As he did so, and when
they who had tried to rescue us had failed, the mate, who is a famous
swimmer, sprang overboard, as near the larboard wheel as the fire would
let him, struck out round it, climbed up on it into the paddle-box, and
tried to reach the cabin deck by the kitchen stair. But a sweep of the
flames drove him back into the river, and he was just sinking when Mr.
Gilmore, you know, drew him into his skiff.
"At the same time your uncle Dan came tumbling down from a pilot-house
window and staggered with us back to the stern rail, for all the stairs
were burning. It was idle to call for help. The whole thing had lasted
but a minute or two. Phyllis didn't want help and we had just that
instant to get down in.
"Those who had gone ashore could not see us. The smoke hid us. So did
the texas. Your uncle Dan dragged a mattress out of it and dropped it
over the stern, away down onto the fantail, scores of feet below. The
flames made the boat's shadow as black as ink. We thought the yawl was
down there, but some of the crew had swum out from the shore and pulled
away in it to pick up the mate--and us, of course, if we were with him.
"Your uncle, though fearfully burnt, took me on his back and showed
Phyllis how to climb down beside him by the bracket work and posts and
balustrades of the guards, as I could have done, but he wouldn't let me.
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