d suddenly,
amid the din, a shrill, penetrating voice yelled something in Spanish,
which seemed to hush the clamor. There followed a shuffling of feet,
and the crash of wood as though the butt of a gun had splintered a
door panel. Then the same voice again pierced the babel. My mind
gripped the meaning of it all; they had found a leader; they had
released Manuel Estevan. Now the real fight was on!

We stooped low, to escape as much as possible from the dim revealing
light streaming through the glass at our backs, and waited, staring
into the black depths of the cabin, and listening for every sound. The
release of Manuel, the very knowledge of his presence had changed the
mob into dangerous fighters. The roar of voices died away with the
noise of confusion. I could hear the fellow question those about him,
seeking to learn the situation, but the delay was short, and no
inkling of his quickly conceived plan of attack was revealed. Yet he
saw us and understood; his eyes, long trained to darkness, must have
already marked our dim outlines, for his first order evidenced his
purpose.

"Who have cutlasses? So many! a dozen form with me. Now bullies, they
are on the stairs there, and that is the only way to the deck. We'll
show those damned traitors what fighting means. Now then---to hell
with 'em!"

We met them, point to point, our advantage the narrow staircase and
the higher position; theirs the faint glimmer of light at our backs.
The first rush was reckless and deadly, the infuriated devils not yet
realizing what they faced, but counting on force of numbers to crush
our defense. Manuel led them yelling encouragement, and sweeping his
cutlass, gripped with both hands, in desperate effort to break
through. DeLasser caught its point with his blade while my cleaver
missing him with its sharp edge, nevertheless dealt the fellow a blow
which hurled him back into the arms of the man behind. I saw nothing
else in detail, the faint light barely revealing indistinct figures
and gleam of steel. It was a pandemonium of blows and yells, strange
faces appearing and disappearing, as men leaped desperately at us up
the steps, and we beat them remorselessly back. I saw nothing more of
Manuel in the fray, but his shrill voice urged on his followers. It
was strike and parry, cut and thrust. Twice I kicked my legs free
from hands that gripped me, and DeLasser fell, a pike thrust through
him. Who took his place I never knew, but a stout fi