57. LVII.
THE CONFLAGRATION.
WE might pause here to note the strange and moving
attitudes which some of the personages of
our narrative sustained toward each other. We
might exhibit the good Earl in the presence of
his son, listening with smiles as the young man talks:—or
returning to the day when Falconbridge visited the Fort
Mountain, we might dwell on the secret attraction which he
felt toward his little cousin, and the sympathetic affection of
child in return.
We might dedicate some pages to this series of reflections,
but it is not necessary. It is well that such is the fact.
Our narrative is not ended. It must depict more than one
additional scene of passion before it concludes. The hours
are even now descending upon the actors in the valley and
the mountain, at the Ordinary, and Greenway.
For a long time the occupants of the old border mansion
continued to converse upon a variety of topics. Falconbridge
was gloomy and the victim evidently of an incurable
sadness—but he no longer cherished any ill-will toward the
Earl. It is true, he still wondered at the scene in the Fort,
and vainly racked his brain to account for the action of
Lord Fairfax: but a more absorbing thought filled his agitated
mind; the terrible secret which had been revealed to
him by Mr. Argal.
He looked older. His countenance, which before had
been the model of youthful beauty, began to shrink away, and
present the traits of age. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes
dim—his lips were filled with inexpressible sorrow; or wore
a smile of such sadness that the Earl was moved almost to
tears as he gazed.
As the hours drew on, however, something of this gloom
disappeared. Captain Wagner directed the conversation
toward the events of the morrow—the march on the Indians
—the fated struggle. Then Falconbridge aroused himself.
His eyes glowed, his cheek flushed—when the soldier drew
a picture of the murdered women and children, the face of
the young man became menacing and dark—the war fever
began to replace the sombre brooding.
George never moved his eyes for a moment from Falconbridge.
The youth seemed to be drawn to him by an irresistible
attraction. The manly eyes of the boy uttered plainly
the emotions of his heart—the deep affection which he felt
toward the other. Indeed, this feeling amounted to a passion
almost; and if, amid the advancing scenes of our narrative,
we have not paused to dwell upon this beautiful friendship,
it was not because it did not possess all the elements
of an exquisite picture. From the first day of their meeting,
these two natures had embraced each other. Heart spoke
to heart, with the frankness and sincerity which spring from
nobility of soul. With the elder it was a sentiment of affection,
almost tenderness—with George not only that: he
looked up to his friend as to one who should be taken as a
model—as to his superior, and bright exemplar in all
things.
Long afterwards, when a new world had risen from the
ruins of the old—when a long stormy life had thrown the
youth into contact with all varieties of excellence and nobility
and moral grandeur—when, a gray-haired man, George
returned to this region—he gazed on the scenes amid which
his friend had once moved; and said with a sigh, which
sounded strangely from him, “There never was another human
being like him!”
So the long hours fled away into the darkness of the
past—and at night the occupants at Greenway retired. It
was the last time they ever met, all together in the old apartment.
In an hour they were slumbering quietly—but they were
destined to be awakened.
Falconbridge was sleeping as tranquilly as an infant, when
suddenly he felt a violent grasp on his arm, and the voice of
Captain Wagner thundered:
“Wake, comrade! They're on us at last!”
The young man sprang from his couch and rapidly
dressed himself without speaking. George, who slept in
the same room, did the same.
“They're on us, or the devil fly away with it!” cried the
Captain; “come, hurry! His lordship's waiting by this
time. I sent the messenger to his room!”
“The messenger?” asked Falconbridge, coolly.
“Yes! Just look out and you'll see what news he
brought!'
As he spoke, the Captain raised the curtain of the window
and pointed to the west. Above the belt of forest soared a
tongue of flame, and the country was illuminated for miles
by a great conflagration.
“The Ordinary!” said George.
“Yes, the Ordinary! By the horns of the devil! You
are right! Come, friends! There's not a moment to lose!”
And the Captain hurried down to the large apartment
where, while sleeping as his wont was on one of the couches,
the messenger from the tavern had aroused him.
Lord Fairfax was already dressed, and speaking rapidly
to the man who had brought the intelligence. George and
Falconbridge entered, as he was doing so.
The news was quickly communicated to all. The band of
Indians who had made a feint of directing their march toward
the Potomac, did so only to mask their real plan.
They had turned back suddenly and descended upon Winchester,
and the Greenway Court manor, burning and murdering
as they went. They had come thus, duly to the
neighborhood of the Ordinary, and at once proceeded to
attack that mansion. The occupants could make little or no
resistance—the savages had taken the place and set it on
fire an hour before. The fat landlord, Van Doring, had
been killed on his threshold—every servant but the one who
related these events had fallen victims to the assailants;
and the savages had finally hastened away, in a southern
direction, carrying with them as prisoners, Mrs. Butterton,
Monsieur Jambot and Major Hastyluck, who had slept at
the tavern—as beasts of burden to bear the plunder on
their shoulders.
The Captain bounded again as he heard this, and growled
rather than said:
“To horse!”
With which words he rushed from the apartment. In ten
minutes every one was mounted, and a hurried consultation
was held as to the propriety of leaving Greenway undefended.
“They're gone southwest! I know'em,” growled Captain
Wagner; “the attack on us here would have been made
before this if they had not been afraid that the house was
regularly garrisoned!”
The servant who had brought the intelligence corroborated
this view, and stated that he had heard the Indians discuss,
in broken English, the question of attacking Greenway.
They had given up the idea, upon the identical
grounds mentioned by the Captain—and had hastened toward
the south, leaving him tied in the burning house, from
which he had managed, however, to escape.
This settled all doubt: and in a moment the four men
were spurring rapidly to the scene of the catastrophe.
A horrible spectacle awaited them. The mansion was
wrapt in flames, and in front were lying no less than six
dead bodies, among whom was seen the portly form of
Mynheer Van Doring, scalped and bleeding from many
mortal wounds. A sight if anything more terrible was pre
sented a few paces off. Several infant children, belonging
to the dead servants of the establishment, were hanging in
trees, transfixed with arrows. The Indians had evidently
perpetrated this shocking tragedy in sport; and while the
Earl and his companions were gazing at the contorted
forms, another barbarity still was revealed. The stable of
the Ordinary was burning like the mansion, and the cries of
some cattle and sheep which were shut in, made the night
hideous to the listeners.
[1]
The first act of the party was to drag the dead bodies
out of the flames, and liberate the cattle which went bellowing
with terror into the forest. Then the Captain leaped
into the saddle and cast a rapid glance around him. A
number of settlers, for the most part hunters, had assembled,
attracted from their homes by the flames of the burning
mansion. To these the Borderer, who seemed on fire
with rage, addressed himself in quick, brief words. His
directions were succinct and simple. They were to disperse
in all quarters and arouse the inhabitants—the men would
meet at the “Three Oaks,” near the house of Mr. Argal—
a point in the prairie which every settler was acquainted
with. He himself would spend the night in scouring the
country. The various parties would assemble at daybreak,
or sunrise at the latest.
These directions were rapidly obeyed. The hunters dispersed
and hurried away, disappearing with long strides in
the gathering darkness.
“Now friends!” said Captain Wagner to the Earl and his
companions, “let every man imitate me. There's no time
for ceremony! I could bite off my head for this hoggish
stupidity of mine! I trusted that fellow who brought me
the news that the band had gone back, and would slay him
where he stood if he were here! To work! I will go and
bring the boys from Winchester, where they were to assemble
to-day—for days coming. Go arm, gentlemen! arm;
this is only the beginning of the sight you're going to see!”
And saluting, the Borderer put spur to his huge animal,
and took the road to Winchester at a thundering gallop.
“I will return to Greenway Court, gentlemen,” said the
Earl, with his old grim expression, “I will send all my servants
in every direction—and then join you at the `Three
Oaks' at daybreak.”
With these words he left the room and soon disappeared
like the Captain, at a rapid gallop.
George and Falconbridge looked at each other. The
same thought had occurred to them at the same instant.
The Indians had gone southward—in the direction of Mr.
Argal's—in the direction of the Fort Mountain!
No word was uttered: a simultaneous movement of the
head—the spur in the sides of the horses—and they separated
and were lost in the darkness.
