THE BURNING PRISON.
“The doomed girl is silent,
I watch with her now,
And her pulse beats no quicker,
Nor flushes her brow.
“The small hand that trembled,
When last in my own,
Lies patient and folded
And colder than stone.”
Malcolm paced up and down before the prison walls. The sky was “blind
with a double dark” of night and clouds. The huge building itself seemed
only a blacker shadow in the black scene. But not darker was the night
without than the soul within the solitary watcher. Why did he walk
there? Not only because he had promised Annella to do so. Not, either,
with the faintest hope of saving the martyr-girl who lay within those
strong walls awaiting her doom. No; but to be near her in her sorrow, to
watch with her as we watch beside the dead. Who can estimate the anguish
of that dark vigil? The deep-voiced clock at the top of one of the
towers struck each hour in its turn, and each stroke sounded like a
knell upon his ear and heart. He wondered if she heard them too, or if
Heaven had blessed her with sleep in these last hours. If so, would to
Heaven she might never wake to the horrors of the morning.
While these agonizing thoughts were lacerating his bosom, he raised his
eyes towards the east wing of the building, in which she lay, and he was
startled to see the gratings strongly defined against a bright, ruddy
light shining within!
What was the matter that the deadly darkness of this massive structure,
which an instant before had seemed but a shapeless mass of shadows piled
up against the midnight sky, should now be illumined so ominously? Was
she ill? dying? Heaven, in its mercy, grant that she might be!
But while he gazed with suspended breath, the lighted row of gratings
suddenly darkened, and belched forth volumes of lurid smoke, pierced by
tongues of flame!
THE PRISON WAS ON FIRE!
“Oh, Heaven! she might escape her impending doom, but only perishing by
the most fearful of deaths!—perishing by fire with hundreds of others!”
He rushed to the gate, seized the iron handle of the bell that
communicated with the door-keeper’s room, and rang it loudly.
Another moment, and the great bell of the prison sounded from the tower,
rousing by its deep-toned thunder all the sleepers of the neighborhood,
while cries of “Fire! fire! fire!” burst in every tone of terror,
anguish, and despair from the inmates of the burning building.
Still but another instant, and crowds of half-dressed men and even
women, who seemed to have started up from the depths of the earth in the
darkness of the night, came pouring towards the building. The great
gates were opened—when, how, or by whom Malcolm scarcely knew.
Bewildered by his trouble, he was carried with the crowd and hurried on
until he found himself in the great hall of the prison.
Within, as without, the most fearful panic prevailed. Warders, turnkeys,
and door-keepers, roused from deep sleep by the horrid alarm of fire,
hurried hither and thither like men bereft of their senses.
In the ward where Eudora’s cell was situated the darkness was intense
and the smoke suffocating. Malcolm, who had hastened thither, could
scarcely breathe the air. While blindly making his way towards her door,
from which he heard the voice of the wardress shrieking “Fire!” and
“Help!” he _felt_ rather than saw two figures meet in the darkness.
“Is that you, Nally?” demanded the voice of the first, which Malcolm
recognized as that of the governor.
“Yes, sir,” replied a husky, smoke-smothered voice.
“Take this key, then, and release the condemned prisoner. Slip these
handcuffs upon her, and hurry her forward to the west-wing strong-room.
Don’t let her escape in this confusion. I must go and look after the
poor wretches above,” said the governor, in an agitated voice, as he
hurried away to the other end of the lobby.
Malcolm groped along, keeping as near as he could to the figure that he
still _felt_ rather than saw moving before him. Screams of “Fire” and
“Help” still came from the condemned cell, which now, like the lobby,
was as dark as pitch. Malcolm came up with the other just at the cell
door. He held his breath with suspense, but the invisible figure beside
him breathed quickly and fiercely as they stood there together.
A panic of astonishment transfixed Malcolm as he felt that hot breath
upon his cheek. An instant, and the cell door was unlocked and thrown
open, and Mrs. Barton, distracted with fright, rushed out past them, to
make good her escape from the burning building. Another instant and the
mysterious figure, who had plunged into the darkness of the cell, issued
forth, and dropped a light, soft burden upon Malcolm’s breast,
whispering fiercely:
“She is saved! Fly for your life and hers; look not behind you!”
Oh, Heaven! it was Annella’s voice! And she had kept her word!
But he felt that there was not an instant to lose. Pressing the light
form of the girl close in his arm, he ran along through the darkness and
the suffocating smoke, through the lobby, and down the stairs, and out
into the free air.
The smoke, the darkness, the crowd, and the panic befriended him. He
passed the bounds of the prison unobserved, and hurried on towards the
thicket where his horse was tied. As he pressed through the dark crowd
without, he heard many remarks.
“The fire broke out in the prison wardrobe-room, where they keep the
clothing,” said one.
“No one knows how it broke out,” said another.
“They have saved all the prisoners, poor wretches!” exclaimed a woman.
“They’ll soon bring the fire under, too,” observed a man.
No one noticed Malcolm hurrying along with his beloved burden enveloped
in a dark shawl. All eyes were fixed on the ignited building, upon the
walls of which the fire-engines, which had now arrived, were playing
freely.
Malcolm reached the thicket in safety. He sat down for a moment to rest
Eudora and uncovered her face to give her air. He thought that she had
swooned, but this was not so. She was pale, and weak, and limber, but
breathing and conscious. She was the first to speak. Raising her eyes to
his, she asked:
“What is all this? What has occurred?”
“You are saved, dearest Eudora!”
“How?”
“I scarcely know myself. Ask no questions yet, dear one, but rally all
your strength to fly with me.”
He placed her gently on a bank, where she could rest against the trunk
of a tree. He led his horse to the spot, stooped and raised her to the
seat before him, and rode slowly and carefully until he was out of the
wood. Then putting spurs to his horse, he galloped swiftly towards the
sea-coast. As his horse rushed onward Malcolm turned to look at the
fire, and was gratified to see that the flames were certainly in process
of extinction. With a lighter heart he galloped along the beach until at
length he reached the cove, where his hired vessel lay at anchor.
Day was now dawning, and by its faint light they discerned the little
boat upon the sands, and the vessel standing off a short distance from
the shore.
Malcolm, leaving the horse to his fate, placed Eudora in the boat,
pushed it off, took up the pair of oars, and rowed rapidly to the
vessel.
The captain was on deck, ready to receive his passengers, whom he had
been led to believe were only a pair of “true lovers” running away to be
married.
“Poor young lady, but she is dreadfully faint,” he said, as he received
Eudora from Malcolm’s arms, and bore her into the cabin, where he laid
her gently upon the berths.
“She is; but rest and safety will restore her. When can you sail?”
“This instant! the tide has turned.”
“UP ANCHOR!” shouted the captain, hurrying upon deck.
The anchor was raised, the canvas was unfurled to the breeze, and the
little vessel sailed away upon the blue sea.