ignal for the demoniac passions latent in the crew to burst forth
again, this time in a consuming blaze that would not be stayed. Each
man fought blindly for himself, heedless now of all restrictions. The
knowledge of this latest disaster spread with amazing rapidity. Up
from the saloon came a rush of stewards and others. Overborne in the
panic-stricken flight, Gray, Tollemache, Christobal, the French Count
and the head steward, not knowing what new catastrophe threatened,
brought Mr. Somerville and the almost inanimate women with them,
leaving to their fate those who, like Boyle, were unable to move. Some
of the mob rushed up the bridge companion; others made for the after
ladders used only by sailors; others, again, swung themselves to the
spar deck by the rails and awning standards. Even before Courtenay
could reach the scene, both the second and third officers were stabbed,
this time mortally. He saw one of the infuriated mutineers heave the
third officer's body overboard--a final quittance for some injury
previously received.

He emptied his revolver into the tumbling mass of men, but he was swept
aside by the fresh gang from the saloon, and perhaps owed his escape
from instant death by falling on the slippery deck. He was up again,
shouting, entreating, striking right and left, but he felt bitterly
that his efforts now were of no avail, and he bethought him that there
was only one resource left. These frenzied wretches would destroy
themselves and all others--so, if he would save even a few of the lives
entrusted to his care, at least one of the boats must be protected.
The struggle was fiercest for the possession of the two life-boats. By
a determined effort the jolly-boat might be secured.

So he ran to obtain help from the few he could trust, from the tiny
company of white men he had left in the saloon; he met them, a forlorn
procession, coming up to the bridge. The all-powerful instinct of
self-preservation, aided, no doubt, by the stinging, drenching showers
of spray, had gone far towards reanimating Isobel and her maid, while
Mrs. Somerville, a woman advanced in years, was able to walk, though
benumbed with the sudden cold. Courtenay unlocked the door of his
cabin. Elsie, her face pale and tear-stained, but outwardly composed,
was yet standing near the table, and the dog sprang from her arms the
moment his master appeared.

"Thank God!" she said, all of a flutter now that the solitary waiting