"Ah! you do not pray, as I have seen some do! Now, there come the
Ironsides," he added, as those grave soldiers drew up on a projection of
the opposite cliff, which, though lower than the ruined Gull's Nest,
commanded a view of the cavern and its sole inmate; "there they come,
and just in time to see your departure for your father the devil's land.
You don't even die game! What an end one of those Ingy chiefs would ha'
made of it on such a funeral pile; but some people have no feeling--no
pride--no care for what looks well!"
At that instant the Preacher Fleetword, who had accompanied the troops,
stood a little in advance of the Protector himself. Cromwell had a
curiosity to inspect the resort of the Buccaneers; and, perfectly
unconscious of Sir Willmott's escape, was petrified with horror and
astonishment on seeing him under such appalling circumstances; the
tumbling crags--the blazing fire--the dense smoke mounting like pillars
of blackness into the clear and happy morning sky--and, above all, the
agonised scorching figure of the wretched knight, writhing in the last
throes of mortal agony!
"The Lord have mercy on his soul!" exclaimed Fleetword: "Pray, pray!" he
continued, elevating his voice, and hoping, with a kindliness of feeling
which Sir Willmott had little right to expect, that he might be
instrumental in directing the wretched man's attention to a future
state. "Pray! death is before you, and you cannot wrestle with it! Pray!
even at the eleventh hour! Pray!--and we will pray with you!"
The Preacher uncovered: the Protector and his soldiers stood also
bareheaded on the cliff. But not upon the prayers of brave and honest
soldiers was the spirit of active villany and cowardly vice to ascend to
the judgment seat of the Almighty--before one word of supplication was
spoken, a column of flame enwreathed the remaining portion of the crag:
it was of such exceeding brightness that the soldiers blinked thereat;
and, when its glare was past, they looked upon a smouldering heap at the
foot of the cliffs: it was the only monument of "The Gull's Nest Crag;"
and the half-consumed body of Sir Willmott Burrell was crushed beneath
it.
While the attention of Cromwell and his friends was fixed upon the
desperate end of the miserable man, Roupall was crawling under a ledge
of black rock, that stretched to a considerable distance into the sea,
where he calculated on remaining safe until high tide drove him to
another burrow. Not so Springall: the moment he saw the Protector on the
cliff, he appeared to have forgotten every thing connected with disguise
or flight; he no longer sought concealment, but hastened to present
himself in front of the soldiers, who still remained uncovered,
expecting, doubtless, that such an event would be followed by exposition
or prayer.