A huge black towered above him, wielding a hand-spike, and several more pressed Anderson back.
The Scotchman rose to his full height, and, seizing his cutlass in both hands, smote the African a blow that sank the blade down to his nose. Before he could wrench it clear, the fellow went headlong to the deck, carrying the blade with him, snapping it free from the hilt, and leaving Martin helpless. The mob surged upon him and he disappeared. We saw him no more.
Anderson had a similar fate. A dozen giants in ebony grasped his cutlass in their hands, regardless of the blade. It was wrenched from him, and he went down, followed by a dago named Guinea and a couple of the blacks from the slave-pen. Gus, Gilbert, and the rest of the mutineers had disappeared already, leaving only one black and Shannon of the entire crowd.
The African, fighting against his fellows, lasted but a few moments. He was crowded to the rail. Throwing his cutlass into the mob, he sprang clear of the side and was gone in the darkness, and Shannon was left alone at the taffrail, where he made his last stand.
A great black fellow made his way aft, calling out in a clear, deep bass voice. He was apparently entirely naked, and his skin shone and glistened in the lantern’s light. He carried a cutlass in his hand, and thrust his followers aside, as he made his way to the long skipper, who fought gamely on.
“Ho! Benga Sam, I wanter know,” cried the sailor. And the black giant called out something in his clear tones.
It was evident that there was a score to settle, for the black man hurled his kind right and left to get in. Some of the nearest drew back at the sound of his deep voice, and pressed back the heavy weight of the mob behind, clearing a small space in front of Shannon. Into this the black giant forced his way.
All this happened in an incredibly short time, but the solid bank of human flesh before us was pressing closer, in spite of Hawkson’s desperate efforts.
Big Jones reached us, and, placing his pistol at the breast of the nearest African, fired. Then he whirled his blade into the thick of them, and all together we forced a space clear about the companion. Howard was nearly spent. I was desperately wounded, and leaned against the companion, panting for breath, while Hicks grasped the coaming to keep from falling.
In the breathing spell, while Jones held the way, I saw what was taking place a few feet distant.