That night I was again awakened.And running into the gallery, I heard quick footsteps in the garden.Then there was a lantern's flash, a smothered oath, and all was dark again.But in the flash I had seen distinctly three figures.One was Breed, and he held the lantern; another was the master; and the third, a stout one muffled in a cloak, I made no doubt was my jolly friend.I lay long awake, with a boy's curiosity, until presently the dawn broke, and I arose and dressed, and began to wander about the house.No Breed was sweeping the gallery, nor was there any sign of the master.The house was as still as a tomb, and the echoes of my footsteps rolled through the halls and chambers.At last, prompted by curiosity and fear, I sought the kitchen, where I had often sat with Breed as he cooked the master's dinner.This was at the bottom and end of the house.The great fire there was cold, and the pots and pans hung neatly on their hooks, untouched that day.I was running through the wet garden, glad to be out in the light, when a sound stopped me.
It was a dull roar from the direction of the bay.Almost instantly came another, and another, and then several broke together.And I knew that the battle had begun.
Forgetting for the moment my loneliness, I ran into the house and up the stairs two at a time, and up the ladder into the cupola, where I flung open the casement and leaned out.
There was the battle indeed,--a sight so vivid to me after all these years that I can call it again before me when I will.The toy men-o'-war, with sails set, ranging in front of the fort.They looked at my distance to be pressed against it.White puffs, like cotton balls, would dart one after another from a ship's side, melt into a cloud, float over her spars, and hide her from my view.And then presently the roar would reach me, and answering puffs along the line of the fort.And I could see the mortar shells go up and up, leaving a scorched trail behind, curve in a great circle, and fall upon the little garrison.Mister Moultrie became a real person to me then, a vivid picture in my boyish mind--a hero beyond all other heroes.
As the sun got up in the heavens and the wind fell, the cupola became a bake-oven.But I scarcely felt the heat.
My whole soul was out in the bay, pent up with the men in the fort.How long could they hold out? Why were they not all killed by the shot that fell like hail among them?
Yet puff after puff sprang from their guns, and the sound of it was like a storm coming nearer in the heat.But at noon it seemed to me as though some of the ships were sailing.It was true.Slowly they drew away from the others, and presently I thought they had stopped again.
Surely two of them were stuck together, then three were fast on a shoal.Boats, like black bugs in the water, came and went between them and the others.After a long time the two that were together got apart and away.But the third stayed there, immovable, helpless.
Throughout the afternoon the fight, kept on, the little black boats coming and going.I saw a mast totter and fall on one of the ships.I saw the flag shot away from the fort, and reappear again.But now the puffs came from her walls slowly and more slowly, so that my heart sank with the setting sun.And presently it grew too dark to see aught save the red flashes.Slowly, reluctantly, the noise died down until at last a great silence reigned, broken only now and again by voices in the streets below me.It was not until then that I realized that I had been all day without food--that I was alone in the dark of a great house.
I had never known fear in the woods at night.But now I trembled as I felt my way down the ladder, and groped and stumbled through the black attic for the stairs.
Every noise I made seemed louder an hundred fold than the battle had been, and when I barked my shins, the pain was sharper than a knife.Below, on the big stairway, the echo of my footsteps sounded again from the empty rooms, so that I was taken with a panic and fled downward, sliding and falling, until I reached the hall.
Frantically as I tried, I could not unfasten the bolts on the front door.And so, running into the drawing-room, Ipried open the window, and sat me down in the embrasure to think, and to try to quiet the thumpings of my heart.
By degrees I succeeded.The still air of the night and the heavy, damp odors of the foliage helped me.And Itried to think what was right for me to do.I had promised the master not to leave the place, and that promise seemed in pledge to my father.Surely the master would come back--or Breed.They would not leave me here alone without food much longer.Although I was young, I was brought up to responsibility.And I inherited a conscience that has since given me much trouble.
From these thoughts, trying enough for a starved lad, I fell to thinking of my father on the frontier fighting the Cherokees.And so I dozed away to dream of him.
I remember that he was skinning Cameron,--I had often pictured it,--and Cameron yelling, when I was awakened with a shock by a great noise.
I listened with my heart in my throat.The noise seemed to come from the hall,--a prodigious pounding.
Presently it stopped, and a man's voice cried out:--``Ho there, within!''
My first impulse was to answer.But fear kept me still.
``Batter down the door,'' some one shouted.
There was a sound of shuffling in the portico, and the same voice:--``Now then, all together, lads!''
