ick, and the
excitement and horror of the whole scene made his imagination play
strange pranks. At one moment he could see right back into the fore
part of the hold where it was crowded with writhing, struggling beings;
the next the mist closed over it apparently, and he could only make out
gleaming eyes and shadows sweeping toward him and fading away, to appear
at the side or hovering over his head.

"Yes; it's all from a disordered imagination," he said to himself; and
he had hardly come to this conclusion, when he knew that he was gazing
at the real, for dimly-seen, there before him was a crowd of figures
surrounding the two black sailors. A harsh sound arose--a mingling of
muttered cries and savage growlings as of wild beasts; there was the
noise of the buckets being knocked over, of a fierce struggle and heavy
blows, and a hot, sickening wave of mephitic air was driven outward.
Thoroughly alarmed now, Mark shouted for help, and was then thrust aside
as one of the blacks whom he had brought down made for the hatchway, and
in the brief glance he obtained in the light which shone down from
above, he saw that the man was covered with blood.

For a moment or two, weak still from his late illness, Mark felt
completely prostrate and unable to act; but he recovered himself as
quickly, and started forward to grasp the black's arm.

"Hurt?" he cried.

The man dropped back from the ladder to gaze at him, and then uttered a
few words excitedly as he pointed back into the forward part of the dark
hold.

"Here, stand aside!" cried the lieutenant, as he stepped down into the
noisome hold, followed by Tom Fillot and a couple of the crew, each man
with sword or cutlass in hand. "Now, Mr Vandean, quick; an attack?"

"Yes, sir; the slaves attacked our two men. One of them's badly
wounded."

At that moment a dead silence fell, and the big black's white shirt and
trousers were visible, and he, too, now stepped forward into the light,
while before he could speak a low groan came out from the darkness.

"I thought he was killed," cried Mark, and the man began to speak
volubly and gesticulate, pointing back.

"Bah!" exclaimed Mr Russell. "We ought not to be here without an
interpreter. He is not hurt; it is the other black. Stand fast, my
lads, in case the poor wretches attack. Now, then, where are you hurt?"

This was to the second black sailor, whose white duck shirt was horrible
with stains of blood, as he began to