still he never
moved his head--he dared not look below. It seemed an age before the
crossing was accomplished. At last the window was gained; the bearer
relieved from his burden; both had disappeared.

Then the multitude might shout; and above the roaring flames, louder
than the blowing of the mighty wind, arose that tremendous burst of
applause at the success of the daring enterprise. Then a shrill cry
was heard, asking

"Is the oud man alive, and likely to do?"

"Ay," answered one of the firemen to the hushed crowd below. "He's
coming round finely, now he's had a dash of cowd water."

He drew back his head; and the eager inquiries, the shouts, the
sea-like murmurs of the moving rolling mass began again to be
heard--but for an instant though. In far less time than even that in
which I have endeavoured briefly to describe the pause of events, the
same bold hero stepped again upon the ladder, with evident purpose to
rescue the man yet remaining in the burning mill.

He went across in the same quick steady manner as before, and the
people below, made less acutely anxious by his previous success, were
talking to each other, shouting out intelligence of the progress of
the fire at the other end of the factory, telling of the endeavours
of the firemen at that part to obtain water, while the closely packed
body of men heaved and rolled from side to side. It was different
from the former silent breathless hush. I do not know if it were from
this cause, or from the recollection of peril past, or that he looked
below, in the breathing moment before returning with the remaining
person (a slight little man) slung across his shoulders, but Jem
Wilson's step was less steady, his tread more uncertain; he seemed to
feel with his foot for the next round of the ladder, to waver, and
finally to stop half-way. By this time the crowd was still enough;
in the awful instant that intervened no one durst speak, even to
encourage. Many turned sick with terror, and shut their eyes to avoid
seeing the catastrophe they dreaded. It came. The brave man swayed
from side to side, at first as slightly as if only balancing himself;
but he was evidently losing nerve, and even sense: it was only
wonderful how the animal instinct of self-preservation did not
overcome every generous feeling, and impel him at once to drop the
helpless, inanimate body he carried; perhaps the same instinct told
him, that the sudden loss of so heavy a weight would of itself be a
great and imminent danger.

"Help me! she's fainted," cried Margaret. But no one heeded. All eyes
were directed upwards. At this point of time a rope, with a running
noose, was dexterously thrown by one of the firemen, after the manner
of a lasso, over the head and round the bodies of the two men. True,
it was with rude and slight adjustment: but, slight as it was, it
served as a steadying guide; it encouraged the sinking heart, the
dizzy head. Once more Jem stepped onwards. He was not hurried by any
jerk or pull. Slowly and gradually the rope was hauled in, slowly and
gradually did he make the four or five paces between him and safety.
The window was gained, and all were saved. The multitude in the
street absolutely danced with triumph, and huzzaed and yelled till
you would have fancied their very throats would crack; and then with
all the fickleness of interest characteristic of a large body of
people, pressed and stumbled, and cursed and swore in the hurry to
get out of Dunham Street, and back to the immediate scene of the
fire, the mighty diapason of whose roaring flames formed an awful
accompaniment to the screams, and yells, and imprecations, of the
struggling crowd.

As they pressed away, Margaret was left, pale and almost sinking
under the weight of Mary's body, which she had preserved in an
upright position by keeping her arms tight round Mary's waist,
dreading, with reason, the trampling of unheeding feet.

Now, however, she gently let her down on the cold clean pavement; and
the change of posture, and the difference in temperature, now that
the people had withdrawn from their close neighbourhood, speedily
restored her to consciousness.

Her first glance was bewildered and uncertain. She had forgotten
where she was. Her cold, hard bed felt strange; the murky glare in
the sky affrighted her. She shut her eyes to think, to recollect.

Her next look was upwards. The fearful bridge had been withdrawn; the
window was unoccupied.

"They are safe," said Margaret.
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