The drinking must have been going on secretly for a day or two. In fact others of the crew were now discovered to be tipsy, and that the officers had not found it out before was doubtless owing to the growing laxness of discipline, despite the captain's severity.
Gary, accompanied by Bludson and others, now appeared, armed with pistols and cutlasses; but the door leading into the hold was already broken down. Scores of half crazy negroes swarmed into the gangway, bearing back the whites by sheer weight of numbers, notwithstanding the weapons of the crew. Revolver and cutlass played an active part, but the slaves seemed absolutely indifferent to life.
When one was shot down, half a dozen took his place. Even the few women fought like tigresses. The truth was they were crazed for want of water.
In the cabin, Rucker and one seaman had been literally torn limb from limb. The remaining man escaped into the captain's room.
Duff, who was without weapons, clambered through the stern window of his room, and gained the deck by way of the vessel's stern post and a rope thrown him by Ralph, who had been summoned to the wheel when the alarm was given. The lad was chafing at his inactivity.
"There's hardly any breeze," said Duff. "Lash the wheel, my lad, and bear a hand. If those niggers gain the deck we're gone up sure."
It was but the task of a moment to obey, seize a cutlass from the rack and follow the mate to the companion-way, where Gary and what was left of the men with him were being forced up the steps.
The captain was covered with blood from a scalp wound, but he was equal to several ordinary men. Skillfully parrying the blows directed at his life, he had laid more than one burly savage low.
But the number and fury of the yelling crowd were irresistible. Seizing the weapons of their dead and wounded assailants, they fought with the blind energy of desperation.
"Batten down the main hatch," called Gary, seeing Duff and Ralph. "Bludson is gone, but we can hold them until you return."