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
rapidly approached 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 re-
ports 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 back-
ward steps the men were upon them. An ax in
the hands of a burly negro cleft the captain from
forehead to chin, and an instant later the others
were down; dead or wounded from dozens of
blows and bullet wounds.

Short and grisly had been the work of the
mutineers of the Fuwalda, and through it all
John Clayton had stood leaning carelessly beside
the companionway puffing meditatively upon his
pipe as though he had been but watching an in-
different cricket match.

As the last officer went down he bethought him
that it was time that he returned to his wife
lest some members of the crew find her alone
below.

Though outwardly calm and indifferent, Clay-
ton was inwardly apprehensive and wrought up,
for he feared for his wife's safety at the hands

-18-