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 together I could not judge their number, many between us and the light with faces darkened by shadow.  Between us, even ten feet from the stairs, the deck was littered with bodies, ghastly faces staring up, with black stains of blood everywhere.  It was Manuel’s hand which had kindled the light, and the first croak of his voice told his purpose.

“Now you sculking cowards,” he yelled pointing forward, “do you see what you are fighting?  There are only five men between you and the deck.  To hell with ’em!  Come on!  I’ll show you the way!”

He leaped forward; but it was his last step.  With one swing of my arm I sent the cleaver hurtling through the air.  I know not how it struck him, but he went down, his last word a shriek, his arms flung out in vain effort to ward off the blow.  Schmitt roared out a Dutch oath, and before I knew fully what had happened, his gun, sent whirling above me, had crashed into the uplifted torch.  Again it was black, hideous night, through which the eye could perceive nothing.  Even the noise ceased, but a hand gripped my shoulder.

“Who are you?”

“Nigger Sam, sah.  Mistah Watkins sez it’s all done fixed.”

“Where is he?”

“Here,” answered Watkins himself in a hoarse whisper.  “The boats are ready.”

“Afloat?”

“Yes, sir.  The one forward has pushed off loaded.  The after-boat is alongside.  There is such a hell of a fog, sir, yer can’t see two fathoms from the ship.”

“All the better for us; is the girl in the boat?”

“Safe, sir; but LeVere ain’t.”

“What do you mean?  That he has got away?  I ordered you to have Harwood watch him.”

“Yes, sir; but the mate slipped out o’ sight in the fog.  He’s somewhar aboard, but we ain’t been able ter put hands on him nowhar yet.”

“Never mind him; the fellow can do no harm now.  Move back slowly lads.  Schmitt and I will be the last ones out.  Pick up that cutlass, Schmitt.  We must act before those devils down there wake up again.”

We closed the companion door as silently as possible and for the moment there was no sound from within to show that our cautious withdrawal had been observed.  I stared about, but was able to perceive little beyond the small group awaiting my orders.  The fog clung thick and heavy on all sides, the lungs breathed it in, and the deck underfoot was as wet as though from heavy rain.  Moisture dripped from yards and canvas, and it was impossible for the eye to penetrate to either rail.  Fortunately there was no weight of sea running, and the bark swung gently, still retaining steerage-way, but with not wind enough aloft to flap the sails.  The silence and gloom was most depressing.