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time：2023-12-03 12:49:47 Source: Originally writtenedit：map
They were safe at last; but even as they stood panting, the rent in the top of the embankment spread--deepened--yawned terrifically--and the pent-up lake plunged through, and sweeping away at once the center of the embankment, rushed, roaring and hissing, down the valley, an avalanche of water, whirling great trees up by the roots, and sweeping huge rocks away, and driving them, like corks, for miles.
At that appalling sound, that hissing thunder, the like of which he had never heard before, and hopes never to hear again, Ransome spurred away at all his speed, and warned the rest of the village with loud inarticulate cries: he could not wait to speak, nor was it necessary.
At the top of the hill he turned a moment, and looked up the valley; soon he saw a lofty white wall running down on Hatfield Mill: it struck the mill, and left nothing visible but the roof, surrounded by white foam.
Another moment, and he distinctly saw the mill swim a yard or two, then disappear and leave no trace, and on came the white wall, hissing and thundering.
Ransome uttered a cry of horror, and galloped madly forward, to save what lives he might.
Whenever he passed a house he shrieked his warning, but he never drew rein.
As he galloped along his mind worked. He observed the valley widen in places, and he hoped the flying lake would spread, and so lose some of that tremendous volume and force before which he had seen Hatfield stone mill go down.
With this hope he galloped on, and reached Poma Bridge, five miles and a half from the reservoir.
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