I could from this place make out that a wild debauch was going on on the after-deck, and I heard one of the scoundrels shrieking out a song, in a wild, discordant voice. They had broken open the stores, and were getting mad drunk with rum.
I crawled back to tell the news, and to think what could be done.
Adams was almost fainting from loss of blood. For myself, I was scarcely good for anything—not for a struggle, that was certain. I might defend myself for a time. I would try, anyhow. I could only die.
All at once we heard the hatchway opening stealthily.
“Whist!” said Jones’s voice. “Who’s alive down there?”
“Two!” I answered. “Adams and I—Tom Watson. We are both badly wounded.”
“Thank heaven you are not dead!” he said. “You can save yourselves, if you’ve strength enough to lower yourselves into a boat. I’ve got it down into the water. Will you try?”
We went at once, and gained the deck. Only one of the villains was on the watch forward. We could see the dark figures of the rest sprawling about in the semi-darkness far aft, and we went down on our hands and knees, and crawled in the shadow to the side. But just as we reached it, the moon came out from behind a cloud, and the man fired, and shouted loudly.
Adams went down, and we two only were left.
“Save yourself! Jump!” cried Jones. “I’ll keep ’em back! Avast there, you black-hearted swabs, or I’ll chop you to pieces!” And as five of them, the soberest of the lot, came rushing on us in a body, he laid about him right and left with a large cutlass, much heavier than I should have believed he could use, and the beggars rolled over, slashed and mangled beneath his strokes.