Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood Trader. Robert Michael Ballantyne
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for the final onset in a dense mass on an eminence which just raised their heads a little above those of the party they were about to attack, he at once loaded three of the largest guns with round shot and pointed them at the mass of human beings with the utmost possible care. There was the greatest danger of hitting friends instead of foes, but Mr Mulroy thought it his 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 ruin, when he was seized in the strong arms of Henry Stuart, who, with the assistance of Ole Thorwald, forcibly prevented him from doing that which would have resulted in almost certain death.
The pastor’s head sunk on his breast; the excitement of action and hope no longer sustained him; with a deep groan he fell to the earth insensible.
Chapter Nine
Baffled and perplexed—Plans for a rescue
While the men assembled round the prostrate form of Mr Mason were attempting to rescue him from his state of stupor, poor Corrie began to shew symptoms of returning vitality. A can of water, poured over him by Henry, did much to restore him. But no sooner was he enabled to understand what was going on, and to recall what had happened, than he sprang up with a wild cry of despair, and rushed towards the blazing house. Again Henry’s quick arm arrested a friend in his mad career.
“Oh! she’s there! Alice is there!” shrieked the boy, as he struggled passionately to free himself.
“You can do nothing, Corrie,” said Henry, trying to soothe him.
“Coward!” gasped the boy in a paroxysm of rage, as he clenched his fist and struck his captor on the chest with all his force.
“Hold him,” said Henry, turning to John Bumpus, who at that moment came up.
Bumpus nodded intelligently, and seized the boy, who uttered a groan of anguish as he ceased a struggle which he felt was hopeless in such an iron gripe.
“Now, friends—all of you,” shouted Henry, the moment he was relieved of his charge, “little Alice is in that house—we must pull it down! who will lend a hand?”
He did not pause for an answer, but seizing an axe, rushed through the smoke and began to cut down the door-posts. The whole party there assembled, numbering about fifty, rushed forward, as one man, to aid in the effort. The attempt was a wild one. Had Henry considered for a moment, he would have seen that, in the event of their succeeding in pulling down the blazing pile, they should in all probability smother the child in the ruins.
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