"No, Uncle," she answered, "I can bring fire, or do anything that a man can, and so save you the time of a soldier. Perhaps if we fight for Christophe he will let us go."
Poor girl! The cry of the captive since the days of Pharaoh, no greater tyrant than Christophe himself!
How shall I describe the confusion which reigned in the fortress? The wheeling of the guns into place, the belching forth of their loads of shot and shell, the shrieks of the wounded below the gate and under the walls, the hammering upon the masonry from the outside, the shouts of "They are here!" or, "They are attacking that sally port!" The rush of our handful of men to aid in the repulse, then the surging back as the attack came from another quarter. Can you imagine anything so strange as the sight of a young girl among those rough soldiers of all shades, running here and there, bringing water to the overheated gunners, carrying fire to light the powder at the vent, encouraging her friends by words of cheer, even jumping upon the parapet in sight of all on both sides, and calling in her clear voice, "They are making a rush toward the southern gate, Uncle!" or, "Hiram, they are falling back! Fire down the hill, and you will have them on this side!"
All day long the sound of battle came to us. It rose from those plains of Paradise which were being turned from gardens into shambles. Gardens where in the past, the rose and the Sangre de Cristo lily had borrowed from the soil, watered with the blood of Christophe's enemies, a colour as vivid as that of the streams which ran again to-day in crimson rivers adown the plain.
Sometimes the shriek of the great cannon ball sounded near to us, then again farther away; sometimes the clouds of smoke arose so that we could not see the plain, and anon the sweet trade wind, made only to send the good ship flying on her course, or in its baby breeze to caress the cheek of a gentle maid, parted the columns of smoke, and we saw flames bursting through the roofs of the dwellings of the valley, and caught a glimpse of contending armies as they advanced or retreated, won victory or succumbed to defeat.
We fought there all the morning, but at last we found ourselves the victors, although with some loss on our side. Our victory was owing to the small numbers of the attacking force, as well as to the impregnability of the fortress. The Smith had been killed. He did not die at once, and Cynthia sat with his head in her lap and gave him water until his lips stiffened, so that he could speak no more. He gave her messages for "the misses," and you have heard, son Adoniah, how well she delivered them, going to England herself in '29, and to Cornwall, where she saw young Trevelyan again. But I am getting ahead of my story. The Bo's'n, too, was wounded, and Cynthia was bending toward him when suddenly he rolled over, helpless as he was, and away as far as he could get from his kind nurse.
"Is the Bo's'n mad?" asked Cynthia of me. I had gone to get them both some water, and was returning along the esplanade when I saw this motion of the Bo's'n.
"Yes, on a certain subject," said I, and I laid my finger on the magic symbol, which I saw dangling from the opening at the throat of her dress. It was hanging upon the baby chain in company again with my portrait. But the eyes, those wondrous orbs of flame, were gone! It was upon that eyeless bit of mystery that you cut your teeth, Adoniah, and all of your children after you.
"I found it," said Cynthia, "when I went back to the mahogany tree that evening. It was lying in the gravel. My foot struck something, and I stooped to pick it up, and found that it was that serpent ring."
"That ring has had a strange history," said I. "Hide it now, or the Bo's'n will let you do nothing for him."