The main entrance was soon forced by the swords and muskets of the vigorous assailants; and, though the Pequodees fought with all the fury of despair, they were driven back, and compelled to retreat towards the wigwams.  They were closely pursued by their foes; and, at length, threw themselves into the huts, which contained the terrified women and children, and resolved to defend them to the last gasp.  While the murderous strife continued, the light of day began to dawn; and soon the full glow of the rising sun revealed the work that had been done in darkness.  The ground was strewed with dead and dying Indians; but the band of English warriors was yet unbroken, and was fiercely bearing onward towards the wigwams.  Their numbers were small, indeed, when compared with those of their opponents; but the latter had no firearms, and a panic seemed to have struck them from the force and suddenness of the attack.  Still they defended the lines of wigwams with desperation, until Mason, with amazing boldness, entered one of them, and, seizing a brand from the hearth, set fire to the roof of reeds.  An Indian warrior was in the act of levelling his arrow at him, when an English officer sprang forward, and cut the string of the bent bow with his sword.

This officer caught the eye of Henrich; and, though he knew not why, riveted it by a strange and unaccountable attraction.  He was a noble-looking man; and, though his dark hair was slightly tinged with grey, his muscular limbs had apparently lost none of their force, and his spirit none of its courage and energy.

So fixedly was the attention of Henrich fastened on the gallant soldier, that, for a time, he was regardless of the battle that raged around him, and of the fearful conflagration that was spreading along the Indian huts.  These were only composed of weed and dry moss and reeds; and the flames quickly caught hold of them, and promised soon to bring the conflict to a dreadful close.

The eye of Henrich was still fixed on that noble English officer; and the instinctive feeling of admiration and respect with which his aspect inspired him, was increased by seeing him, regardless of his own safety, actively engaged in rescuing an Indian woman and her child from a mass of burning ruins.

He had been observed by other eyes also—­by eyes that recognised him, and glared with irrepressible fury as they fell on him’.  An Indian warrior approached him from behind, while he was unguardedly pursuing his work of mercy; and Henrich saw the savage preparing to strike a deadly blow, that would have cleft the head of the stranger in twain.  Could he stand and see the noble Briton thus fall by a secret and unresisted attack?  No! every feeling and every instinct of his heart forbad it!  One instant his tomahawk flew in a gleaming circle round his head; and the next it fell with crushing force on the right shoulder of the savage, and sank deeply into his chest.  It was a timely blow, and saved the white man’s life.  But it could not save him from a severe wound in the back, where the axe of the Indian fell heavily, as his arm dropped powerlessly by his side—­never to be raised again.