The big Welshman, Jones, had just swung into the press about him as we came up, and Hawkson had a breathing spell for a few moments. The old privateersman saw me behind him in the doorway, and the ghost of his old smile wrinkled the corners of his ugly mouth. He was covered with blood, and growing weak from exertion, but he held out a long, sinewy hand, and I grasped it. He said nothing, but looked at the surging crowd that was pressing closer and closer against the struggling Welshman and Howard. Henry clung to the companion coaming with one hand, and closed the gap between them. The black mass swung back toward us, and instantly we were fighting desperately to hold them in check.

A pile of black bodies in front impeded their movement, but they pressed us so close that we were jammed shoulder to shoulder, with Jones slightly in advance to the right, and the old captain in front. Gull ducked below my arm, and stabbed viciously upward at the Africans who came on.

There had been a short pause, caused by Jones’s fierce fight, but, as he gradually slackened his efforts, and the men behind pressed forward, the gap began closing up. It would soon be over.

A huge black fellow reached out and grasped Captain Howard. The old pirate ran him through the body with marvellous quickness, but, before he could disengage his weapon, several more seized him and jerked him away from us. He disappeared in the blackness, and we saw him no more. He had gone to his account without a word, fighting desperately to the last, and with him went the last hope we had left.

Hawkson was tiring. A couple of men seized me and started to drag me out, but the old privateersman made a last desperate rally, and I tore myself free from dying clutches. But the fight could not last for ever. A black giant, who wore a gee-string, smote Hawkson’s blade a terrific blow with a windlass-brake, knocking it out of his hand. Instantly several seized him, and, though I cut and stabbed frantically, they managed to pull him away, to be served as had been the others who had fallen into their hands.

Suddenly, while I cut wildly at the forms in front, some one pulled me backwards. I expected to find myself in the hands of the black tigers, thirsting for blood and revenge, and was about to make one last sweep, but my arm was seized, and I was pulled down the companionway, while Jones slammed the doors together and bolted them. The big sailor and myself were all the men left on deck of our after-guard, and he had pulled me back just in time. The door would stand a few minutes against the assault. Gull and Henry had both gone, the little ferret-faced fellow fastening his great fingers firmly in the throat of a man who drew him to his death. There was now no hope but to delay the inevitable for as many minutes as possible.

Jones and I had a short breathing spell, while bars and handspikes crashed through the heavy door panels. We took down several of the muskets from the racks, and, placing their muzzles against the rents in the wood, fired them one after the other, with the result of abating the zeal of the fellows who stood close against the other side. The room filled with the dense powder smoke, and the light from the swinging cabin lamps barely lit up the gloom enough to distinguish objects. Ernest, who had been left half-dead upon the cabin floor, now aroused himself enough to stagger to his feet.

“The lazarette,” he gasped; “it’s our only chance. Bring some muskets and ammunition. We can make a stand there.”

Grasping an armful of the discharged weapons, I led the way through a small door in the after-bulkhead, as heavy blows crashed upon the door of the forward cabin. Jones followed with an armful of cartridges and a priming-flask, Ernest leaning heavily upon him. Then I hesitated.

“Put out the light. Let ’em think we’re waitin’ in the dark,” said the big sailor.

I turned back and took the lamp out of the bracket. It would serve to light the black hole we were entering, for Hicks had taken no lantern with him, being hardly able to walk, with weakness from wounds and exertion.

Jones went ahead with Ernest, and I looked quickly about the cabin for some means of preventing entrance through the small, low door into the stern of the boat. Nothing appeared handy, and I turned to follow.

At that same instant the attack upon the companion was resumed and the doors crashed in, letting several black forms come plunging down the steps.

There was no time to lose, so, quickly entering the hole, I closed it and set the lamp close by on the deck, where its dim rays would light the entrance when the door would be burst in. The bulkhead was not very thick, and it would take very few minutes to smash the small door, but, as the passage was only about three feet wide, two able men with muskets and cutlasses could make it good from the inside, for no matter what the press beyond, the Africans would have to come in twos and threes through the opening. They would not think to cut a new way through, and, as long as they came in front, we could pile them up as fast as they could pull the dead and disabled away.

Jones had disappeared into the blackness farther aft under the cockpit as I entered, but the sound of the yelling blacks entering the cabin brought him back to my side, and I motioned him to stand to starboard, while I took the port side, our cutlass blades a little more than overlapping as we held them ready for the rush.

On all sides the ship’s stores were piled and stored close up under the low deck. Spare canvas rolled and stopped in long bundles lined the passageway, placed near at hand that in case of emergency they could be brought out quickly and bent to stripped spars. We stood perfectly quiet, while the din below increased, but, as the savages had no light, they could not, at first, find the small door in the after-bulkhead.

While we waited, Hicks appeared, stooping and coming along under the low beams. He had a musket in each hand which he had loaded, and when he saw us he stopped. Laying down the guns, he began pulling at an old topsail, and Jones, seeing what he wanted, hastened to help. Together they rolled and dragged the canvas to the door, piling it up to close the opening as much as possible, and at the same time serve as a breastwork. Suddenly a savage voice howled close against the bulkhead, and instantly a rain of tremendous blows fell upon the door. It splintered, broke, and was torn away in an instant. Then the black bodies crowded in.

Jones on one side and myself on the other fell upon them with our cutlasses, and the first three lay groaning and blocking the way. Hicks crouched down behind the pile of topsail and rested his musket, with its muzzle about three feet from the opening, but held his fire. He would wait until one of us failed to stop our men.

The three bodies were whisked away, and a half-score of black faces, with white eyeballs and ivory teeth, filled the gap, each savage trying to get in at once, none flinching in the least from the sword cuts. Capstan-bars, muskets, and cutlasses were shoved through, and we had to keep alert to prevent being wounded. One huge negro, with a woolly beard on his black chin, pulled a couple of his fellows back from the opening, and thrust a long muscular arm inside, holding a cutlass. He swung it with marvellous quickness, and parried my stroke, giving me a bad cut in return, but Jones reached him with a short-arm thrust, and, before he could recover, I had him out of action. He was jerked back before we could get hold of his weapon, and others took his place.

It was a nightmare scene there in between the decks of the old pirate barque. I could sometimes catch a glimpse of Sir John Hicks lying in the bight of the old topsail, with his eyes looking steadily along the barrel of the musket and shining like beads in the dim light. He was good for one fellow,--the one we would miss. Opposite me the big sailor slashed and cut at everything that came through the opening, while just without the black bodies crowded, and hideous black faces grinned and yelled in savage fury.

Another rush, and then another, and Jones received a stab from a cutlass thrust suddenly in at the door. Three armed negroes tried to enter at once, and almost succeeded. I stopped one, but Jones’s man came through, and another started to follow. Then the musket crashed in the passage, and we were choked with smoke. But Hicks had stopped the leader, and Jones then finished the other. We still held our own.

Suddenly the faces and forms drew back from the opening. A wild yelling was heard on deck, followed by a scrambling up the companion. Some noises sounded at the doors, pounding and hammering. We drew back and waited.

The minutes passed slowly. Hicks placed his spare gun in position, and coolly proceeded to load on the stores packed behind us. All was black and quiet now in the cabin, save for the hammering at the doors.

In a little while I began to get nervous. The yelling had begun to die away, and only now and then voices sounded forward.

“I reckon I’ll take a peep into the cabin,” I said. “Bring the lamp, and stand for a rush if there are any tricks played.”

Jones took the light, and, standing just inside the hole, let the rays fall upon the cabin-deck. It was apparently deserted. Poking my cutlass ahead of me, ready for a surprise, I made my way slowly through the opening, keeping my eyes on both sides as I came through. The cabin was empty.

I looked up at the companion entrance, and, as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I saw the doors were closed. The forward doors also had been put in place, and the hammering had now ceased. I distinctly heard the rattle of blocks with the tackle running rapidly.

“No one here,” I whispered, and Jones came through the bulkhead. Presently Hicks followed.

“Better leave the light inside,” he suggested. “They may have some trick to get us out.”

Jones sniffed the air loudly for a few moments.

“What’s the matter?” asked Sir John.

“Seems to me they’ve already played it,” said Jones, coolly. “I smell smoke, an’ I smell it strong.”

“Powder smoke, man; the place is thick with it,” I said, choking and coughing a little.

Jones turned his great face toward me.

“You may be the gunner, Mr. Heywood, you might know,” said he, “but I smells wood. There ain’t no mistake. The barque’s on fire, an’ they’ve nailed us below.”