It was late in the morning before the glade was reached where our party had rested, and the body of the man first slain was discovered, and the whole band gathered around it.
Like the others, he had fallen by an English arrow.
The fear that all their friends had thus fallen became general, and expressed itself in their countenances. The baron was livid.
There was no possibility of tracing the party, the snow had covered the footsteps; but evidence was soon found in the fragments of food--the remains of the carcase of the wild boar--to show that this had been the midday rest, and that here the very beginning of hostilities had taken place.
They returned thence to the spot where Torquelle was slain. Fear and trembling seized many of the baron's warriors as they gazed upon those distorted features--fear, mingled with dread--so mysterious were the circumstances. They buried the body as decently as time permitted, and continued their course until they came upon another corpse slain in like manner.
Horror increased: at every stage the baron feared to find the dead body of his son. They still pursued the same line: it led to the edge of the Dismal Swamp, and there it ended.
They stood gazing upon that desolate wilderness.
"No human being could penetrate there," said Sir Bernard.
"Try."
Hugo advanced, dismounting for the purpose, but sank almost directly in a quagmire covered with snow, and was drawn out with difficulty.