had drowned their fire; and then they knew that they
were betrayed, but resolved to fight like men for
it. Upon fighting I can never dwell; it breeds
such savage delight in me; of which I would fain have
less. Enough that all the Doones fought bravely;
and like men (though bad ones) died in the hall of
the man they had murdered. And with them died
poor young De Whichehalse, who, in spite of his good
father’s prayers, had cast in his lot with the
robbers. Carver Doone alone escaped. Partly
through his fearful strength, and his yet more fearful
face; but mainly perhaps through his perfect coolness,
and his mode of taking things.
I am happy to say that no more than eight of the gallant
miners were killed in that combat, or died of their
wounds afterwards; and adding to these the eight we
had lost in our assault on the valley (and two of
them excellent warehousemen), it cost no more than
sixteen lives to be rid of nearly forty Doones, each
of whom would most likely have killed three men in
the course of a year or two. Therefore, as I said
at the time, a great work was done very reasonably;
here were nigh upon forty Doones destroyed (in the
valley, and up at The Warrens) despite their extraordinary
strength and high skill in gunnery; whereas of us ignorant
rustics there were only sixteen to be counted dead—though
others might be lamed, or so,—and of those
sixteen only two had left wives, and their wives did
not happen to care for them.
Yet, for Lorna’ s sake, I was vexed at the bold
escape of Carver. Not that I sought for Carver’s
life, any more than I did for the Counsellor’s;
but that for us it was no light thing, to have a man
of such power, and resource, and desperation, left
at large and furious, like a famished wolf round the
sheepfold. Yet greatly as I blamed the yeomen,
who were posted on their horses, just out of shot from
the Doone-gate, for the very purpose of intercepting
those who escaped the miners, I could not get them
to admit that any blame attached to them.
But lo, he had dashed through the whole of them, with
his horse at full gallop; and was nearly out of shot
before they began to think of shooting him. Then
it appears from what a boy said—for boys
manage to be everywhere—that Captain Carver
rode through the Doone-gate, and so to the head of
the valley. There, of course, he beheld all the
houses, and his own among the number, flaming with
a handsome blaze, and throwing a fine light around
such as he often had revelled in, when of other people’s
property. But he swore the deadliest of all oaths,
and seeing himself to be vanquished (so far as the
luck of the moment went), spurred his great black
horse away, and passed into the darkness.
