Mad with fear, the natives who had been witnessing Phil’s torture, upon hearing the terrifying words of their leader and seeing the awful havoc behind them caused by the bursting shell, charged boldly on the natives in their front, believing that in that direction lay their one avenue of escape, but a well directed volley from Lopez’s men made them recoil in disorder. Like one who is chained, powerless in the grip of an unnerving nightmare, Phil felt rather than saw the wild scenes about him. He heard the sharp rattle of musket fire and the sonorous discharge of cannon, the wild, vibrant cries of the natives as they dashed now forward and again retreating from the clash of contact and the avenging strokes of bayonet and bolo. By a mighty effort he struggled to his feet and leaned heavily for support upon the bamboo frame of his prison. His lungs seemed on fire and a red mist was still in his eyes. The riot of forms about him confused his brain and made him dizzy. Then his eyes fell upon the body of O’Neil lying on the ground where the natives had dragged him; the cruel marks of the rope stood out in blue welts on his muscular neck. His eyes were closed, but the lad saw with joy that he was alive. He knelt by the sailor’s side ministering to him as tenderly as if he were a child. Then in great anxiety he saw that Lopez’s men were slowly giving ground. Stubbornly they fought, but the overwhelming ranks of the enemy, now alive to the actual conditions and spurred forward by their leaders, came frantically forward across the open ground. Phil dragged the senseless body of the sailor back until they were on the very edge of the hill and then a sight which made him mad with joy caused him to stand upright and swing his hat jubilantly, unheeding the leaden missiles on all sides. There scarcely a hundred yards below him struggling forward and upward was Captain Blynn and his five hundred soldiers. Dropping the sailor’s head he rushed madly into the company of loyal natives. “Charge them,” he cried, beside himself with eagerness, for he saw that if the enemy, one thousand strong, should obtain possession of the top of the trail the struggling men below would never reach the top alive, and their retreat could mean but one thing--a rout and massacre. The natives did not understand the lad’s words, but his meaning was only too plain as he snatched a rifle from the ground and led the remnant of that plucky band. The next moment he was in the midst of the shrieking horde. In his nostrils was the reek of the Malay, almost sickening in its overpowering pungency. Blow after blow at his body he warded off with the barrel of his rifle.