At length we were in the town again, running up my own street. On either
side of us the houses burned, and behind us came another body of the
French. The reek got into our eyes and we stumbled over dead or fainting
people.
Looking to the left I caught sight of the elm tree of which I have
spoken, that grew in front of our door, and saw that the house behind
it was burning. Yes, and I saw more, for at the attic window, which was
open, the flames making an arch round her, sat my mother. Moreover, she
was singing for I heard her voice and the wild words she sang, though
this was a strange thing for a woman to do in the hour of such a death.
Further, she saw and knew me, for she waved her hands to me, then
pointed towards the sea, why, I did not guess at the time. I stopped,
purposing to try to rescue her though the front of the house was
flaming, and the attempt must have ended in my death. But at that moment
the roof fell in, causing the fire to spout upwards and outwards. This
was the last that I saw of my mother, though afterwards we found her
body and gave it burial with those of many other victims.
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