Night and the Savages

The hours of waiting dragged terribly. We conversed little, all alike nervous, irritable under the strain of our desperate situation. The Jesuit was much in prayer; but Cairnes fell asleep and twisted about uneasily, his head pillowed on his arm. I could only pace the rock floor, harassed by bitter, useless thoughts. What a memory picture it is!--the great bare cavern, with black interior only partially revealed by the gleam of the altar flame; the old savage huddled in his bonds, his baleful eyes glowing in the firelight as he watched every movement; the slender père close beside him upon his knees, his frayed black gown rendering more conspicuous the rapt, upraised face, his white fingers clasping the crucifix; beyond, Cairnes outstretched on the hard stone, his bulky figure motionless but for nervous twitching, his red hair glaring like a spot of paint. I rejoiced that the fellow slept, for he rasped me with his ceaseless, senseless attacks on the Roman Church. Yet the gentle-voiced priest had tamed his open hatred somewhat; so before he lay down the sectary sat long in moody silence staring at the other with glinting eyes, as though fit speech failed him.

As the sun sank to the horizon I went forth again upon the platform, waving a blazing signal torch to the expectant groups below. The sky overhead was blue, but to the north and east, as far as I could see for overhanging cliff, great masses of black cloud were showing ominously, their ragged edges emitting lightning flashes, although too distant for me to distinguish the thunder. Below, in the valley, the approaching storm would not yet be visible; but from my aerie I prayed for a dark night, the swift approach of a battle of the elements.