duty to
incur the responsibility of running the risk.

Montague, to whom the command of the united band of settlers had been
given by general consent, had thrown them rapidly into some sort of
order, and was about to give the word to charge, when the savage host
suddenly began to pour down the hill with frantic yells.

Mulroy did not hear the shouts, but he perceived the movement.
Suddenly, as if a thunderstorm had burst over the island, the echoes of
the hills were startled by the roar of heavy artillery, and, one after
another, the three guns hurled their deadly contents into the centre of
the rushing mass, through which three broad lanes were cut in quick
succession.

The horrible noise and the dreadful slaughter in their ranks, seemed to
render the affrighted creatures incapable of action, for they came to a
dead halt.

"_Well_ done, Mulroy," shouted Montague, "forward, boys--charge!"

A true British cheer burst from the tars and white settlers, which
served farther to strike terror into the hearts of the enemy. In
another moment they rushed up the hill, led on by Montague, Gascoyne,
Henry, and Thorwald. But the savages did not await the shock. Seized
with a complete panic, they turned and fled in utter confusion.

Just as this occurred, Mr Mason began to recover consciousness.
Recollecting suddenly what had occurred, he started up and followed his
friends, who were now in hot pursuit of the foe in the direction of his
own cottage. Quickly though they ran, the anxious father overtook and
passed them, but he soon perceived that his dwelling was wrapt in
flames, from end to end.

Darting through the smoke and fire to his daughter's room he shouted her
name, but no voice replied. He sprang to the bed--it was empty. With a
cry of despair, and blinded by smoke, he dashed about the room, grasping
wildly at objects in the hope that he might find his child. As he did
so he stumbled over a prostrate form, which he instantly seized, raised
in his arms, and bore out of the blazing house, round which a number of
the people were now assembled.

The form he had thus plucked from destruction was that of the poor boy,
who would willingly have given his life to rescue Alice, and who still
lay in the state of insensibility into which he had been thrown by the
blow from the savage's heavy club.

The missionary dropped his burden, turned wildly round, and was about to
plunge once again into the heart of the blazing r