ed a pistol shot along the deck in the direction of some
shadows, and retreated, bolting the door behind me.

"Where is it?" gasped Barraclough, out of breath.

"One at each door will do," said I. "Fetch Lane here. I think its the
music-room. You and I had better get there as fast as we can."

Without disputing my assumption of authority, he ran down the corridor,
and explained our discovery, returning presently with Lane. Then we
made for the music-room.

It was pitch black on the stairs, but we groped our way through, guided
by the sounds within. Barraclough struck a match and shed a light on
the scene. For an instant it flared and sputtered, discovering to us
the situation in that cockpit. The place was a shambles. Grant was at
bay in a corner, the cook lay dead, and half a dozen mutineers were
struggling in the foreground with some persons I could not see: while
through the broken boards of the windows other men were climbing. With
an oath Barraclough dropped his match and rushed forward. My revolver
had barked as he did so, and one of the ruffians who was crawling
through the window toppled head first into the saloon. But the darkness
hampered us, for it was impossible to tell who was friend or enemy; and
I believe it had hampered the mutineers also, or they must have
triumphed long ere this. I engaged in a hand-to-hand struggle with some
one who gripped me by the throat and struck at me with a knife. I felt
it rip along my shoulder, and a throb of pain jumped in my arm. But the
next moment I had him under foot and had used the last cartridge in my
chamber.

"Where are you, Grant, Barraclough, Ellison?" I called out, and I heard
above the din of oaths and feet and bumping a voice call hoarsely to
me. Whose it was I could not say and upon that came an exclamation of
pain or cry. "My God!"

With the frenzy of the lust of blood upon me, I seized some one and
drove my revolver heavily into his skull. I threw another man to the
floor from behind, and was then seized as in a grasp of a vice. I
turned about and struggled fiercely, and together my assailant and I
rocked and rolled from point to point. Neither of us had any weapon, it
appeared, and all that we could do was to struggle in that mutual and
tenacious grip and trust to chance. I felt myself growing weaker, but I
did not relax my hold and, indeed, came to the conclusion that if I was
to survive it must be by making a superhuman effort. With all the force
o