he bridge. "Go to your
post."

I was aware that the Prince had come out on the hurricane deck, which
was on the level of the bridge, and as I peered into the gloom,
suddenly a shout from the second man in my neighbourhood made me wheel
sharply about. I turned in time to see him fire at some figures that
came over the port side of the yacht. Immediately I guessed that this
was the real attack, and that the assault on the ladder was but a
diversion, I ran forward, calling to Legrand, I found Barraclough on
the other side of the deck-houses, using a cutlass, and I moved to his
assistance. Three men had reached the deck, and a fourth was clambering
over. The seaman who had called out fired wide, and the next moment
went down under a heavy blow from the figure in front. I discharged a
shot, but missed the man as he made his rush. Barraclough
simultaneously gave way, and I saw him being pushed backwards against
the side of the saloon. I fired again at one of his assailants, who
fell away with a curse, and just then the first flush of the coming
dawn moved over the waters, and shed a little light on the scene. It
disclosed the burly form of Holgate in grips with Legrand, who had
descended from the bridge, and Barraclough still struggling with his
opponent. I had just time to make this out when one of the mutineers
struck at me with a heavy bar, and the blow, owing to a movement on my
part, fell on my right arm and paralysed it. He raised his weapon again
while I fumbled to get the revolver out of my useless hand into my
left, when Day suddenly emerged from somewhere with a levelled pistol.
My antagonist dropped like a log. Day fired again, and then with an
oath Holgate threw the second officer heavily to the deck, and pointed
a revolver. There was a pause of two seconds, then a report, and Day
slipped, moved his arms helplessly, and slid along the deck. A shout
now came from the other side of the ship where the struggle at the
gangway had been going on; and in a moment a stampede was upon us.

I was forced back by sheer weight of numbers to the head of the
companion-way, using my weapon with some wildness, for all was passing
before me in confusion. I had received a hard crack on the head and
scarcely knew what I was doing, but was merely sustained in my
resistance by a sense of continuity, inherited, as it were, from the
earlier part of the struggle. Somehow I found myself in the shelter of
the corridor that led to the apar