se and looked up. Sievers struck him with the hammer and flew at
one of the cleaners. Maclean rushed at the other with his spade. It was
all over in a moment, and without any noise that the thudding of the
donkey-engine did not drown. Maclean changed coats and caps with the
insensible Russian engineer, while Sievers called the _Saigon's_ men
from below. He then strapped on the man's dirk, and put his revolver in
his pocket.

"What next?" asked Sievers.

Maclean glanced at the engine-room clock. The hands pointed to
seven-fifteen. "Captain and officers are just about half through their
dinner," he reflected.

"Wait here," he said aloud: "I'm going to reconnoitre. Just keep the
door ajar when I leave. Let anyone come in that wants to, but crack him
over the skull once he gets inside."

"Ay, ay, sir!"

Maclean opened the door and stepped out leisurely upon the deck. Before
him rose the captain's cabin, the officers' quarters, and the bridge
above. Beyond that stretched the main deck, with the forecastle far
forward. An officer paced the bridge; some two score sailors were
grouped about the forecastle door drinking tea, and the rattle of knives
and forks, the clink of glasses, and sounds of talk and laughter
proceeding from the saloon astern sufficiently located the leaders of
his enemies. Maclean thought hard for a moment, then pulling his cap
over his eyes walked underneath the bridge and looked up. As he had
expected, and ardently hoped, he perceived the muzzle of a machine-gun
protruding from the very centre of the iron rampart. Thanking Providence
for two years spent in the service of the New South Wales Naval Brigade
in his younger days, he returned to the engine-room door, and after a
cautious whisper stepped inside.

"Sievers," said he, "the officers are all at dinner astern. Take this
revolver, and when you hear me knock three times on the railing of the
bridge, sneak out with all the men and rush the cabin. Most of the crew
are forward. I'll look after them; there's a Nordenfeldt on the bridge."

"Ay, ay, sir!"

"Give me your hammer!"

"Good luck to you, sir!"

Maclean took the hammer, slipped it under his jacket, and once more
sought the deck. A steward passed him at a run, and two stokers
proceeding toward the engine-house saluted his uniform. He pulled his
cap over his eyes, and began to climb the ladder. The _Nevski_ was
swinging softly at her anchor, her nose pointing to the land. On the
distant