a war beacon that soon paled to nothing in the glare of the burning
houses in the town. I could fancy I heard yells and shrieks from thence,
but maybe that was fancy, though I know they were there for me to hear
truly enough.

But I could do nothing. The town was too evidently in the hands of the
enemy, and I could only climb up the hill again, and watch where the
ships went, perhaps, as I had seen them come.

As I clomb the hill the heavy smell of the smoke caught me up and bided
with me, making me wild with fury against the plunderers, and against
Matelgar, in that now I might not call out my own men and ride to the
sheriff's levy with them, and fight for Wessex as was my right.

And these Danes, or Northmen, whichever they might be--but we called
them all Danes without much distinction--were the very men with whom I
had thought to join when I won down to Cornwall.

One thing I could do, I could fire the beacon on the Quantocks. That was
a good thought; and I hurried to the point where I knew it was ever
piled, ready, since the day of Charnmouth fight two years agone.

I found it, and, hammering with the flint I had found in case of such a
necessity as last night's, I kindled the dry fern at its foot to
windward, and up it blazed. Then in a quarter hour's time it was
answered from Brent, and from a score of hills around.

Now, as I stood by the fire, I heard the sound of running footsteps, far
off yet, and knew they were the messengers who were bidden to fire the
beacon. So I slipped aside into cover of its smoke, and lay down in a