“Hoot, ye dogs! Stand out an’ die! Stand out an’ die like true Christian men!” he bawled, and as he did so he struck fiercely with a cutlass.
Jennings, Pat, and Holmberg had gone against us, and I caught a glimpse of them in the crush about Hawkson, as I circled about Shannon, trying to get within his guard, while he made long, full-arm sweeps as he advanced that kept us busy getting out of his way. Only Howard seemed to be able to stand and yet clear them.
Curtis, Jorg, and Bill had fallen upon the crowd pressing about the mate, and now some of the black pirates left the press there and came to Shannon’s aid. One of these sprang within the guard of the trader and smote him heavily. Then he dodged back again as Gull pressed him, cutting him again and again with lightning-like strokes, his cutlass-blade glinting like a flash of flame in the light of the lantern set upon the companion slide.
Shannon came steadily on. Yankee Dan reeled and struck out wildly. A pistol flashed somewhere in the night, and he pitched forward under the long man’s feet.
Everything now was mixed. A grinning black face showed before me, and I cut at it with all my power. A hoarse scream from the Doctor told me that the blow had hit hard, although there seemed little resistance to the blade. The rascally cook had evidently joined the mutiny, and had gotten his deserts. At the same time I did not stop to argue the question of right or wrong. I had been gulled into joining the ship, and had no reason to love her or her officers, yet, when it came to standing by her, there was no thought of shirking.
Had Martin been a different kind of a rascal, he might have approached me, but he had judged rightly that I had no use for him as a leader, and he had ironed me for future consideration, not wishing to part with any more men than necessary on the short-handed ship. He might have knifed me and tossed me over the side just as easily.
The death of Yankee Dan appeared to madden Martin. He roared and cursed and swung a vicious stroke at Gull. Then seeing me, his rage broke forth in a torrent of oaths. He made a cut at me and missed. I stabbed him savagely in the ribs, my point hitting him hard, for I had to jerk it clear. He roared and rushed in upon me, followed by Shannon, and I was beaten backward to the poop-rail. In vain did Howard and Gull cut and lunge at the long villain. Shannon beat their weapons down, and came upon me, with the wounded Scot at his side, now silent with pain and with the weakness of his hurt. I fought with despairing energy, but received a blow on my shoulder that almost made me drop my cutlass. The long villain took a stride nearer to me, and Martin stabbed me in the leg, as I frantically drove his point downward from my breast. I was hard pressed, and for an instant it seemed that I could not escape. The rail struck me in the small of the back, and I brought up against it. I had reached the limit. Then Bill did a thing that makes me believe in the honesty and nobility of men. It was not what might have been expected from a member of that crew, but it was more than even the duty of a friend, and we had once fought against each other.
Gull smote Jennings so sorely that he fell back and opened the way to Martin. Like a flash the second mate sprang in just as the wounded, but still wary, Scot stabbed me, and he struck him so savagely that he went staggering to one side. Pat and a black fellow pressed Howard, and Shannon whirled up his blade to make a finish of me when Bill sprang between and closed.
Howard thrust the Irishman through the body, and, as his cackling laugh broke out, the fellow fell heavily, striking Shannon’s legs behind at the knee joints. The impact of Bill in front brought all three to the deck, where they rolled into a struggling, kicking mass in the darkness.
As quickly as possible, Gull and myself sprang in to finish the long skipper before Bill was done for, but it was too late. The tall scoundrel arose almost instantly to his feet and sprang clear of our thrusts, leaving Bill lying stark dead upon the deck. He had died to save me, poor sailorman though he was, and, as I stepped over his bleeding body, I could hardly repress a sob that rose in my throat. John, Gilbert, Anderson, and Heligoland, with six of Cortelli’s black scoundrels, had by this time pressed Hawkson, Ernest, and Hicks so hard that even the aid of Curtis and Jorg availed them but little. In the general mix-up, the carpenter had received a blow over the head with a dull cutlass, which had rendered him insane for a time. I saw him rushing forward, screaming, but gave him no other thought, while I went for Shannon, determined to avenge poor Bill.