The wildness of the scene, half revealed in the supernatural light of the flares, held him spellbound. So great was the din given off by the surging water in the cave that no sound of the furious battle in progress rose above it. Voices, blows, oaths, and cries of pain and alarm were drowned by the great voice of the cave, which seemed to exert itself in an effort to obliterate every human sound in its vicinity.
Now and then in the light of the flares Dare saw an agonized face, a lifted weapon; but no sound accompanied either revelation. It was as if the fight were being carried on in dumb-show.
He hurried down the stairs to join in the affray, throwing aside caution, which had no place in any of those there that night. As he neared Captain McDonnell's party, which was gradually forcing the smugglers back on board the Mary, where they were being severely handled by Captain Stanley and his crew, he saw one of the fellows escape and make a dart up the stair towards him. He waited for the man to get within jumping distance, then launched himself precipitately upon him.
The smuggler gave a grunt as Dare struck him, and collapsed. Both went rolling over and over down the stairs and, bouncing past the struggling crew, who were too much occupied to notice them, rolled off the ledge into the water.
Dare, half-winded, felt the smuggler's hold relax and came above water blowing noisily. He saw his opponent rise about the same time and make for the rock, a knife between his teeth. A flare revealed him climbing up the face of the ledge. Then an arm reached out, dragged him over, and clubbed him with a rifle before he could raise a hand in defence.
Dare did not care to risk being treated in similar fashion by his own party in the dark. He looked about him and for the second time that night found himself under the bowsprit of the Mary. He clambered into the head rigging and eventually reached the schooner's deck.
The mass of the struggling men were centred aft on the landing side. The smugglers were between two fires, the land party and the sea party, and as they were outnumbered nearly two to one it was only a matter of minutes before they would be overpowered. Nevertheless, they were putting up a desperate resistance. At such close quarters the Drake's crew found their rifles worse than useless. Even if they had desired to fire on the smugglers they could not have done so without bringing down some of their own men. So the battle degenerated into a bout of fisticuffs, with here and there a blow from a stick and the attempted use of a knife.
Dare made a vain effort to force his way between the backs of the sea crew in order to get a chance for a crack at the enemy. Finding his attempt hopeless—for the Drake's men were massed shoulder to shoulder in fighting formation—he ran round the cabin so as to reach the landing side farther aft.
As he passed the companion-way he stopped to take a glance down into the cabin. It was deserted. He was about to pass on when he saw the door of the captain's stateroom tremble as though under an assault. At the same instant he heard a concerted cry of victory from the Drake's men. He did not hesitate longer, but jumped down into the cabin. And as he did so he suddenly remembered Ben. It was Ben, of course, who was in the room! He had heard Pierre give the order to lock him up. And he had forgotten the poor old chap completely until this instant! He ran to the door. The key was in the lock. He turned it, opened the door, and was confronted by Ben.
The old sailor staggered backwards when he saw Dare before him. "Mr. Dare!" he exclaimed, and his voice trembled.