“Round the house, lads!  Round the house!” cried the captain; and even in the hurly-burly, I perceived a change in his voice.

Mechanically, I obeyed, turned eastwards, and with my cutlass raised, ran round the corner of the house.  Next moment I was face to face with Anderson.  He roared aloud, and his hanger went up above his head, flashing in the sunlight.  I had not time to be afraid, but as the blow still hung impending, leaped in a trice upon one side, and missing my foot in the soft sand, rolled headlong down the slope.

When I had first sallied from the door, the other mutineers had been already swarming up the palisade to make an end of us.  One man, in a red night-cap, with his cutlass in his mouth, had even got upon the top and thrown a leg across.  Well, so short had been the interval that when I found my feet again all was in the same posture, the fellow with the red night-cap still half-way over, another still just showing his head above the top of the stockade.  And yet, in this breath of time, the fight was over and the victory was ours.

Gray, following close behind me, had cut down the big boatswain ere he had time to recover from his last blow.  Another had been shot at a loophole in the very act of firing into the house and now lay in agony, the pistol still smoking in his hand.  A third, as I had seen, the doctor had disposed of at a blow.  Of the four who had scaled the palisade, one only remained unaccounted for, and he, having left his cutlass on the field, was now clambering out again with the fear of death upon him.

“Fire—­fire from the house!” cried the doctor.  “And you, lads, back into cover.”

But his words were unheeded, no shot was fired, and the last boarder made good his escape and disappeared with the rest into the wood.  In three seconds nothing remained of the attacking party but the five who had fallen, four on the inside and one on the outside of the palisade.

The doctor and Gray and I ran full speed for shelter.  The survivors would soon be back where they had left their muskets, and at any moment the fire might recommence.

The house was by this time somewhat cleared of smoke, and we saw at a glance the price we had paid for victory.  Hunter lay beside his loophole, stunned; Joyce by his, shot through the head, never to move again; while right in the centre, the squire was supporting the captain, one as pale as the other.

“The captain’s wounded,” said Mr. Trelawney.

“Have they run?” asked Mr. Smollett.

“All that could, you may be bound,” returned the doctor; “but there’s five of them will never run again.”

“Five!” cried the captain.  “Come, that’s better.  Five against three leaves us four to nine.  That’s better odds than we had at starting.  We were seven to nineteen then, or thought we were, and that’s as bad to bear."*

The mutineers were soon only eight in number, for the man shot by Mr. Trelawney on board the schooner died that same evening of his wound.  But this was, of course, not known till after by the faithful party.