“No,” answered Don Esteban, “I was not; but we know from experience that when they begin these raids they usually divide themselves into a number of small bands, attacking in several directions simultaneously, and depending upon being reinforced by the negroes on the estates which they purpose to attack. Thus, for example, whatever may have been the original strength of the band which set out to attack Montpelier, they have already been augmented by two hundred of my people. Probably they now muster about two hundred and fifty altogether—not more, I should say. Ah! look yonder. Do you see that blaze? That is Montpelier. They have already plundered the house and set it on fire, so you see we did not get away from it any too early.”
Looking out through the open door at the back of the house, which could be seen from the hall, we beheld a small, flickering spark of fire, well up on the lower slopes of the mountain, which, even as we gazed, waxed in size and brilliancy. Snatching up a powerful telescope that always hung ready to hand in the hall, and bringing it to bear upon the spark, I was able to make out that it was indeed a large house, from the windows and thatched roof of which flames were bursting in momentarily increasing volumes, while round about it a crowd of negroes were apparently dancing a dance of savage delight at the destruction which they were effecting.
“Yes,” I said, as I laid down the glass, “that is undoubtedly your house, Don Esteban; I distinctly remember Doña Inez pointing it out to me while we were out for a walk about a week ago.”
At this moment Doña Inez, fully attired, emerged from her room, and there was instantly a cordial interchange of salutations between her and our visitors. Then she turned to me and asked:
“What was that I heard you say just now, Don Ricardo? Surely not that Montpelier is in flames?”
“I deeply regret to say that you heard aright, Señora. Look yonder; you may see the blaze for yourself. And the blacks are dancing round it like so many demons,” I answered.
Doña Inez clasped her hands together and wrung them in distress.
“Oh, Don Esteban—Doña Christina—I am so sorry for you all,” she exclaimed. “It is horrible; and they will be here next. What do you intend to do, Luis? Must we really run away and leave this beautiful place to be destroyed and ourselves ruined? Is there nothing that can be done to save it?”
“I will not go so far as to say that,” answered Don Luis; “on the contrary, I am strongly indisposed to abandon it without a struggle. What say you, Don Ricardo?” turning to me. “You are a fighting man; do you think this house is capable of being defended successfully against an armed but undisciplined rabble of some three hundred blacks?”
“That depends entirely upon how strong a garrison you can muster, my dear friend,” answered I. “So far as the house itself is concerned I believe that, given, say, a couple of hours for preparation, it might be put into a very excellent state of defence; but that would be no good at all unless you could raise a garrison of, let us say, thirty fighting men, and at least as many non-combatants to act as loaders, ambulance party, and so on.”