As the attack went on, he grew more wild and frantic in his terror: tried to pull away the bars that guarded the chimney and prevented him from climbing up: called loudly on the turnkeys to cluster round the cell and save him from the fury of the rabble; or put him in some dungeon underground, no matter of what depth, how dark it was, or loathsome, or beset with rats and creeping things, so that it hid him and was hard to find.
But no one came, or answered him.

Fearful, even while he cried to them, of attracting attention, he was silent.

By and bye, he saw, as he looked from his grated window, a strange glimmering on the stone walls and pavement of the yard.

It was feeble at first, and came and went, as though some officers with torches were passing to and fro upon the roof of the prison.

Soon it reddened, and lighted brands came whirling down, spattering the ground with fire, and burning sullenly in corners.