CHAPTER XXXIV. THE CARGO BREAKS LOOSE

The pouring torrent of black men flowed and swept between the mutineers and ourselves, and we were borne along before them like a chip on the crest of a wave. Their wild cries sounded above the curses and yells of the fighting men, blending into a wild, hoarse roar from three hundred deep chests. By sticking close together, we managed to make a retreat to the after-companionway, but it was desperate work.

The Africans hurled their naked bodies upon our weapons, regardless of cuts and thrusts that went home every time, and they struck at us savagely with the bars and staves they had collected.

Mr. Gull received a blow that stretched him senseless, and it was only after a desperate stand that we managed to haul him out from under the struggling men who pitched upon him. Curtis, being badly wounded, could not keep with us, and he was pulled back into the crowd and never seen again. Ernest, who bore himself so bravely, fell at the 289companion, and it was Hawkson who tore his way into a mass of mad blacks and hauled him over the ladder.

There were only a few of us left. Hawkson, Hicks, Henry, Howard, and myself could do duty, but we were all badly wounded.

The light from the cabin below shone in our faces, and we set our backs to the opening. I saw Howard’s eyes shining from his mask-like face like two bright, black beads. Blood poured down Hawkson’s cheeks from a cut on the forehead, and made him a grisly sight. Hicks was white as a sheet, but cool and steady. He had received a thrust in the breast that made him wheeze at each breath.

We made one desperate rally at the companion, and I looked below over my shoulder. As I did so, I saw a form staggering in from forward, and heard the clank of the heavy door in the bulkhead. I looked again, and saw Big Jones coming, with a pair of broken irons on each wrist, and a pistol in his left hand, while in his right he carried a shining cutlass.

“Stand clear, I’m a-comin’,” he said, and we made way for him as he mounted the steps.

The light on the top of the companion, where Gull had placed it, still burned. The slaves swarmed everywhere, except on the glass skylight.

By the dim flare, I could see what was taking 290place. Shannon had been carried along the port rail to the after end of the poop, and Martin had thrust with all his remaining strength, hobbling along, aided by Anderson. Over the heads of the black crowd, I could make out Shannon’s tall form, as he cut and slashed right and left, making a lane through the men, and leaving a pile of bodies to mark his course and ease the pressure upon him.

“Coom on, ye black divils!” cried Martin, faintly. “Coom on, an’ take the sailormen.”

A huge black towered above him, wielding a hand-spike, and several more pressed Anderson back.

The Scotchman rose to his full height, and, seizing his cutlass in both hands, smote the African a blow that sank the blade down to his nose. Before he could wrench it clear, the fellow went headlong to the deck, carrying the blade with him, snapping it free from the hilt, and leaving Martin helpless. The mob surged upon him and he disappeared. We saw him no more.

Anderson had a similar fate. A dozen giants in ebony grasped his cutlass in their hands, regardless of the blade. It was wrenched from him, and he went down, followed by a dago named Guinea and a couple of the blacks from the slave-pen. Gus, Gilbert, and the rest of the mutineers had disappeared already, leaving only one black and Shannon of the entire crowd.

291The African, fighting against his fellows, lasted but a few moments. He was crowded to the rail. Throwing his cutlass into the mob, he sprang clear of the side and was gone in the darkness, and Shannon was left alone at the taffrail, where he made his last stand.

A great black fellow made his way aft, calling out in a clear, deep bass voice. He was apparently entirely naked, and his skin shone and glistened in the lantern’s light. He carried a cutlass in his hand, and thrust his followers aside, as he made his way to the long skipper, who fought gamely on.

“Ho! Benga Sam, I wanter know,” cried the sailor. And the black giant called out something in his clear tones.

It was evident that there was a score to settle, for the black man hurled his kind right and left to get in. Some of the nearest drew back at the sound of his deep voice, and pressed back the heavy weight of the mob behind, clearing a small space in front of Shannon. Into this the black giant forced his way.

All this happened in an incredibly short time, but the solid bank of human flesh before us was pressing closer, in spite of Hawkson’s desperate efforts.

Big Jones reached us, and, placing his pistol at the breast of the nearest African, fired. Then he 292whirled his blade into the thick of them, and all together we forced a space clear about the companion. Howard was nearly spent. I was desperately wounded, and leaned against the companion, panting for breath, while Hicks grasped the coaming to keep from falling.

In the breathing spell, while Jones held the way, I saw what was taking place a few feet distant.

In the open space cleared around the long skipper, the big black fellow stood and called upon the white man to pay the penalty of some past crime. Shannon had been on the coast before, and he certainly recognized the black. He had doubtless done him some wrong. He met him with a spirit worthy of a white man, and, in spite of his sins, he made a gallant stand to the end.

The black set upon him with terrific force, his blade rising and falling so fast that the eye could hardly follow it. Shannon, drawing himself to his full height, parried and returned stroke for stroke, his amazing vigour unimpaired by the action of the past half-hour. There was no retreating for either. The black wall of human bodies held them on all sides to the taffrail, and the nearest living men strained their utmost to keep clear of the whirling blades, while those behind pressed in and forced them closer.

Both men were desperately wounded in a few 293moments. Then Shannon, seeming to feel that his life was ebbing, rose to one mighty effort.

He slashed with great vigour for some moments, and then, without warning, sprang furiously forward, and, taking the black’s blade through the body, he drove his own into his black chest until I saw the glint of the metal in the rear. They swayed for a few seconds, and then went down, while the mob surged over them and flowed around to where we were holding the stairs.

“Get below and shut the doors,” said Jones. “I ken hold them fer a few minutes, that’s all.”

Hawkson looked at him, and I saw a ghost of an old smile flitting over his hard-lined face.

“You’ll do for a big one, Jones,” said he, and his teeth gleamed in the night.

“You stand on either side,” said Howard. “I’ll take the front.”

Hawkson was about to remonstrate, but the old pirate shut him off harshly.

“Who’s the captain here, me or you?” he cried.

“You, but you won’t be within five minutes,” said Hawkson.

“Get below, Hicks and Heywood; maybe you can bring Gull and Ernest back for short stand. There’s liquor in the pantry.”

We were too badly hurt to stand much longer, 294and were worthless in a rush, so we went down the companion and tried to tie up our hurts.

Miss Allen had already brought Gull around, and had partly revived Ernest. She smiled faintly at me, as I came down the companionway, limping and clutching the rail at the side. Hicks was behind me, and looked sadly at the girl as the noise of the rush sounded behind us.

She came to us and tied us up the best she could, stopping the bleeding, and, as she handed me a glass of spirits, spoke.

“Hicks,” said I, “you better take Miss Allen below into the lazarette and bar the door. They may overlook you there. It will only be a matter of a few minutes’ more fighting. The barque is doomed. Go while you can, for there is no other to take her. Gull and I must make our last stand on deck.”

“And a precious short one at that,” said the second mate, who was barely able to keep his feet.

The liquor was burning within me now like oil poured upon a dying flame, and under its influence I grasped my cutlass and placed my foot on the stair, to mount again and join the panting, struggling men, whose backs showed against the opening now and then, as they cut and lunged at the press before them. They could not last long, and I could already 295hear the high, rasping breathing of the old captain, who was making his last fight.

“You will come also,” said Miss Allen to me. “You must know of some way to hide in a ship.”

Her eyes held a mute appeal that was hard to resist. She was filled with horror, and the terror in her look made me hesitate. Yet, when I thought, I knew Hicks could find a place easier than I, and one would be less apt to be missed than two. Besides, the men on deck were fighting, and my place was there as long as I could stand. Sir John Hicks looked at me, but said nothing.

“I’ll come later,” I answered. “Some one must hold the stair. Hurry while there’s time.”

Then I mounted the companion, followed by Gull, and came out into the last fight on the quarter-deck.