Aesthetical Essays of Frederich Schiller | Page 3

Then taking our rifles, with a supply of ammunition, and some food in our wallets, we again set off, Yearsley leading the way.
"We next descended the hill, concealing ourselves as much as possible among the rocks and shrubs until we gained the plain. Although Simon moved at a rapid rate, there was nothing frantic in his gestures. He had made up his mind, should he find his loved ones destroyed, to follow the murderers with deadly vengeance, utterly regardless of the consequences to himself. As none of the intervening country had been cleared except a straight road through the forest, where the trees had been felled, and the stumps grubbed up here and there to allow of a waggon passing between the remainder, we were able to conceal ourselves until we got close to the settlement.
"We now saw that, though the greater number were in flames, two or three huts on one side remained uninjured. Still, not a sound reached us,-- neither the cries of the inhabitants nor the shouts of the savages. Nothing was heard save the sharp crackling of the flames.
"`The Indians have retreated, and the settlers are following. We shall be in time to join them!' exclaimed Yearsley, dashing forward. `But we must first search for any who have survived.' His previous calmness disappeared as he spoke, and he rushed, through the burning huts, towards one of the buildings.
"Stephen and I were about to follow, when we heard a cry proceeding from one of the huts at hand, which, though the doorway was charred and the burning embers lay around it, had as yet escaped destruction. Hurrying in, I stumbled over the corpse of a man. His rifle lay on the ground, while his hand grasped an axe, the blade covered with gore. I gazed on his face, and recognised, after a moment's scrutiny, my own brother-in-law. He had fallen while defending his hearth and home. Close to him lay a young boy, who, I guessed, was his eldest child, shot through the head.
"My poor sister! where could she be?
"Again a cry reached my ear. It came from an inner room. It was Martha, your mother, who had uttered the cry. She was stretched on the ground, holding you in her arms. Her neck was fearfully wounded, her life-blood ebbing fast away.
"I endeavoured to stanch it, telling her meanwhile who I was.
"`Stephen and I have come at your invitation,' I said.
"`Heaven, rather, has sent you, to protect my Roger,' she faintly gasped out, trying to put you in my arms. `His father and brother are dead; I saw them fall. Hearing voices which I knew to be those of white men, I cried out, that they might come and protect him. Mark! I am dying. You will ever be a father to him?'
"The blood continued to flow; and soon she breathed her last, her head resting on my arm. Your dress and little hands were stained with her blood; but you were too young to understand clearly what had happened, although, as I took you up to carry you from the hut, you cried out lustily to be taken back to your poor mother.
"Thinking it possible that the Indians might return, I hurried out to look for Stephen, so that we might make our escape. I was resolved at all costs to save your life. I tried to comfort you, at the same time, by telling you that I was your uncle, and that your mother had wished me to take care of you.
"Going on a little way, I found another hut, the door of which was open, and smoke coming out of it. The savages had thrown in their firebrands as they quitted the village, and the front part was already on fire.
"While I was shouting for Stephen he rushed out of the hut, with a blanket rolled up in his arms, the end thrown over his own head.
"`I have saved this child, and thank Heaven you are here to take her!' he exclaimed, unfolding the blanket, and putting a little girl into my arms. `I must try and preserve the mother;' and again throwing the blanket over his head, he dashed in through the flames.
"In another minute he reappeared, struggling along under the heavy burden of a grown-up person wrapped in the blanket. As he reached me he sank down, overcome by the smoke, and I noticed that his clothes and hair were singed.
"On opening the blanket I saw a young woman, her dress partly burned. She too was wounded. The fresh air somewhat revived her; and on opening her eyes and seeing the little girl, she stretched out her arms for her. `Lilias! my little Lily! she's saved,' she whispered, as she pressed her lips to the child's brow. `May Heaven reward you!'
"It was