Hector's eyes
had followed the flight of a large eagle that now, turning from the lake,
soared away majestically towards the east or Oak-hills. But soon his
eye was attracted to another object. The loftiest part of the ridge was
enveloped in smoke. At first he thought it must be some mist-wreath
hovering over its brow; but soon the dense rolling clouds rapidly spread
on each side, and he felt certain that it was from fire, and nothing but
fire,[Footnote: Appendix I.] that those dark volumes arose.
"Louis, look yonder! the hills to the east are on fire."
"On fire, Hector? you are dreaming!"
"Nay, but look there!"
The hills were now shrouded in one dense, rolling, cloud; it moved on with
fearful rapidity down the shrubby side of the hill, supplied by the dry,
withered foliage and deer-grass, which was like stubble to the flames.
"It is two miles off, or more," said Louis; "and the creek will stop its
progress long before it comes near us--and the swamp there, beyond Bare
Hill."
"The cedars are as dry as tinder; and as to the creek, it is so narrow, a
burning tree falling across would convey the fire to this side; besides,
when the wind rises, as it always does when the bush is on fire, you know
how far the burning leaves will fly.
Pages:
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279