Meanwhile the resistance of his hirelings had been broken.  My sturdy men had forced their way up the steps or climbed up the pillars, not without loss, and the defenders in the room behind firing a succession of shots, the buccaneers had scattered to right and left to escape being taken in front and rear at once.  Their ranks being thus weakened my men pressed upon them with redoubled vehemence.  I caught sight of Joe Punchard in the melee, his red head a flaming battle signal, wielding an iron belaying pin, every swing of it leaving the enemy one man the less.

The buccaneer captain, with the furious courage for which the West Indian freebooters have ever been notable, threw himself wherever the fight was thickest, striving to stay the rout, with cutlass in one hand and pistol in the other.  He hurled his pistol at Joe, but he saw the movement and nimbly ducked, to the discomfiture of the man behind him, who received the weapon full in his chest (Joe being short) and staggered back in a heap against the rail.  Joe was erect again in time to catch the captain’s cutlass on his belaying pin, which it struck with such force as to be shivered to splinters.  Ere the captain had time to spring back, a half swing from Joe’s formidable weapon caught him on the neck, and he fell like a bullock under the pole ax.

This was the signal for a general stampede.  With their leader gone the buccaneers could not rally, and every man sought how best to save his skin.  Some tumbled down the steps, others swung themselves over the rail and dropped to the ground, and as they rushed this way and that to find safety, they were pursued not merely by my men, but by crowds of yelling negroes, who had emerged from their concealment with wondrous rapidity when they saw the tide of battle turn against the buccaneers, and were now ready enough to join in the shouting.

The veranda being clear of the enemy, the half-battered door was thrown open, and to my amazement Dick Cludde came towards me with Mr. McTavish, three overseers, Uncle Moses, and Noah, all with smoking muskets in their hands.  A bare word of greeting passed between us, for Noah, seeing Vetch helpless in my grasp, sprang forward with a shout of savage joy and but for my intervention would have plunged his knife into the wretched man.  Fending him off, I pushed Vetch into the room, and shut the door, keeping out all but McTavish and Cludde.

Vetch was pale and discomposed, his lips twitching, his eyes ranging restlessly between Cludde and me.  I felt no pity for him.

“This man,” I said to McTavish, “led his ruffians here under promise of a share in a large sum of money they would find.  Is there any truth in it?”

“There is no that much money here at this present time,” replied McTavish, “but when I came back to the estate a while ago and looked into matters, I couldna just make out where two thousand pounds had gone.  ’Twas in specie, too, for I happened to know that the coin had been sent up from Spanish Town—­a verra large sum to keep in an up-country house.”