She was right.
So the time went on.

One by one the roofs of the various buildings fell in, and spouts of flame shot high into the air to descend about them in a rain of sparks.

But at last the cries ceased, for even the slaves could yell no more; the fire grew less and less, and the wind dropped.
Then the sun rose on the scene of death and desolation.

The morass was swept bare to the depth of many hundred yards, and the camp was a smoking ruin strewn with the dead.

The walls of the Nest still stood, however, and here and there a charred post remained.