ragged group. Quick words passed from man to man. A noisy, shuffling,
indeterminate movement! The crowd swayed forward. There was a sudden
rush from the fo'castle to the waist. They had charged to gain
possession of the powder cabin--Pierre Radisson raised his pistol. For
an instant they held back. Then a barefoot fellow struck at him with a
belaying-pin.

'Twere better for that man if he had called down the lightnings.

Quicker than I can tell it, Pierre Radisson had sprung upon him. The
Frenchman's left arm had coiled the fellow round the waist. Our
leader's pistol flashed a circle that drove the rabble back, and the
ringleader went hurling head foremost through the main hatch with force
like to flatten his skull to a gun-wad. There was a mighty scattering
back to the fo'castle then, I promise you.

Pierre Radisson uttered never a syllable. He pointed to the fore
scuttle. Then he pointed to the men. Down they went under
hatches--rats in a trap!

"Tramp--bundle--pack!" says he, as the last man bobbed below.

But with a ping that raised the hair from my head, came a pistol-shot
from the mainmasts. There, perched astride of the crosstrees, was a
rascal mutineer popping at M. Radisson bold as you please.

Our captain took off his beaver, felt the bullet-hole in the brim,
looked up coolly, and pointed his musket.

"Drop that pistol!" said he.