The alarm was sounded none too soon.  Either fortune, or skill had served those demons well.  Gliding silently through the obscuring cloud, hanging in dense folds of vapor to the water surface, propelled and guided by a single oar, used cautiously as a paddle, they had succeeded in circling the stern of the Santa Marie, unseen and unheard by anyone aboard.  Not even the girl, unconscious of the possibility of approaching danger from that quarter, her attention diverted elsewhere, had her slightest suspicion aroused as they glided noiselessly alongside, and made fast beneath the protection of the after-chains.  One by one, moving like snakes, the devils passed inboard to where they could survey the seemingly deserted deck.  Some slight noise awoke her to their presence, yet, even as she shrieked the sudden alarm, a hand was at her throat, and she was struggling desperately in the merciless grip of a half-naked Indian.

Yet at that they were too late, the advantage of surprise had failed them.  A half dozen had reached the deck, leaping from the rail, the others below clambering after their leaders, when with a rush, we met them.  It was a fierce, mad fight, fist and club pitted against knife and cutlass, but the defenders knowing well the odds against them, angered by the plight of the girl, realizing that death would be the reward of defeat, struck like demons incarnate, crushing their astounded antagonists back against the bulwark.  I doubt if the struggle lasted two minutes, and my memory of the scene is but a series of flashes.  I heard the blows, the oaths, the cries of pain, the dull thud of wood against bone, the sharp clang of steel in contact, the shuffling of feet on the deck, the splash of bodies hurled overboard.  These sounds mingle in my mind with the flash of weapons, the glare of infuriated eyes, the dark, savage faces.  Yet it was all confusion, uproar, mingling of bodies, and hoarse shouts.  Each man fought for himself, in his own way.  I thought only of her, and leaped straight for her assailant with bare hands, smashing recklessly through the hasty guard of his cutlass, ignorant that he had even struck me, and gripped the copper devil by hair and throat.  I knew she fell to the deck, beneath our feet, but I had my work cut out for me.  He was a hell-hound, slippery as an eel in his half nakedness, strong as an ox, and fighting like a fiend.  But for that first lucky grip I doubt my killing him, yet I had him foul, my grip unbreakable, as I jerked and forced his neck back against the rail, until it cracked, the swarthy body sliding inert to the deck.  Whirling to assist the others, assured of the fellow’s helplessness, I found no need.  Except for bodies here and there the deck was clear, men were struggling in the chains; two below in the boat were endeavoring to cast off, and Schmitt, with Estevan helpless in his arms, staggered to the side, and flung the shrieking Spanish cur overboard out into the dark water.  I heard the splash as he fell, the single cry his lips gave, but he never again appeared above the surface.  Above the bedlam Watkins roared out an order.