The assemblage--belonging to that class of society which casts its thoughts into the form of feeling, and its feelings into the form of commotion--set to work with a remarkable confusion of purpose.
"Stop the draught under the wheat-rick!" cried Gabriel to those nearest to him.

The corn stood on stone staddles, and between these, tongues of yellow hue from the burning straw licked and darted playfully.

If the fire once got UNDER this stack, all would be lost.
"Get a tarpaulin--quick!" said Gabriel.
A rick-cloth was brought, and they hung it like a curtain across the channel.

The flames immediately ceased to go under the bottom of the corn-stack, and stood up vertical.
"Stand here with a bucket of water and keep the cloth wet." said Gabriel again.
The flames, now driven upwards, began to attack the angles of the huge roof covering the wheat-stack.
"A ladder," cried Gabriel.
"The ladder was against the straw-rick and is burnt to a cinder," said a spectre-like form in the smoke.
Oak seized the cut ends of the sheaves, as if he were going to engage in the operation of "reed-drawing," and digging in his feet, and occasionally sticking in the stem of his sheep-crook, he clambered up the beetling face.

He at once sat astride the very apex, and began with his crook to beat off the fiery fragments which had lodged thereon, shouting to the others to get him a bough and a ladder, and some water.
Billy Smallbury--one of the men who had been on the waggon--by this time had found a ladder, which Mark Clark ascended, holding on beside Oak upon the thatch.