Emulous not to be outdone, our own party now set up a horrid alarm of "Fire!" accompanied with screams and yells that might have roused the dead, and ran to the mansion door, as if to demand assistance of their master. Never shall I forget the scene that ensued. I stood rooted to the ground, not twenty steps from the house, when the door was thrown open, and my master rushed out, followed by Andrews and the overseer. They had scarce put foot on the porch before six or seven guns, being all that the conspirators could muster, and which the owners held in readiness, were discharged at them, and then they were set upon by others with the spears. The light of the fire illuminated the porch, so that objects were plainly distinguishable; yet so violent was the rush of assailants, so wild the tumult, so brief the contest, that I can scarce say I really witnessed the particulars of the tragedy. I beheld, indeed, my master's gray hairs, for he was of towering stature, floating an instant over the heads of the assailants; but the next moment they had vanished; and I saw but a single white man struggling in the hall against a mass of foes, and crying out to Miss Isabella by name, "to escape with the children." Vain counsel, vain sacrifice of safety to humanity; the faithful overseer (for it was he who made this heroic effort to save his master's children, his master and young Andrews lying dead or mortally wounded on the porch) was cut down on the spot, and the shrieks of the children as they fled, some into the open air by a back door, and others to the upper chambers, and the savage yells of triumph with which they were pursued, told how vainly he had devoted himself to save them. 14. CHAPTER XIV. THE TRAGICAL OCCURRENCES THAT FOLLOWED. While I stood thus observing the horrors I had been instrumental in provoking, as incapable of putting a stop to as of assisting in them, I saw two of the children, little Tommy and his youngest sister, Lucy, a girl of seven or eight years, running wildly over the lawn, several of my ruffian companions pursuing them. The girl was snatched up by old aunt Phoebe, who, with other women, had come among us, wringing her hands, and beseeching us not to kill their young misses, and was thus saved. As for the boy, he caught sight of me, and sprang into my arms, entreating me "not to let them kill him, and he would never hurt me again in all his life, and would give me all his money."