It was not burning, but shutters hung from their hinges, window glass was shattered, doors smashed in, and all over the trampled garden and lawn lay a débris of broken furniture, tattered books, bedding, fragments of fine china and torn garments.
And there, face downward on the bloody grass, lay old Douw Fonda, his aged skull split to the backbone, his scalp gone.
Such a sick horror seized me that I reeled in my saddle and the world grew dark before my eyes for a moment.
But my mind cleared again and my eyes, also; and I sat my horse, pistol in hand, searching the desolation about me for a sign of aught that remained alive in this awful spot.
I heard no more gun-shots up the river. The silence was terrible.
At length, ill with fear, I got out of my saddle and led Kaya to the shattered gate and there tied her.
Then I entered that ruined mansion to search it for what I feared most horribly to discover,—searched every room, every closet, every corner from attic to cellar. And then came out and took my horse by the bridle.
For there was nobody within the house, living or dead—no sign of death anywhere save there on the grass, where that poor corpse lay, a grotesque thing sprawling indecently in its blood.
Then, as I stood there, a man appeared, slinking up the road. He was in his shirt sleeves, wore no hat, and his face and hair were streaked red from a wet wound over his left ear. He carried a fire-lock; and when he discovered me in my Continental uniform he swerved and shuffled toward me, making a hopeless gesture as he came on.
"They've all gone off," he called out to me, "green-coats, red-coats and savages. I saw them an hour since crossing the river some three miles above. God! What a harm have they done us here on this accursed day!"