ver, not left a moment in doubt, for even as the _Belle
Helen_ righted to her true keel, there was the sound of many footsteps
running across the deck and down into the great cabin. Then proceeded a
prodigious uproar of voices, together with the struggling of men's
bodies being tossed about, striking violently against the partitions
and bulkheads. At the same instant arose a screaming of women's voices,
and one voice, that of Sir John Malyoe, crying out as in the greatest
extremity: "You villains! You damned villains!" and with that the
sudden detonation of a pistol fired into the close space of the great
cabin.

Long before this time Barnaby was out in the middle of his own cabin.
Taking only sufficient time to snatch down one of the pistols that hung
at the head of his berth, he flung out into the great cabin, to find it
as black as night, the lantern slung there having been either blown out
or dashed out into darkness. All was as black as coal, and the gloom
was filled with a hubbub of uproar and confusion, above which sounded
continually the shrieking of women's voices. Nor had our hero taken
above a couple of steps before he pitched headlong over two or three
men struggling together upon the deck, falling with a great clatter and
the loss of his pistol, which, however, he regained almost immediately.

What all the uproar portended he could only guess, but presently
hearing Captain Manly's voice calling out, "You bloody pirate, would
you choke me to death?" he became immediately aware of what had
befallen the _Belle Helen_, and that they had been attacked by some of
those buccaneers who at that time infested the waters of America in
prodigious numbers.

It was with this thought in his mind that, looking towards the
companionway, he beheld, outlined against the darkness of the night
without, the form of a man's figure, standing still and motionless as a
statue in the midst of all this tumult, and thereupon, as by some
instinct, knew that that must be the master-maker of all this devil's
brew. Therewith, still kneeling upon the deck, he covered the bosom of
that figure point-blank, as he supposed, with his pistol, and instantly
pulled the trigger.

In the light of the pistol fire, Barnaby had only sufficient
opportunity to distinguish a flat face wearing a large pair of
mustachios, a cocked hat trimmed with gold lace, a red scarf, and brass
buttons. Then the darkness, very thick and black, again swallowed
everyth