During this low-voiced conversation between the two prisoners, the mutineers had been eating breakfast. They offered the young men none; but neither Drew nor Parmalee was thinking of his appet.i.te.

"Sit up close behind me, Parmalee," whispered Drew. "I believe I can work on that cord that fastens your wrists. If I can get you free, you can free me."

"Good! We'll try it," said the other confidently.

"That will do. Get close to me and let me pick away at this knot.

Ditty's too busy to come over here now. Besides, they're getting ready to attack our people, I think. He believes we're safe here, and he'll need all his men with him."

"You're getting it, Drew, old fellow," whispered Parmalee eagerly.

"Bet your life! One of the easiest knots a seaman ever tied. Now try mine."

Parmalee did as directed, and the knot that fastened Drew's wrists soon yielded. But the latter still kept his hands behind him and a.s.sumed a pose of deep dejection, his companion doing the same.

As Drew had conjectured, Ditty had made up his mind to attack. He was still unaware of what had taken place on the schooner during the night, and was confident that he outnumbered the besieged by about two to one.

Time was pressing, for a ship might appear at any time. He resolved to hazard all his chances on one throw.

At the head of his band he left the stockade. Drew and Parmalee waited till they felt sure that all had gone and that no guard left behind was stealthily watching them through the trees. Drew then got out his pocket knife and severed their ankle lashings.

At that moment a volley of shots was heard in the direction of the barricade. It was followed by another and still another. The fight had begun.

"Come on!" cried Drew excitedly, and he dashed out of the stockade followed by Parmalee.

Day was just breaking. Overhead the twittering of doves, the squeaking of parrakeets, the countless sounds of bird and insect life, welcomed the sun.

But the fusilades of gun shots hushed the clamor of wild life, and sent the birds and the animals shrieking away from the vicinity.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

THE SURRENDER--CONCLUSION

Great was the consternation in the little fortress when it was discovered that Drew was absent. And as the time dragged by and he did not return, his friends knew that either he had been killed or was a prisoner in the hands of the mutineers. And if the latter, they knew only too well what mercy he had to expect from the mate. One murder more or less was nothing to that scoundrel now.

Grimshaw and Captain Hamilton were abnormally grave, and Ruth's eyes were wild with anguish and terror. She no longer had any doubt of her feeling for Allen. She knew that she loved him with all her heart.

At the first sign of daylight, the master of the _Bertha Hamilton_ put his little band on a war footing. The ammunition was distributed, and he rejoiced to see how abundant it was. That he had Drew to thank for.

Ruth prepared lint and bandages for the wounded from supplies which Allen had also brought, then she stood ready to reload the extra rifles and small arms, or, at need, to use a revolver herself. Her eyes were clear and dauntless, and if her father looked at her with grave anxiety, it was also with pride.

Breakfast despatched, the men took the places a.s.signed to them. The captain had formed his plan of battle.

"They'll rush us after a few volleys," he a.s.serted. "Wait till they get within thirty feet before you fire. Then let them have it, and aim low. If they waver, and I think they will, jump over the breastworks when I give the word, and we'll charge in turn. If we once get them on the run, they'll never rally and we'll hunt them down like rats until they surrender. We're going to win, my lads!"

The answer was a cheer, and Captain Hamilton had no doubt as to the spirit with which his little force was going into the fray.

The outposts came hurrying in with the news that the mutineers were coming. And not long after, this was confirmed by a spatter of bullets against the rocks.

The defenders made a spirited reply, and several volleys were exchanged. But the mutineers were in the shelter of the wood.

Ditty knew that the pistol bullets of his men would do little damage at long range.

There came an ominous pause.

"They're getting ready now," said Captain Hamilton quietly. "Mind what I told you, my lads, about shooting low. And when you see me jump over the rocks, come close on my heels. I'll be up in front."

It was a nerve-trying wait. Then, suddenly, the mutineers emerged from the wood and rushed toward the fort, yelling as they came.

They had covered nearly half the distance when Captain Hamilton gave the word and the rifles spoke. Some of the bullets went high and wide, but several of the attacking force staggered and went down. Their comrades hesitated for a second, and the master of the _Bertha Hamilton_ seized his opportunity.

"Follow me!" he yelled. "Come on!"

He leaped over the rocky breastwork, and with a cheer the seamen followed him.

The check of the mutineers had been only temporary. Ditty raged and stormed and swore at them and they regained some semblance of order.

By the time the captain and his force had fairly cleared the lava barricade and had got into the full momentum of their charge, the mutineers had reformed. In another instant the lines had met and were locked in deadly combat.

There was no longer any pretense of discipline. When their guns were empty, every man singled out his antagonist and grappled with him. The forces were now about evenly divided, and for a time the issue was doubtful.

Then came a diversion.

Out from the wood leaped Drew, whirling a heavy club, his eyes blazing with rage and the l.u.s.t of battle. Here was the chandlery clerk, metamorphosed indeed! He was followed by Parmalee, plucky, but for the moment breathless from the struggle through the jungle.

"Shoot him, you bullies! Pull him down!" yelled Ditty, seeing the charging Drew.

He aimed his own revolver at the young man and fired. Drew felt as though his head had been seared by a red-hot iron. He staggered, but, nevertheless, kept on, charging directly at the one-eyed mate.

They met. As Drew struck at his enemy with the club, the latter flung his emptied revolver full in the face of the younger man. Drew ducked, but could not avoid it. But the bodies of the two came together, and they clenched.

Back and forth they strained, each struggling for a wrestler's hold in order to enable him to throw the other. For half a minute or more neither was successful.

But the mate was the better man in the rough-and-tumble fight. He suddenly lifted Drew from the ground and flung him to the ground. But Ditty fell too, landing heavily on his victim.

The shock almost deprived Drew of breath. The wound in his head had confused him. His grasp on Ditty relaxed, and with a yell of triumph the latter released himself, leaped to his feet, seizing the club as he arose.

"Now I've got you!" he yelled, and swung the club aloft.

At that moment Captain Hamilton shot Ditty through the breast. With a snarl, the mate, losing the club, hurled himself toward the captain and grappled with him. They went down, the latter's head striking the ground so that he was dazed for a moment.

The mutineer jerked the knife from his belt and raised it to strike; but Tyke Grimshaw, who had been fighting furiously, kicked the knife from his hand and the captain, recovering, threw his enemy from him and arose.

Ditty did not rise. The remaining mutineers wavered when their leader fell, then turned to flee.

"After them, my lads!" cried Captain Hamilton. "We've got 'em on the run!"

But the battle ended abruptly.