Gull led the way through the cabin, and, as we neared the companionway, a stateroom door was thrust open, and Miss Allen stood before us. She held a pistol in her hand, and her eyes were bright and sparkling. She seemed most beautiful to me, as she stood there confronting five armed men.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, “I’m glad it’s you. I thought--” But she left her sentence unfinished. We knew what she meant, and the pistol was not a weapon for offence. It was her last defence, and the thought of the girl waiting with it in her hand gave me a turn. We hurried up the ladder while she called after us, asking if her father was all right.
The blackness on the poop was lit up by Gull’s lantern, and we saw a sight that made us grip our weapons. A confused mass of men were closed in desperate combat, cutting, thrusting, hacking, and clutching at each other in the darkness. Guided by Hawkson’s voice, we soon made out the mate, surrounded by a crowd of the black devils from 281the beach and several of our own men. By his side was Hicks and the sailor, Ernest, all hewing away at the press about them. Several bodies lay beneath Hawkson’s feet, telling of the old fighter’s desperate sword-play.
A little farther on, with his back against the mizzen, stood Howard, his bare poll shining in the light of Gull’s lantern, showing the perspiration pouring down over his face, his eyes steady and shining like glass beads, his cutlass dripping in his right hand, and an empty pistol in his left. He was hard at it with Martin and Shannon, both of whom pressed him sorely, in spite of Yankee Dan’s help.
Henry was engaging Anderson and Gus at his side, and the forms of two men lying between the old captain and Martin told of the Scot’s and Shannon’s deadly work. Shannon had cut down one and Martin had put a man out of the way as we rushed up.
The fight now waxed hotter. The barque, being without any one at the wheel, luffed slowly into the breeze until her foreyards were aback and she gathered sternway. The cracking of the slatting canvas added to the noise of the yelling men, and for a time there was chaos on the poop.
Instinctively Gull and myself rushed to Howard’s side. The old fellow was wary and quick, warding 282off the furious onslaughts of the long skipper with a skill and strength that was amazing. He had his old cutlass ahead of him, sword fashion, and he hopped about that deck like some horrible old monkey, laughing now and again in his high, cackling voice, as he lunged and stabbed with a catlike quickness. Even the long skipper’s giant strength was powerless to force his guard for a few moments, but, as we fell upon the long rascal, we were met by Martin, who came in furiously, yelling like a demon.
“Hoot, ye dogs! Stand out an’ die! Stand out an’ die like true Christian men!” he bawled, and as he did so he struck fiercely with a cutlass.
Jennings, Pat, and Holmberg had gone against us, and I caught a glimpse of them in the crush about Hawkson, as I circled about Shannon, trying to get within his guard, while he made long, full-arm sweeps as he advanced that kept us busy getting out of his way. Only Howard seemed to be able to stand and yet clear them.
Curtis, Jorg, and Bill had fallen upon the crowd pressing about the mate, and now some of the black pirates left the press there and came to Shannon’s aid. One of these sprang within the guard of the trader and smote him heavily. Then he dodged back again as Gull pressed him, cutting him again and again with lightning-like strokes, his cutlass-blade 283glinting like a flash of flame in the light of the lantern set upon the companion slide.
Shannon came steadily on. Yankee Dan reeled and struck out wildly. A pistol flashed somewhere in the night, and he pitched forward under the long man’s feet.
Everything now was mixed. A grinning black face showed before me, and I cut at it with all my power. A hoarse scream from the Doctor told me that the blow had hit hard, although there seemed little resistance to the blade. The rascally cook had evidently joined the mutiny, and had gotten his deserts. At the same time I did not stop to argue the question of right or wrong. I had been gulled into joining the ship, and had no reason to love her or her officers, yet, when it came to standing by her, there was no thought of shirking.
Had Martin been a different kind of a rascal, he might have approached me, but he had judged rightly that I had no use for him as a leader, and he had ironed me for future consideration, not wishing to part with any more men than necessary on the short-handed ship. He might have knifed me and tossed me over the side just as easily.
The death of Yankee Dan appeared to ma............