as fierce men make in the wild
culmination of their rage; then plunge after plunge in the water
alongside and astern, the splash of swimmers, strange lashings about in
the river, followed by shrieks and gurgling cries, and then, heard over
all, the combined voices of so many stout Englishmen in a fierce--

"_Hurrah_!"

"Now then, all of you," shouted Joe Cross. "There's a lot of them down
below. Close that cabin hatch. Two on you to the fo'c'sle; serve that
the same. If you run against anybody in the dark, tell the beggar he'll
be safer overboard than here."

But there proved to be no one below in the men's quarters, and after
making quite sure the two men returned to their comrades. Then--

"Where's Mr Rodd?" shouted Joe.

"Here, Joe," came out of the darkness.

"Mr Morny?"

"I'm here," came in a breathless voice.

"And the doctor?"

"Helpless, Joe. My ankle's sprained."

"Bad luck to it," cried the man. "Where's Harry Briggs?"

"All right, mate," came in a gruff surly voice; "but you needn't have
been in such a hurry to get it done."

"Hurry?" cried Joe. "Why, it's only just in time. Later than we
thought. It's getting light. Now then, who else is hurt?"

There was a growl or two, and Joe shouted again--

"Is any one killed? Bah! Won't say so if he is! What about that boat,
Harry?"

"She's fast enough, messmate."

"Hah! That's right. Now then, hold hard a moment. Hear 'em aboard the
other boats?"

The question was unnecessary, for shouts and yells for help were
evidently rising from men who had swum down-stream to the sides of their
consorts, and ceased as they were dragged on board. But a low buzzing
murmur kept on, as from a couple of wildly-excited crowds.

Then a sharp shrill voice began giving orders in Spanish, one being
followed up with a pistol shot, which was succeeded by a yell and a
partial cessation of the buzz of excitement that sounded as if coming
from a swarm of human hornets.

"That was the Spanish captain's voice, I am sure," cried Rodd.

"Eight, sir," shouted Joe. "I'd swear to it. Well, he's getting part
of his dose. Oh, if it wasn't so dark! Big gun's crew!" he cried. "Is
the tackle with her?"

"Ay, ay!" came in answer, after a short bustle of movement, in which
trained men took their places.

"Here, run the rammer down her throat, my lads. She may be loaded."

There was the sound of the stout ash staff passing down the bore of the
gun, and t