Betrayal of the Cloak

She needed no encouragement. By now her tiny frame was stumbling down the stairs, carrying one child in each arm. Her husband seized her roughly by the arm and pushed her down the long hall towards the kitchen where the servants remained standing and trembling.

“Take the children and flee, out the back, into the woods. Make your way to the Terbush place. They’ll take you in. Hurry!” He could barely get the words out of his mouth.

Peggy tried to object. “But, what of you?! You can’t stay here! You’re coming with us aren’t you?!” She was completely panic-striken.

“I’ll follow you, but there’s something I must do first.”

His attempt to comfort his hysterical wife was of little use. He embraced her, and then tightly wrapped his arms around his two girls who were sobbing uncontrollably.

“Goodbye my little ones, I’ll see you shortly.” He was trying to sound confident, but his quivering voice betrayed his fears and what he knew to be the truth. There would be no reunion, he was sure of it.

The girls hugged their father and then, all of them were gone.

Charles, now alone in the huge house, ran back to the front windows and looked outside. He gazed upon what seemed like a sea of burning torches. The crowd had at least doubled in the last five minutes.

He raced toward the door that led down to the cellar. On the way, he passed through the sitting room and grabbed the sword that was mounted over the fireplace and the lit candelabra sitting on the mantle. He felt as if his heart was about to leap out of his chest. Taking two steps at a time, he almost tripped and fell down the stairs.

Moving quickly to the hidden door in the darkest corner of the cellar, he opened it and stepped into the blackness of the tunnel beyond. He jerked hard on the handle, pulling it shut behind him. Now safely behind the thick oak barrier, he threw the bolt, locking himself inside.

The narrow passageway was dark and he crept along holding the lit candles in front of him. Shortly, he came to a sharp bend and then, finally, reached the open space beyond. Putting his shoulder to the second, heavier door, it too swung shut and was soon latched and securely bolted shut. He wheeled around but moved too quickly inside the small room, and his shin banged against the closest row of gold bars. Swearing in pain, he slumped to the ground and sat in front of the gleaming pile. He set the candelabra down and pointed the sword out in front of him, ready to defend himself should it come to that. His breathing was labored and raspy and his eyes darted skyward as he heard the great commotion overhead.

‘Dear God, they’re inside the house,’ he thought. His face turned ashen.

A wave of panic seized him. He wondered if his family had made it to safety. He imagined the horror that they’d been caught and they were now in the hands of an angry mob. A deafening crash came from above, and his attention was immediately refocused to what was going on inside the house.

‘Will this nightmare ever pass?’ He hung his head and began to pray.

The shouting grew louder and he knew they were now in the cellar, only a few feet away. The sound of glass breaking and splintering wood continued above him. A human voice swore loudly, and then trailed off.

Suddenly, there was no sound at all.

Could it be? Had they left? In his mind, he imagined the condition of the rooms upstairs, but it didn’t concern him. If he could just somehow escape this terror with his life spared, he’d be happy. Once again, his thoughts returned to his family. What had become of Peggy and the girls?

Five more minutes passed which seemed like hours to him. Except for the sound of his shallow breathing, silence remained his only companion. In the dim, flickering light and stillness, he suddenly smelled something. In an instant, his worst fears were confirmed.

Smoke.

‘My God. The house! They’re burning it down!’

A sinking feeling gripped him and he suddenly felt more helpless than he ever had in his entire life. Even though he was hidden away, safe from the flames, he could hear the growing roar of the fire around and above him. It soon became deafening. The air grew thick with smoke and he started choking. He was now lying as flat as he could be, struggling for oxygen and coughing uncontrollably.

The sickening sound of heavy timbers crashing into the cellar outside his small prison told him he was doomed.

Even if he didn’t burn to death, without any path of escape he would soon suffocate. Resigned to his fate, he rolled over and propped himself up against the gold. With his strength waning fast, he placed the sword in front of him. He raised it at a sharp angle, pointing it toward the door and bracing it firmly at his side, its hilt wedged tightly between two rows of gold bars.

He muttered a final good-bye to Peggy and the girls. With that, the skin covering his soot-blackened face relaxed and his body went limp. Charles Hitchens’ lifeless eyes peered straight ahead and stared blankly into the darkness, forever fixed in silent vigil.