Mark was the first to discharge his musket, and a cry of pain followed the report, telling that the ammunition had not been wasted.

"What did you see?" his mother asked, anxiously.

"An Indian's head over the top of the fence near the gate. There's one villain the less to trouble us!"

At this moment Susan and Luke both fired, the reports coming so near together as to sound like one, and the girl cried, triumphantly:

"I've hit another! What did you do, Luke?"

"I don't know; he went backward at the flash, like a loon; but it seems as if I must have struck him, for I had a fair aim."

Mistress Pemberton now had work to perform, for those in the loft soon learned that it would be impossible to recharge the weapons and at the same time keep close watch on what might be happening outside.

Seven shots had been fired from the dwelling, three of which were known to have found their targets, when a heavy pounding at the gate told of additional danger.

"What is it?" Mistress Harding cried, and Mark replied, quietly, as if it was of no especial consequence:

"The Frenchmen have come, and are battering down the gate."

"How long will it take them to do it?" Susan asked, her voice quivering despite all efforts to render it steady.

"It will be a good half-hour's job, with what timber they can pick up near at hand. If they should cut down a stout tree, the work might be done in half that time. Keep your eyes on the top of the fence, for if one fellow gets inside he might succeed in pulling out the bars before we could stop him."

Twice more the children fired, and then it was as if the Abenakis had tired of a game at which they were rapidly being worsted without an opportunity to inflict any injury.

"They've made up their minds to wait till the gate is down," Mark said, grimly. "We must have all the muskets ready when the rush comes, and shoot with good aim, for it will be our last fair chance."

All this while the flames had been increasing in volume, and the heat inside the dwelling, filled with the smoke of burning powder as it was, seemed stifling.

The younger children had drank of the muddy water eagerly, giving no heed to its disagreeable appearance, and the older members of the little company were already suffering with thirst; but never one of them ventured to claim a portion of the scanty supply.

"The fence is on fire," Mark said as he left his station at the front of the loft to survey the scene in the rear. "The wind is getting up in great shape, and coming from the east, otherwise these housed would be on fire by this time."

"There goes the upper part of the gate!" Luke cried. "Two or three more fair blows, and the whole will be down!"

Mark came back to where he could overlook the scene of what he believed would be the final struggle, and the three children crouched, muskets in hand, ready to empty the six weapons before the enemy could approach the house sufficiently near to find shelter under its walls.

The two women were standing on a table, where they could reach the weapons when they were empty. In one corner of the room, seated on a bed which was laid on the floor behind the barricade of the door, were the other children, some crying for water, and others weeping with fear.

The powder smoke hung heavily in the small apartment, which was illumined by the glow of the flames, now not more than thirty feet distant, and the heat was almost overpowering.

The bucket in which Mark had brought the muddy water from the spring, was empty, and the throats of the three children in the loft were literally parched with a thirst that could not be allayed.

They were beset by danger on every hand, and the supreme moment seemed very near, for once the gate was demolished, however desperately they might fight, the end was come.

"We are not to leave here alive," Susan whispered softly in Mark's ear, and he replied, pressing her hand:

"That part of it sha'n't be forgotten, Sue dear."

A cry from Luke; the crashing and splintering of wood; a shock which could be felt by the refugees as the heavy timbers fell inward, and the pa.s.sage was open to the foe.

"Take good aim!" Mark shouted. "Shoot at the foremost, and work quickly!"

While one might have counted ten the enemy hung back as if fearing that a party of women and children might have planned an ambush, and then with a yell of triumph, the opening in the palisade was filled with armed men.

The defenders in the loft fired at almost the same instant; then, delaying only sufficiently long to fling back the empty weapons and take up those that were loaded, three more reports rang out.

The Frenchmen halted irresolutely for an instant, as four of their number fell to the ground, and had the children been able to fire one more volley immediately, it is quite certain the entire party would have beaten a retreat even at the moment of victory.

As the men, recovering courage, dashed forward, a heavy peal of thunder seemed to shake the very earth, and on the moment rain fell in torrents, coming as suddenly and in such volume as if having been poured from some immense reservoir.

The enemy recoiled as if confronted by an overwhelming force, and as they wavered the children in the loft discharged three muskets, each bullet seemingly taking effect.

Then, suddenly, it was as if a black mantel had been dropped over the terrible scene. A certain portion of the enormous downpour of water was converted into clouds of steam by the flames, which were literally beaten down, and those who had struggled so bravely to defend the island could distinguish nothing.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Again the crash of thunder drowned all sounds.]

"What is the matter?" Ellen cried in alarm at thus being suddenly plunged into profound darkness, and the younger children screamed with terror.

A deafening peal of thunder seemingly came in answer to the question followed a second later by a vivid, blinding flash of lightning which illumined the interior of the loft through the few crevices between the logs, until the defenders could see each other's faces gleaming ghastly pale.

The water trickling through the roof restored them to their senses somewhat, and Mark said, speaking as if with an effort:

"The storm has been gathering since afternoon. Now, while we are cooped up here in the darkness, the enemy can work his will!"

Again the crashing of thunder drowned all other sounds; once more the jagged rifts of unearthly fire, breaking though the clouds, illumined the scene, and Susan cried, as if unable to believe her own statement:

"The men are running away! They are running away!"

Mark and Luke sprang to her side, waiting for another flash of lightning, and when it came, preceded by crashing thunder which caused the house of logs to tremble, the enclosure was deserted.

"It's true that some of them have gone; perhaps all," Mark announced; "but the whole crew will come back when the storm is over, and there will be nothing save our muskets to prevent them from marching in at their pleasure."

"Let us give thanks for the mercies which have already been bestowed upon us," Mistress Pemberton said, devoutly. "The fire is extinguished, and we need no longer fear being burned to death."

"That might not be the worst that will befall us," Mark thought, recalling to mind the fate of those settlers of Maine who had been put to death by torture.

Because of the fury of the tempest, it seemed as if its force must be quickly spent, and the besieged waited in painful suspense, fearing that the downpour of water would speedily cease; but the moments went by amid the flashing of lightning and crashing of thunder, without any abatement of the tempest, save as the wind lulled for a few seconds to come in yet more spiteful gusts.

When half an hour had pa.s.sed, Mistress Pemberton insisted that the three children should come down from the loft in order that they might all be together during this respite from the cruel foe, and when they were in the room below, freed from the fear of immediate death, thanks were given to Him who "ruleth the tempest" for this new lease of life, brief though it might prove to be.

CHAPTER VI.

THE WRECK