"You may be right, but if you will put your wits to work you may see a
way."

"If I had any cartridges--"

"Cartridges! Have you a pistol?"

He drew a heavy revolver from his pocket and dropped the empty cylinder
into his palm, and I gave a roar of joy at the sight of it, for I knew
that it would take the bullets I had found in Harris's pocket.

"A forty-four! Here! These will fit!" and I plucked a handful of the
precious cartridges which were suddenly transformed from so much useless
lead and powder into deadly missiles which might yet save our lives and
the ship.

"Our luck has turned!" I cried, slapping him on the back and putting six
of the greasy slugs into the cylinder and snapping it back into position.

"We can fight them now, captain. Only let me get sight on one of those
murderers and I'll drill him--Thirkle and Buckrow and the whole lot of
'em!"

"You won't get the chance," he said. "They are too wise to come prowling
around if there is a chance of getting a bullet, and they won't bother
their heads with us now--it's the gold they want--there they go again."

There was a shot on deck, and then we heard heavy shoes pounding over the
deck and a wild yell over our heads as a man got a bullet or jumped into
the sea.

I ran up the companion to the scuttle-hood and listened, and, with
the pistol ready, tried to make out what was going on. I could hear
Thirkle calling to Petrak, and then the screaming of Chinese, shots in
rapid succession, and the patter of bare feet scampering on the iron
deck-plates.

In a few minutes the battle seemed to be transferred to the
superstructure and the after-deck, and from then until the ports of the
forecastle became gray disks in the false dawn there was scarcely a
quarter of an hour that was not marked by a pistol-shot or the death-cry
of a victim. We knew it was a ruthless slaughter, and that Thirkle was
working out the ancient creed that dead men tell no tales.

I lingered in the scuttle, and tried my luck on it with the broken knife,
hoping that I might cut an aperture which would admit the muzzle of the
pistol, or my hand, so that I might grasp the chains on the outside and
pull them free. After an hour or more of labour I managed to split away a
small piece of board, but in the dim light from the swaying slush-lamp I
made slow progress.

In my cramped position I had to hold fast with one hand, and, swaying
with the motion of the ship, work away splinters from t