Still there was something portentous in the death-like
silence with which the victims within the block awaited their fate. The
whole exterior of the building was already wrapped in flames, and yet no
show of further resistance, no petition for mercy, issued from its bosom.
The unnatural and frightful stillness, that reigned within, was gradually
communicated to those without. The cries and shouts of triumph ceased, and
the crackling of the flames, or the falling of timber in the adjoining
buildings, alone disturbed the awful calm. At length a solitary voice was
heard in the block. Its tones were deep, solemn, and imploring. The fierce
beings who surrounded the glowing pile bent forward to listen, for their
quick faculties caught the first sounds that were audible. It was Mark
Heathcote pouring out his spirit in prayer. The petition was fervent, but
steady, and though uttered in words that were unintelligible to those
without, they knew enough of the practices of the Colonists, to be aware
that it was the chief of the Pale-faces holding communion with his God.
Pages:
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345