silent. The sun had set, but hundreds of fires on the cliffs, and in the valley, had changed the night into a dreary day, in the light of which the Waldenses could plainly read their own doom. They must either die, or save themselves by flight. But how fly? Sentinels and fires surrounded them, and watched every step.
“Let us pray!” said Arnaud. “For what shall we pray?” asked a mistrusting voice. “That the tempest may destroy our enemies!” exclaimed another. Arnaud represented to both that they evinced but little Christian disposition. “Let us,” said he, “pray God to save us—in what way soever he may please!”
All lifted up their hands and voices in fervent prayer.
In the twilight of the evening a thick fog gathered on the mountains, and rolled down into the valley in such dense, impenetrable masses, as soon to conceal the enemy's watch-fires from the sight of the Waldenses, and to vail La Basiglia from that of the enemy. The Waldenses could now make their escape unobserved. Captain Poulat, a native of San Martino, on this offered himself as their guide by paths which were known to him, although difficult and dangerous, on the edge of the cliffs, along the precipice. The Waldenses took off their shoes, bound on their backs every thing which they could carry away with them, and amid deep silence, creeping upon hands and feet along the edge of the cliffs, followed their bold leader. A little incident had, however, very nearly betrayed their enterprise at the commencement. An iron
- Vol. I.—26
