The enemy was now heard leaping into the parlor, and simultaneously a general attack began on all sides. The bullets rattled against the wall; shouts and cries of encouragement rose on both sides. From the quick firing overhead Mr. Mowbray knew that his men in that quarter were actively engaged. The axe was now heard against the parlor door before him, and the frail wood quivered under every blow. Another stroke and the panel gave way. Instantly the musket of Mr. Mowbray was aimed through the aperture at the man who wielded the axe, who fell dead at the explosion. But another promptly seized the instrument, and, posting himself with more caution at the side of the opening, dealt such vigorous strokes that the door speedily fell in. As the planks crashed to the floor there was a general rush on the part of the Tories in the parlor, toward the aperture. “Meet them bravely!” shouted Mr. Mowbray. “Strike home, and we drive them back.” He fired a pistol as he spoke at the foremost assailant; but the Tory knocked up the weapon, and the ball lodged in the ceiling. “Hurrah! we have them now,” shouted this man, who was their leader. “Revenge your comrades!” “Stand fast!” cried Mr. Mowbray, the lion of his nature aroused. For a few seconds the melee was terrific. Now that the foe had effected an entrance, the defence of the other posts was no longer necessary, and the followers of Mr. Mowbray crowded to his assistance. On the other hand the Tories poured into the parlor, and thence struggled to make their way into the hall. Inch by inch they fought their road with overpowering numbers; and inch by inch, with desperate but unavailing courage, the Whigs gave ground. The clash of swords, the explosion of pistols, the shouts of either party were mingled in wild disorder with the oaths and shrieks of the wounded and dying. Swaying to and fro, now one party, now the other giving ground, the combat raged with increasing fury. But numbers at last prevailed. When most of his followers had fallen, Mr. Mowbray, however, still remained, wounded yet erect, struggling like a noble stag at bay. “Surrender, and we give quarter!” shouted the Tory leader, who, throughout the conflict, had seemed desirous rather of taking him prisoner than slaying him. Mr. Mowbray thought of his child and faltered: but remembering that the enemy never showed clemency he said, striking at his adversary, “Never, so help me God!” But that moment of indecision sealed his fate. The Tory leader made a sign to his followers, two of whom rushed in on the old man; and, as he spoke, his sword was knocked from his hand, and himself overthrown and bound. Two days after he was led in triumph into the streets of Georgetown, nor was it concealed from him that his life had been spared only that he might expiate his rebellion on the scaffold.