The sight which met his eyes confirmed his worst fears.
Facing the little knot of officers was the entire motley crew
of the Fuwalda, and at their head stood Black Michael.

At the first volley from the officers the men ran for shelter,
and from points of vantage behind masts, wheel-house and
cabin they returned the fire of the five men who represented
the hated authority of the ship.

Two of their number had gone down before the captain's
revolver. They lay where they had fallen between the
combatants. But then the first mate lunged forward upon his
face, and at a cry of command from Black Michael the mutineers
charged the remaining four. The crew had been able to muster
but six firearms, so most of them were armed with boat
hooks, axes, hatchets and crowbars.

The captain had emptied his revolver and was reloading as
the charge was made. The second mate's gun had jammed,
and so there were but two weapons opposed to the mutineers
as they bore down upon the officers, who now started to give
back before the infuriated rush of their men.

Both sides were cursing and swearing in a frightful manner,
which, together with the reports of the firearms and the
screams and groans of the wounded, turned the deck of the
Fuwalda to the likeness of a madhouse.

Before the officers had taken a dozen backward steps the