Soup ran to the hold hatch and lowered himself rapidly down, just as the noise below culminated in shrieks and yells, while the fighting was rapidly growing desperate.
“We must go down and stop it,” said Mark.
“Shall I pipe all hands on deck, sir?” cried Tom.
“No, no; we can quiet them. Get a light. They’ll settle down as soon as they see me.”
Tom Fillot fetched a lantern, and two men who had heard the fierce yelling came up to see just as Mark reached the ladder, and was about to descend, when, to his astonishment, Soup came rushing up, and fell heavily upon the deck.
“Why, Soup, my lad, have they attacked you?” cried Mark, taking the lantern to hold over the prostrate black.
“Hi! Look-out, sir!” roared Tom Fillot, blowing a whistle with all his might, as he drew his cutlass, and made a cut at a dark shadow which leaped on deck; and before Mark could grasp what it all meant, other shadowy figures rushed up from below, made a desperate charge, and a moment later he, Tom Fillot, and Dick Bannock, with Stepney, were driven down into the cabin, while the body of the big black was hurled upon them, and the hatchway doors banged to.
For a few moments Mark could neither get his breath nor speak. Then wriggling himself out from beneath poor Soup, he cried angrily,—
“The treacherous brutes! This is setting blacks free, so that they may turn against us. Why, they’ve half killed him.”
“And us, too, sir,” groaned Tom Fillot. “I always thought they’d be too many for us.”