“That’s three down,” said Wilson.
He was at the rail, pulling the stern sea-ladder up on deck. Vaguely I
realized then that Wilson, too, had heard Brack leave the ship.
Afterward I learned that he had attacked his guards at the sound of my
first shot, which he had thought to come from Dr. Olson’s revolver as
a signal for the revolt. In that way only had it been possible for him
to reach me in time to save my life.
The negro and Garvin were fighting near us, with a stamping and
roaring as of two great animals locked in battle. Like the hissing of
an over-driven pump came the negro’s:
“Got you now; got you now, bad man.”
Garvin in turn panted.
“You —— nigger! You —— nigger!”
They whirled from the darkness into the shaft of light from a
port-hole. The negro struck with some weapon; the thick glass crashed
in splinters. They whirled on, into the dark again.
“Swing him around, Sam, and I’ll club him for you,” said Wilson
quietly, hobbling after them.
“Don’ touch ’im!” pleaded the negro. “’Foh Gawd! Don’ nobody touch
’im. He’s mah meat.”
Forward, at George’s stateroom, there was a tumult; then cries and
shots. The door was locked, and as I came running up, Pierce and Dr.
Olson were fighting Riordan, and the man who had detected me on the
ladder. In the stateroom George and Simmons were battling to keep
their guards from joining the fight on deck.
I leaped upon Riordan from behind and Wilson, with his iron bar, began
to beat down the door. Barry had recovered consciousness and with one
of my pistols came hurrying forward, dancing around seeking for a
chance to shoot one of us.
Pierce was knocked down, and as Barry sprang toward him, Wilson
turned, and hurled himself clumsily at the fellow’s legs. Barry fell,
leaped up, and still holding the revolver, went over the side. The
other seaman did likewise at the sight of Wilson, and Riordan, felled
by the butt of Dr. Olson’s revolver, soon followed his example.
“—— ’im! He copped my rifle, too!” spluttered Pierce, Riordan having
snatched the weapon from the deck as he went over the side.
In the cabin cracked a shot and there came a shriek which we knew to
be Simmons’s. Three of us threw our weight with Wilson’s, and the door
went in.
George was on his feet, throttling one of the guards over a chair.
Simmons lay like a bundle of old clothes in a corner. Near by the
other guard, on all fours, strove to rise and fell flat. Wilson’s
right fist smote George’s victim senseless and Chanler stood up, gory
and calm.
“They’ve hurt Simmons bad,” he said. “Poor old Simmons. My fault. But
I’ll pay that devil, Brack, out if I never do anything else as long as
I live.”
The negro had cornered Garvin in the dining-saloon. These two had
ceased to resemble human beings. They were all but naked, and their
nakedness was red, with spots of white or black showing through.
Garvin was crouching on one side of the table with a knife, and at the
sight of the negro’s empty hands we sprang to help.
“Don’t spoil it, white folks, don’t spoil it!” growled the negro,
moving toward his victim. “I done got ’im; he’s mah meat—mah meat!”
He knocked the knife from Garvin’s hand somehow. Then they wrecked the
room with their hurtling falling bodies. The roar of battle rose to a
crescendo and began to diminish. Garvin was losing.
“Guahd dat do’h!” cried the negro, but it was too late.
Garvin had turned to flee. In a bound he was in the doorway, one more
and he was at the rail, and the negro cried in real agony as the
bruiser vaulted over into the water.
“You got ’im plenty, Sam,” said Freddy.
Wilson was hobbling here and there on deck.
“We’ve cleared ship, sir,” he reported. “Now we’ve got to hold her.”
Then I remembered why I had started aft. I was in a fog. Presently I
found myself trying to climb the after rail while a cluster of arms
held me back.
“Betty! Brack!” I was muttering. “Over there. Let me go.”
“No, no, Gardy, old man. Steady down, Brains; you can’t walk the
water. Easy, sir, easy.”
George, Freddy and Wilson; they were all holding me, pleading with me.
They drew me forward toward the staterooms.
Suddenly I tore myself free. The light from the open door of George’s
room reached up to and illuminated the port bow rail. I had seen a
head appear where the ladder reached the deck. It was a small, wet
head. Then showed a wet, white face and much wet hair, and finally
over the rail came a very wet young woman, pausing bewildered in the
glare of light and calling:
“Mr. Pitt! Gardy! Where are you?”
The fog cleared. I was sane again. In the shaft of light Betty Baldwin
stood balanced ready to run forward at my response. Her right hand was
at her bosom, her head on one side in an attitude of anxious
listening, but the darkness hid us from her sight!
There was not one of us but was hideous to behold. Wilson, who had
done the most fighting in spite of his wounded leg, was the least
damaged and he required water, bandages, and fresh clothes, before
being presentable. I closed George’s door, leaving the deck in total
darkness.
“Everything is all right,” I said as quietly as I could. “Now come
straight ahead.”
I met her in the darkness, caught her wet sleeve and guided her
swiftly to the door of her stateroom.
“Go in and shut the door. Quick!”
She obeyed without questioning.
“Where’s Captain Brack?” I asked through the keyhole.
“Over there—ashore, I suppose. I slipped into the water and swam out
here you know, as soon as I heard him go crashing into the brush where
he thought I was.”
“You—what? You called—you swam?”
“That was why I called to him, of course,” she said. “To get him
ashore and slip past him and come aboard. Was it too treacherous to be
decent?”
“You—you fooled Captain Brack?” At first the thing seemed impossible.
“You fooled Brack!” I laughed wildly because the joke was on the
captain.
“Gardy—Mr. Pitt, are you all right? Is——”
“George is all right!” I cried. “Rest easy; he’s all right. But stay
where you are.”
I ran aft to break the news. There was no need for this, however.
Brack’s boat was even then scraping at our stern.
“Throw down that ladder!” he was bellowing. “Riordan! You —— swab! The
ladder!”
Chanler leaned on the rail and called down into the darkness:
“You lose, cappy, Riordan’s overboard, and Wilson is captain. Come
aboard, cappy. I promise you that I’ll see you hanged if it takes
every cent I’ve got.”
“Ah save you dat trouble, boss,” laughed Black Sam, and fired
instantly.
We heard Brack fall on his oars. The boat drifted away out of sight.
Then we heard him move again. Presently the sound of a faint laugh
came out of the darkness.
“Poor shooting! Pitt, you there?” he called easily.
“Yes,” I said, stepping forward.
“My only mistake was in underestimating you, Pitt. One tiny mistake in
an otherwise perfect plan. You haven’t won yet, but—my compliments,
Pitt.”
I saw the flash as he fired, a roaring, brain-splitting streak of red,
which hurled me like a blast into the pit of oblivion.