The sight which had burst upon him was enough to have nerved with energy the most sluggish and unfeeling. On Cæsar it broke with most appalling interest.
He could not, indeed, get a full view, for the house was screened by the large trees and thick shrubbery; but enough could be seen to assure him that the dwelling was on fire; and the inmates, if they had not escaped, were in imminent danger, for the flames were flashing up to the tops of the trees, higher than the roof of the main building. In a few moments he was beside the burning pile, and the whole extent of the awful calamity was revealed to him. The fire was raging over the whole of the back part of the house, having already completely enveloped the back building connected with it, and was throwing its forked flames over the high roof, while the pitch-black smoke, which rolled around the whole premises without, gave awful forebodings of what might be the state of things within. No alarm had yet seized the family that he could discern; he listened in vain for any sound but the terrible cracking of the raging fire.
He attempted the nearest door, but found it fastened. The wood-pile was at hand; he seized the axe; at that moment two men came running into the court-yard and calling fire. Cæsar barely glanced at them, they were strangers to him; but he felt encouraged in his efforts; his arm was nerved with the strength of his early days—one blow drove it from its fastenings, and in he rushed amid the heat and smoke.
The two men followed him, but for a very different purpose than to rescue the sleeping family from their fiery envelope.
When Mr. Rutherford left his home, as before related, his expectation was to remain until the following day; but having accomplished his errand early in the evening, he concluded to return to his family. It would occupy much of the night, but he preferred spending it on horseback, so anxious was he to be again with his wife and children; they were all he had now, and his heart yearned after them with a warmth of affection he had never realized before.
A little past midnight, as he was turning the summit of a hill, a sudden flash of light shot up in the distance; he thought it was the glare of a meteor; but painted on the clouds which overhung the western sky, it left a deep-red glow. As he gazed, while slowly descending the hill, he saw the flush extending, and gradually assuming a brighter and more lurid aspect.
'It must be a fire; perhaps some poor sufferers are looking in anguish upon the wreck of their little all.'
And on he went, ever and anon casting his eye at the clouds, and marking their curious forms, as the light in fitful flashes displayed their shape.
At times, across the distant hills, he seemed to think that he could see the position of the fire, but intervening objects would again confine his view, and he could only discern the light on the clouds above him. Coming at length to an angle in the road, from which he could look in the direction of his home, he was startled to find that there was a clear and well-defined streak of light emanating from some burning building, which must be at least in that vicinity.
Without being conscious of any decided alarm, he urged his horse to a faster pace, and kept his eye more constantly on the light. For some miles from where he lived the road ran among the hills; so that, however great had been his anxiety, it could not be gratified until he should emerge into the open country. At length he is ascending the last eminence that intervenes between him and the objects of the affections; the light is still blazing on the clouds above him; he hastens to the summit, and beholds—heart-rending sight—the home of his childhood—the dwelling where all his earthly hopes and love were clustered—a mass of crumbling ruins, from which the forked flames were shooting up and crackling on the still night-air; those demon sounds went in streams of madness to his heart.