Then Joe Cross’s cry, “All aboard!” rang out, followed by a stentorian cheer, and amidst the rush and hurry the tiller slipped from the boy’s hand and he was climbing over the thwarts to spring into the fore-chains. Then he tottered as if about to fall back into the boat, but a big hand grasped him by the shoulder, steadied him for a moment, and then he was with the little party dashing side by side into what seemed to be a chaos of savage yells and shrieks which rose in wild confusion from the gang of Spaniards who had sprung up from their sleep, where they lay scattered about the deck.
English shouts to come on, Spanish yells, wild mongrel cries, a shriek or two of despair, a heavy plunge followed by another and another, savage blows, and utterances such as fierce men make in the wild culmination of their rage; then plunge after plunge in the water alongside and astern, the splash of swimmers, strange lashings about in the river, followed by shrieks and gurgling cries, and then, heard over all, the combined voices of so many stout Englishmen in a fierce—
“Hurrah!”
“Now then, all of you,” shouted Joe Cross. “There’s a lot of them down below. Close that cabin hatch. Two on you to the fo’c’sle; serve that the same. If you run against anybody in the dark, tell the beggar he’ll be safer overboard than here.”
But there proved to be no one below in the men’s quarters, and after making quite sure the two men returned to their comrades. Then—
“Where’s Mr Rodd?” shouted Joe.
“Here, Joe,” came out of the darkness.
“Mr Morny?”
“I’m here,” came in a breathless voice.
“And the doctor?”