The Buccaneer - A Tale

The young man, whose locks were then light as the golden beams of the

sun, and whose step was as free as that of the mountain roe, lived to be

very old, and his hair grew white, and his free step crippled, before

death claimed his subject; he was moreover one acquainted in after years

with much strife and toil, and earned honour, and wealth, and

distinction; but often has he declared that never had he witnessed any

thing which so appalled his soul as the sight he beheld on that

remembered morning. He seized Roupall's arm with convulsive energy, and

dragged him forward, heedless of the storm of clay and stones that was

still pelting around them. Wherever the train had fired, the crag had

been thrown out; and as there were but few combustibles within its

holes, and the gay sunlight had shorn the flames of their brightness,

the objects that struck the gaze of the lookers on were the dark hollows

vomiting forth columns of black and noisome smoke, streaked with a murky

red.

As the fire made its way according to the direction of the meandering

powder, which Dalton himself had laid in case of surprise, the earth

above reeled, and shook, and sent forth groans, like those of troubled

nature when a rude earthquake bursts asunder what the Almighty united

with such matchless skill. The lower train that Springall fired had cast

forth, amongst rocks and stones, the mass of clay in which was the

loophole through which Fleetword had looked out upon the wide sea.

Within the chasm thus created was the figure of a living man. He stood

there with uplifted hands, lacking courage to advance; for beneath, the

wreathed smoke and dim hot fume of the consuming fire told him of

certain death; unable to retreat,--for the insidious flame had already

destroyed the door which Roupall had failed to move, and danced, like a

fiend at play with destruction, from rafter to rafter, and beam to beam,

of the devoted place.

"Ha!" exclaimed the reckless rover, with a calmness which at the moment

made his young companion upbraid him as the most merciless of human

kind; "ha! I wonder how he got there? I heard that some how or other he

was in limbo at Cecil Place; he wanted to make an escape, I suppose, and

so took to the old earth. Ay, ay! look your last on the bright sun,

that's laughing at man and man's doings--you'll never mount to where it

shines, I trow."

Sir Willmott Burrell--for Roupall had not been deceived either as to the

identity of the person, or the motive which led him to seek refuge in

the Gull's Nest--had effected an almost miraculous escape, considering

how closely he was guarded, a few hours before, and secreted himself in

the very chamber where he had left poor Fleetword to starvation, little

imagining that he was standing on the threshold of retributive justice.

He had caught at flight, even so far, as a sort of reprieve; and was

forming plans of future villany at the very moment the train was fired.

God have mercy on all sinners! it is fearful to be cut off without time

for repentance. Sir Willmott had none. In the flower of manhood, with a

vigorous body and a skilful mind, he had delighted in evil, and panted

for the destruction of his fellows. His face, upon which the glare of

the garish fire danced in derision of his agony, was distorted, and

terrible to look upon: brief as was the space allotted to him, each

moment seemed a year of torture. As the flames rose and encircled their

victim, his cries were so dreadful, that Springall pressed his hands to

his ears, and buried his face in the sand; but Roupall looked on to the

last, thinking aloud his own rude but energetic thoughts.