“You, but you won’t be within five minutes,” said Hawkson.
“Get below, Hicks and Heywood; maybe you can bring Gull and Ernest back for short stand. There’s liquor in the pantry.”
We were too badly hurt to stand much longer, and were worthless in a rush, so we went down the companion and tried to tie up our hurts.
Miss Allen had already brought Gull around, and had partly revived Ernest. She smiled faintly at me, as I came down the companionway, limping and clutching the rail at the side. Hicks was behind me, and looked sadly at the girl as the noise of the rush sounded behind us.
She came to us and tied us up the best she could, stopping the bleeding, and, as she handed me a glass of spirits, spoke.
“Hicks,” said I, “you better take Miss Allen below into the lazarette and bar the door. They may overlook you there. It will only be a matter of a few minutes’ more fighting. The barque is doomed. Go while you can, for there is no other to take her. Gull and I must make our last stand on deck.”
“And a precious short one at that,” said the second mate, who was barely able to keep his feet.
The liquor was burning within me now like oil poured upon a dying flame, and under its influence I grasped my cutlass and placed my foot on the stair, to mount again and join the panting, struggling men, whose backs showed against the opening now and then, as they cut and lunged at the press before them. They could not last long, and I could already hear the high, rasping breathing of the old captain, who was making his last fight.
“You will come also,” said Miss Allen to me. “You must know of some way to hide in a ship.”
Her eyes held a mute appeal that was hard to resist. She was filled with horror, and the terror in her look made me hesitate. Yet, when I thought, I knew Hicks could find a place easier than I, and one would be less apt to be missed than two. Besides, the men on deck were fighting, and my place was there as long as I could stand. Sir John Hicks looked at me, but said nothing.