Watkins.  I heard him dash the door wide open, call to those on deck, and then saw him wheel about to again confront the devils plunging blindly forward toward us through the dark cabin.  We could hold them here for a time at least, yet I had the sense to know that this check would prove only temporary.  They outnumbered us ten to one, and would arm themselves from the rack.  Yet the greater danger lay in the loyalty of my own men.  A dozen of us might hold these stairs against assault, but treachery would leave us helpless.  And the very thickness of the fog without invited to treachery.  If one among them, and there were many capable of such an act, should steal below forward, and force open the door from the forecastle, we would be crushed between two waves of men, and left utterly helpless.  I saw the whole situation vividly, and as quickly chose the only course to pursue, the one hope remaining.

“Here lads,” I called sharply back over my shoulder, “five or six of you are enough to hold back this scum.  Watkins!”

“Ay, sir.”

“Bend down here—­now listen.  Get the boats ready—­two will be enough—­and be lively about it.  We’ll hold these fellows until you report.  You know the lads to be trusted.  Put two of them at the forecastle scuttle, and then rout everybody out from below.  Who is here now?”

“Name yerselves, bunkies—­I can’t see yer.”

“Simmes.”

“Schmitt.”

“Ravel DeLasser.”

“Carter.”

“Jacob Johansen.”

“Sam.”

“That’s enough; you lads remain here with me.  Have Harwood watch LeVere, while the rest of you get out the boats.”

“How many, sir?”

“The two quarter-boats will hold us all.  Knock out the plugs in the others—­and Watkins!”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“See that Miss Fairfax is placed safely in the after-boat, and then stand by.  Send me word the moment all is ready.  That’s all—­we’re going to be busy here presently.”

I had glimpse of the thick fog without as he pushed through the door, and of a scarcely distinguishable group of men on the deck.  Those about me could only be located by their restless movements.  I stepped down one stair conscious of increasing movement below, the meat cleaver still gripped in my hands.

“Any of you armed with cutlasses?”

“Oui, M’Sieur, Ravel DeLasser.”

“Stand here, to right of me, now another at my left.  Who are you?” “Jim Carter, sir.”

“Good; now strike hard, lads, and you others be ready.”

“What’s up, sir?” asked a gruff voice.  “Has they busted out from between decks?”

“That’s what’s happened.  The cabin is full of ’em, and it is your life and mine in the balance.  If we can get away in this fog they’ll never find us, but we’ve got to hold them here until the boats are ready.”

“Is it Sanchez?”

“It was Sanchez, but I killed him.  That is where we’ve still got them huskies, without a leader.”