“Yes, of course,” cried Mark, standing up as they began to near the schooner once more. “Why, there’s something the matter on board—they’re fighting—they’re killing the blacks. Here, pull, men, pull. Quick! Don’t you see? The blacks have got loose, and are fighting for their liberty; pull!”
The men forgot their pains and weakness once more as a fierce yelling, shouting, and shrieking arose from the deck of the schooner. Then shots were fired, and as the boat approached, now unobserved, they could see that the crew were driving back quite a little crowd of naked blacks, who seemed helpless before the attack of the armed men, but still in their desperation they gave way slowly, uttering fierce cries of rage and despair.
It was all plain in the bright moonlight which flooded the scene, and Mark could see the slaver captain making a rush here and a rush there, and at each effort he struck down some poor wretch with a heavy bludgeon he wielded with terrible force.
Then, as the boat glided in close under the stern, all this was shut out, but the noise increased.
“Now, my lads!” whispered Mark, “we shall take ’em between two fires. As soon as the blacks see us come they’ll fight like fury, and we shall win. Do you see, Tom Fillot?”
“See, sir? yes. It’s all right. We’ll have ’em yet. I’ll make fast to the main chains, and then up we go. But don’t give the word till I’m ready, sir. I can fight now.”
The preparations took almost less time than the talking, and then, freshly nerved by the exciting scene on deck, Mark Vandean and his men climbed on board to collect for a rush, just as the blacks were making a desperate stand. There in the front were two of the stoutest armed with capstan bars, and as the crew of the boat were about to dash forward, these two blacks yelled together and charged at the schooner’s men, striking out so savagely that two of their adversaries went down, and the next they attacked shrank back.
“Stand aside!” roared the slaver skipper, raising a pistol, but it was not fired, for as the two blacks whirled their bars about and fought on, Mark gave a cheer, his men followed suit, and, taking the schooner’s crew in the rear, they were scattered at the first charge.
What followed was a series of furious, short hand-to-hand conflicts, men being driven in among the blacks, who came on now wild with excitement. They seized their enemies and, in spite of their struggles, hurled them overboard to swim for the shore, till only the skipper was left, and he was being hunted from place of vantage to place of vantage, till he made a dash and ran down into the cabin. But the biggest of the blacks, one of the two armed with capstan bars, rushed down after him, followed by his brave companion, and the next minute there was the sound of a plunge, evidently from the cabin window.
Mark and Tom Fillot rushed to the stern together, and looked over.