blazing
and smouldering ruins, no voice was heard and no sign of life was
visible.

"Nobody there," said Webster.

"Nobody _living_, at least, in or about that shanty!" was the reply of
Crawford. "The people are either burned, saved, or there have been none
there."

"One of the three--yes--I should say so!" replied Webster to this
self-evident proposition.

"And as there seems nothing to be done, in the way of putting out the
fire, saving anybody or killing anybody, suppose we go back to the
Hill?" said Crawford.

"Not yet," answered Webster. "We have not yet been on the other side of
the house. Perhaps there may be outbuildings on that side, that have not
yet taken fire; and if there is no one living in the house, there may be
cattle or hogs roasting in the enclosures."

"Very well said, Bob," said Crawford. "Let us see the other side of the
house." And the two soldiers advanced as near as was comfortable to the
blazing building, for that purpose. It had not yet fallen, though every
board had dropped away, and every timber was a thin line of fire, fast
charring to coals. The house had evidently been that of a person of
some condition, though of perhaps no remarkable wealth. It had been of
two stories, with a piazza in front and a neat little yard showing a few
flower-shrubs, a bordering of fruit-trees at the sides of the enclosure,
and two medium-sized Lombardy poplar trees at the gate. No negro-quarter
was visible, or any evidence that the "peculiar institution" had formed
any part of the domestic policy of the occupants.

Just as the companions approached the gate and stood observing these
particulars, the demon of fire obtained his last triumph over the
material of the building. The snapping and crackling of the flames
increased for a moment, and the forked tongues seemed licking closer and
closer around the doomed pile; then there was a sudden change--the
arched rafters sunk away--the slight shock disturbed what had yet
remained of the frame-work--and the instant after, with a loud rumbling
crash, the whole building went down into a heap of ruins, one high burst
of flame shooting up skyward as a signal that the destruction had been
accomplished, and showers of sparks following it, like a burst of
fireworks at some grand celebration. With the fall, the broad light of
the fire over the surrounding fields and on the neighboring woods died
away, and there only remained a great heap of burning timbers,
smoulde