A deep silence followed the slaying of the crew. Stirling crouched in the shelter of the galley house where the cook's pipe was thrust through the wall, then turned his eyes and stared aft.
The thought had come to him that the girl was alone in the cabin. Marr had been seen last fighting Russians who had invaded the galley room, and a show of resistance was still there. The lurking forms of men were about the door, but the waist of the ship seemed filled with men who had climbed aboard from out of the sea. These men were waiting for some signal.
It came with startling suddenness. Marr, the first engineer, and two seamen burst through the doorway, shouting defiance, and plunged straight for the poop and the shelter of the after cabins. One seaman and engineer were felled and dragged to death. Marr and the second seaman gained the poop steps, glanced forward, and vanished in the direction of the cabin companion.
This sally filled the ship with wild imprecations and cries, and Stirling was swirled in a maze of doubt. The quarter-deck was shadowed with climbing Russians; the forepeak and waist rocked with their feet as they searched about for survivors.
A thin tongue of flame from an after porthole burned through the night. A rapid hail of lead from a rifle spattered along the deck and splintered the woodwork. Marr had reached the ship's arsenal and was firing from the break of the poop into the Russian horde. The situation had changed during the period of seconds.
Before he had time to gauge the battle, Stirling heard the rush of men who were seeking safety behind the galley house and within the gloom of the whaleboats on the port side. He raised his revolver and emptied it along the deck. One shot went home; the others missed. He pocketed the weapon, faced about, and darted for the lee shrouds which led up to the crow's-nest. He then mounted the rail and climbed by the strength which was in his arms.
The vanguard of Russians leaped for his legs, but he drew himself up and worked toward the crow's-nest with beating heart. He reached the Jacob's ladder and went out instead of going through the lubber's hole. Here he turned and stared downward; the deck seemed far away; a whizzing belaying pin missed his head by many feet. He chuckled and touched his face with his hand. Blood was there from some unnoticed wound.
Whiskered faces showed through the gloom, and Stirling chuckled for a second time and climbed swiftly to the crow's-nest. Dropping inside, he pressed his chin to the edge of the nest and glanced toward the rocky wall which loomed over the ship. Other Russians were descending the trail that led to the shelving beach, and he watched a score more who were swimming through the dark waters of the harbour.
Suddenly all the fight went out of him, as water leaves a sponge. The odds were far too great—Marr and the seaman and the girl comprised the afterguard. They were well armed, but the invaders were in such number as to indicate the exodus of an army. They either had worked northward by land from Vladivostok, or, concluded Stirling, they had taken ships and been wrecked on the coast. This was a possibility, considering the remote locality of the Gulf of Anadir.
A call lifted upward from the dark side; Stirling turned away from the harbour view and looked downward. A revolutionist stood by the square outline of the after hatch, and he raised his arms.