[CHAPTER XIV.]
THE TRAGICAL OCCURRENCES THAT FOLLOWED.
While I stood thus observing the horrors I had been instrumental in provoking, as incapable of putting a stop to as of assisting in them, I saw two of the children, little Tommy and his youngest sister, Lucy, a girl of seven or eight years, running wildly over the lawn, several of my ruffian companions pursuing them. The girl was snatched up by old aunt Phoebe, who, with other women, had come among us, wringing her hands, and beseeching us not to kill their young misses, and was thus saved. As for the boy, he caught sight of me, and sprang into my arms, entreating me "not to let them kill him, and he would never hurt me again in all his life, and would give me all his money."
Poor child! I would have defended him at that moment with my life, for my heart bled for what had already been done; but he was snatched out of my hands, and I saw no more of him. I heard afterward, however, that he was not hurt, having been saved by the women, who had protected in like manner his two little sisters, Jane and Lucy. As for the others, that is, Isabella and Edith, I witnessed their fate with my own eyes; and it was the suddenness and horror of it that, by unmanning me entirely, prevented my giving aid to the boy when he was torn from my arms.
The fire had by this time spread from the timber to an adjacent cabin, and a light equal to that of noon, though red as blood itself, was shed over the whole mansion, on the roof of which was a little cupola, or observatory, open to the weather, where was room for five or six persons to sit together, and enjoy the prospect of the river and surrounding hills; and on either side of this cupola was a platform, though without a balustrade, on which was space for as many more.
The observatory being strongly illuminated by the flames, and my eyes being turned thitherward by a furious yell which was suddenly set up around me, I beheld my master's daughter Isabella rush into it,—that is, into the observatory,—from the staircase below, hotly pursued, as was evident from what followed. She bore in her arms, or rather dragged after her, for the child was in a swoon, her sister Edith, who was but small of stature and light; and as she reached this forlorn place of refuge, she threw down the trapdoor that covered its entrance, and endeavoured to keep it down with her foot. There was something inexpressibly fearful in her appearance, independent of the dreadfulness of her situation, separated only by a narrow plank from ruffians maddened by rage and carnage, from whom death itself was a boon too merciful to be expected, and from whom she was to guard not only herself, but the feeble, unconscious being hanging on her neck. Her hair was all dishevelled, her dress torn and disordered, and her face as white as snow; yet there was a wild energy and fierceness breathing from every feature, and she looked like a lioness defending to the last her young from the hunters, from whom she yet knows there is no escape.
The trapdoor shook under her foot, and was at last thrown violently up; and up, with screams of triumph, darted the infuriated Governor, followed by Jim and others, to grasp their prey. Their prey had fled: without uttering a word or scream, she sprang from the cupola to the platform at its side, and then, with a fearlessness only derived from desperation, and still bearing her insensible sister, she stepped upon the roof, which was high and steep, and ran along it to its extremity.
Even the ferocious Governor was for a moment daunted at the boldness of the act, and afraid to follow; until the parson—well worthy he of the name!—set him the example by leaping on the shingles, and pursuing the unhappy girl to her last refuge. He approached—he stretched forth his arm to seize her; but he was not destined to lay an impure touch on the devoted and heroic creature. I saw her lay her lips once on those of the poor Edith—the next instant the frail figure of the little sister was hurled from her arms, to be dashed to pieces on the stones below. In another, the hapless Isabella herself had followed her, having thrown herself headlong from the height, to escape by death a fate otherwise inevitable.
Of what followed I have but a faint and disordered recollection. I remember that the fall of the two maidens caused loud cries of horror from the men, and of lamentation from the women; and I remember, also, that these were renewed almost immediately after, but mingled with the sound of fire-arms discharged by a party of foes, and the voices of white men (among which I distinguished that of my master's son, the major) calling upon one another to "give no quarter to the miscreants." A party of armed horsemen had in fact ridden among us, and were now dealing death on all hands from pistols and sabres. From one of the latter weapons I myself received a severe cut, and was at the same time struck down by the hoofs of a horse, and left insensible.