It fell dark now; but presently the moon rose, silvering the beautiful river and casting a glamour over the now silent woods.
Yes, the woods were silent; for the savages appeared to have fled. But about midnight there were signs unmistakable that they were continuing their unhallowed work in other places; for every now and then, borne along on the light breeze, came sounds that made Tom’s heart thrill with anger—the exultant shouts of victorious Indians mingling with mournful cries of agony and fear.
Then a great red gleam appeared in the north, and dense white clouds of smoke rolled skyward. The savages had fired the forest.
Nearer and nearer came that red glare as the night wore on, and soon they could hear the crackling of the blazing wood; then the deserted village took fire, and burned with terrible fierceness for a time.
Constantly all night long after this, in the fitful light of the conflagration, creatures could be seen leaping madly into the river, and swimming towards the other bank for safety. These were the denizens of the woods and wilds; but many must have perished in the merciless flames.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE DYING AYAH TELLS OF BERNARD.
DAYLIGHT dawned at last, and heavy rain began to fall, and soon even smoke itself had ceased to rise from the blackened woods and ruins of the village.
That the enemy still lay in ambush was evident, for now and then dusky forms could be seen moving about among the dark tree-trunks. Towards noon they came near enough to shoot darts at the fort from their blow-guns, and Tom found it necessary to fire once more.
The wounded ayah had remained insensible all night long, but at daybreak revived and beckoned Tom to her side.
“I am going,” she said. “I will be with my dear mistress soon, and if Bernard is dead I will be with him. I am glad.”