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Crown and Sceptre: A West Country Story, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 38. "Is There Nothing We Can Save?" |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. "IS THERE NOTHING WE CAN SAVE?" It was too true. Whether started by some smouldering wad, or by a piece of furniture being driven into one of the fire-places, or, as was more probable, by the wilful act of one of the Royalist party, who was determined that the victors should not profit by their success, the Hall was on fire, and the smoke, which rapidly increased in volume, showed that the danger must be great. "Don't run quite so fast, Master Fred," panted Samson. "You can't keep up at that pace. Better take it a bit more coolly." There was wisdom in the hurried words, and Fred slackened his speed a little, so as to allow his follower to come alongside; and in this way, taking in the whole proceedings as they ran, they continued their course down the park slope, toward the lake. There before them in the evening glow was the fine old house, with the dense cloud of smoke slowly rising, and shouts reached them as men were seen running to and fro in obedience to the orders, but what those orders were it was impossible to tell. In front of the building a strong body of the general's men was drawn up, and in their midst the prisoners stood in a knot, while from time to time horsemen came slowly in, leading other prisoners, who had evidently been captured in efforts to escape. But though Fred strained his eyes eagerly, the distance kept him from recognising any familiar faces, and a terrible sense of heart-sinking increased as he hurried on. All at once the thundering of horses' hoofs was heard behind, and a familiar voice shouted Fred's name. He turned to see that it was his father, who slightly checked his powerful horse as he came up. "Quick! you two," he cried; "lay hold of the mane, and run." Fred grasped the idea in an instant, seized the horse's thick mane, and dropped into step as the sturdy beast trotted on. But the mane was all on Fred's side, and Samson missed his opportunity, but as the horse passed on, he made a snatch at the tail, twisted his hand in the thick hair, was nearly jerked off his feet, but recovered himself, and held on, improving his position by degrees, and contriving to keep up. "They must have done this themselves, Fred," said Colonel Forrester, in a deeply troubled voice. "Hah! that's right. We must save the place." "What are they doing, father?" "Our men are joining line toward the stable yard, and getting buckets, I think. Hold on tightly." "I'm quite right, father," panted Fred; and he kept up till they reached the men who surrounded the prisoners, and who burst into a cheer as the colonel came up. Fred's position prevented him from seeing exactly who were numbered among the prisoners, and at that moment the general drew rein at their side. "You shouldn't have let them fire the place, Hedley," said Colonel Forrester, in a voice full of reproach. "It was not our doing, man. Some of their own party started it. There was a fire in the big dining-room. Hangings, chairs, and linen were thrown upon it. The fire blazed up the oak panellings, and the open windows fanned the draft." "We must save it. Come on." "We are doing everything possible, man; but the water is in a well, and what can we do with three or four buckets?" "Give me a score of men to try and tear down the burning part," cried Colonel Forrester, who had leaped from his horse, and thrown the reins to the nearest soldier. "Here, quick! fifty of you come on." He was close up to the porch, from which the men were tearing down the barricade, but the general was bending over him directly. "Look at me, Forrester," he said. The latter gazed up at him sharply, to see that his face was blackened with smoke, and the general's lips parted to speak. "I stayed in yonder till I was driven out by the fire. It is not safe to go." "But we must save the place," cried the colonel; and he dashed through the opening the men had made, followed by Fred and Samson, a dozen more, including the general, influenced by his friend's example, rushing after them. They reached the Hall, but only to find that the flames were literally rushing out of the great dining-room door, on the one side, and running up the panelled walls, setting the beautiful ceiling ablaze, while from the library, on the other, there was a furnace-like roar, as the flames literally charged up the oaken staircase, whose balusters were already glowing, and the gallery and corridor were fast flaring up as the fire licked and darted and played about. "You see," said the general, as he seized the colonel's arm again, "if we had ample water and the proper means, we could do nothing." Colonel Forrester groaned as he saw the fire darting up the panels, the carved beams of fine old oak already well alight, and the various familiar objects falling victims to the flames. Even as he gazed, with the cool air of evening rushing in behind them through the porch, and wafting the clouds of smoke upward to pass rapidly along the corridor as if it were some large horizontal chimney, he saw the canvases of the old family paintings heave and crumple up, while the faces of Sir Godfrey's ancestors seemed to Fred to be gazing fiercely through the lurid light, and reproaching him for helping to desolate their home. Frames, panelling, the oaken gallery rails, blazed up as if they had been of resin in the tremendous heat; the stained-glass in the various windows crackled, flew, and fell tinkling down. "Well," said the general, quietly, "you see, the place was fired in two places. We can do nothing?" "No," groaned Colonel Forrester, as he looked wildly round. Then, in a despairing tone, as he gripped his son's arm, "Fred, is there nothing we can save?" As he spoke, a great burning fragment of the gallery balustrade fell with a crash on to the oaken floor, the embers scattering in all directions, the gallery floor rose in the intense heat, as if a wave were passing through it, and as all backed involuntarily toward the door, one of the suits of armour fell forward with a crash. "It would be utter madness," said General Hedley. "At least here. We could not have stayed a minute but for the cool air rushing in behind. If you wish to try and save anything, we must break in through the windows from outside." The argument was unanswerable; and after a last wild gaze round, the little party gave way step by step, and were literally driven out by the tremendous heat, Fred's last look back being at the splendid staircase, now one raging mass of fire, which was spreading upward with terrific speed. As they stood outside once more, the dense clouds of smoke were pouring through the upper windows, and directly after, from the broad casement above the porch, where Fred had held converse with the Cavaliers in his character of ambassador, a great billowy wave of lurid smoky flame lapped and flapped like a fiery banner, and then floated upward into the soft cool air. The afternoon had been calm and windless, but now it seemed as if a sharp breeze was setting in toward the doomed house, fanning the flames and making them roar, while overhead, and rapidly increasing in volume, floated a huge cloud of smoke, spreading and spreading till it resembled the head of a gigantic tree, whose black and purply grey foliage brightened from time to time with a lurid glow. But by this time axes were at work breaking down the stout boarding from the wide drawing-room window to the right of the porch. This great wide window had been completely covered, as a means of defence, save that here and there slits had been left to enable the defenders to fire on their enemies. So stoutly was this work done with boards torn from stabling and barn at the back of the house, that it took some time to clear an opening and dash in a portion of the casement, and the fire had been gaining strength so potent, that as the first casement was driven in a volume of hot stifling smoke shot out, was apparently driven in by the air which rushed toward the house, there was a dull report, and the interior, that had been black the moment before, suddenly glowed with dull red, which was brightened by flashes. Colonel Forrester was checked for the moment, as he tried to climb in, but calling on Samson and his son to follow, he rushed on. Samson was second, and Fred had reached the sill, when there was a bright flame, which illumined the smoke-filled room, and he uttered a cry for help, and hesitated, for he had caught a glimpse of those who had preceded him lying prone upon the floor. The help was quickly rendered, a dozen stalwart troopers dashing in, half to come struggling out choking and blinded. What followed, Fred hardly recalled. He knew that he had leaped down to try and drag his father out, when something seemed to seize him by the throat, a terrible dizziness robbed him of sense, and the next thing he comprehended was that he was lying on the grass, with a man bathing his face, and that for a few minutes he could not speak or make out what it all meant. "Better, my lad?" said a well-known voice; and he recognised the face of the general bent down over him, and saw that the morion he wore gleamed in the bright light cast upon it. "My father!" cried Fred, as his understanding grew more clear. "Safe. He has just recovered a little. Your servant, too. Yes; here he is." "Fred, my boy," said a husky voice. "Thank Heaven! he is safe." "Safe? Yes, father; only a little giddy. You have escaped?" "Yes; they dragged us out in time. Look at the poor Hall." Fred turned to see that from half the windows the flames were rushing out with a fearful violence, the centre of the old building being now a glowing furnace, whose flames fluttered and roared and leaped, while the wings were rapidly being eaten into by the flames. "And we can save nothing, Hedley," said the colonel, sadly. "Yes, sir, our lives. We can do no more. Pretty well that we got you out, and that the prisoners left the place." Fred had risen, and was standing by the general's side, looking at him wildly. "Well?" said the latter. "What are you thinking?" "The wounded, sir--the dead?" said Fred, huskily. "There were no dead. The wounded were all brought out, I feel sure. My boy, we have done our best. Forrester, are you well enough to move?" "Yes; better now." "You see the place is doomed. It is a sad affair; but we are guiltless. I will place the prisoners in your hands. See that they are courteously treated, and send them off under the escort of a troop to Barnstaple--at once. You can go and help." This last was to Fred, who accepted the duty eagerly, and the next minute he was making his way with his father in the direction of the knot of prisoners, whose armour shone in the light of the glowing pile. _ |
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