ghter the lad was,
wielding his cutlass viciously, so that we held them, with dead men
littering every step to the cabin deck.

But they were of a breed trained to such fighting, and the lash of
Manuel's tongue drove them into mad recklessness. And there seemed no
end of them, sweeping up out of those black shadows, with bearded or
lean brown savage faces, charging over the dead bodies, hacking and
gouging in vain effort to break through. I struck until my arms ached,
until my head reeled, scarcely conscious of physical action, yet aware
of Manners shouts.

"Now you hell-hounds--now! once more, and you have them. Santa Maria!
you've got to go through, bullies---there is no other way to the deck.
Think of the yellow boys below; they are all yours if you strike hard
enough. Rush 'em! That's the way! Here you--go in outside the rail!
Broth of hell! Now you have him, Pedro!"

For an instant I believed it true; I saw Jim Carter seized and hurled
sideways, his cutlass clashing as it fell, while a dozen hands dragged
him headlong into the ruck beneath. But it was only an instant. Before
the charging devils could pass me, a huge figure filled the vacant
space, and the butt of a gun crashed into the mass. It was the
Dutchman, Schmitt, fighting like a demon, his strength that of an ox.
They gave way in terror before him, and we went down battering our
way, until the stairs were clear to the deck, except for the dead
under foot. When we stopped, not a fighting man was left within the
sweep of our arms. They had scurried back into the darkness like so
many rats, and we could only stare about blindly, cursing them, as we
endeavored to recover breath. Schmitt roared like a wild bull, and
would have rushed on, but for my grip on his shirt.

"Get back, men!" I ordered sharply. "There may be fifty of them
yonder. Our only chance is the stairs. Do as I say, Schmitt, or fight
me. Back now!"

We flung the bodies on one side, and formed again from rail to rail.
Below us there was noise enough, a babel of angry voices, but no
movement of assault. I could see nothing, although the uproar
evidenced a large number of men jammed together in that blackness
beneath. What they would do next was answered by a blaze of light,
revealing the silhouette of a man, engaged in touching flame to a
torch of hemp. It flung forth a dull yellow glare, and revealed a
scene of unimaginable horror. Our assailants were massed half way
back, so blended togeth