It was a desperate race! The strength of the fugitives began to fail, and no refuge, no hope, seemed near. Alas! to some the race was lost. The blinding effect of the dense smoke that filled the atmosphere, the suffocating smell of the burning mass of vegetable matter, and the lurid glare of the red flames that came on so rapidly, overpowered alike the horses and their riders: while the roaring of the fire—which sounded like a mighty rushing cataract—and the oppressive heat, seemed to confuse the senses, and destroy the vital powers of the more feeble and ill-mounted of the fugitives. Several of the horses fell, and their devoted riders sank to the ground, unable any longer to sustain the effort for life; and Henrich had the agony of passing by the wretched victims, and leaving them to their fate, for he knew that he had no power to save them.
Many miles were traversed—and still the unbroken level of the prairie spread out before them—and still the roaring and destructive flames came borne on the mighty winds behind them. A few scattered trees were the only objects that broke the monotony of the plains; and the hills, at the foot of which they had traveled that morning, and where alone they could lock for safety, were still at a great distance. At length, the aged Tisquantum's powers of endurance began to give way. The reins almost fell from his hands; and, in trembling accents, he declared his total inability to proceed any further.
Leave me, my children!' he exclaimed, 'to perish here; for my strength is gone; and what matters it where the old Tisquantum breathes his last. Mahneto is here, even in this awful hour, to receive my spirit; and I shall but lose a few short months or years of age and infirmity.'
'Never, my father!' cried H enrich, as he caught the reins of the Sachem's horse; and while he still urged his own overloaded steed to fresh exertions, endeavored also to support the failing form of his father-in-law. 'Never will we leave you to die alone in this fiery desert. Hold on, my father! hold on yet a little longer till we gain the defile, where the flames cannot follow as, and all will yet be well!'
'I cannot, my son!' replied the old man. 'Farewell, my dear, my noble boy!—farewell, my Oriana! And his head sank down upon the neck of his horse.
He would have fallen to the ground but for Henrich, who now checked the panting steeds, and sprang down to his feet in time to receive him in his arms.
Fly, Oriana!' he exclaimed, as his wife also drew the bridle of her foaming horse by his side. 'Fly, Oriana, my beloved! save your own life, and that of our child! If possible, I will preserve your father— but if not, farewell! and God be with you!'
One moment Oriana urged her horse again to its swiftest pace, as if in obedience to her husband's command—the next, she was at Mailah's side, holding her infant in one arm, white with the other she guided and controlled the terrified animal on which she rode.
'Here, Mailah!' she cried—and she clasped the child to her breast, and imprinted one passionate kiss on its cheek—' Take my Ludovico, and save his life, and I will return to my husband and father. If we follow you, well. If not, be a mother to my child, and may the blessing of God be on you!'
She almost flung the infant into the extended arms of Mailah; and then, having with difficulty turned her horse, and forced him to retrace his steps, she again rejoined those with whom she was resolved to live or die.