“I say, that looks as if the big attack were down there,” the sub-lieutenant exclaimed anxiously. He had come down to talk with the midshipmen. “Suppose you take your company and see if they need help. After that rush I think we have more than plenty to keep them off here.” Phil, Sydney and O’Neil led forth about one hundred excited natives on a run through Matautu. In front of the legations two companies of American sailors, forming the reserve for the flank which the midshipmen had just left, hurriedly joined on behind. Ahead, in front of the Tivoli Hotel, the artillery could be seen firing down the Siumu road. The air was full of flying bullets, apparently coming from all directions. The entire stretch of road from the American consulate was bullet swept. Phil saw that it was deserted, but he could not stop to take cover. It was evident that on the Siumu road the biggest attack was being made. As the natives and sailors approached Phil saw several companies of white men advancing from the other direction. He soon recognized the English from Kulinuu, coming to reënforce the center. Lieutenant Gant, mounted upon a pony, in all that hail of bullets came galloping toward the midshipmen. “Go straight down the road,” he ordered. Phil marveled at his calmness. “They’ve driven our natives back almost into the town. The guns are shelling behind them. It’s only making noise. We can’t shoot into them for fear of hitting our own.” The extra three hundred arriving turned the tide of battle. The Panu natives, encouraged by their white officers and sailors from the war-ships, now turned and charged their enemy. The impetus of the reënforcements carried them through the front ranks of the enemy and into the middle of the horde. Out in the jungle the natives spread out, and each line was quickly reënforced by squads of sailors. By four o’clock the attack had been repulsed, and the loyal natives and their allies were again withdrawn into their forts. All the Kataafa forts taken had been destroyed. Many heads were brought into the town, but these were ordered buried, and the natives, after some grumbling, finally complied. Phil and Sydney saw the heads collected by native chiefs appointed by Lieutenant Gant. One head in the gruesome pile gave him a start that he will always remember. It was that once proudly carried by Captain “Bully” Scott. The grayish whiskers and long matted locks of once black hair, but now turning gray. The usually sun-brown face had turned to an ashen pallor. Yet the likeness in death was as vivid as in life. Phil had the head taken up and wrapped in tapa cloth, and then carried it to Commander Tazewell. In front of the Tivoli Hotel they found him. Phil quickly explained his mission. All retired inside the hotel while a box was ordered brought. Phil laid his ghastly relic on the floor and gingerly unwrapped it.