A revolver barked twice somewhere on deck. A bullet smashed one of the
windows of the music-room and lodged in a panel behind Courtenay. They
all heard the reports, but the captain promptly turned the incident to
advantage.
"You see we mean to maintain order," he said. "Mr. Malcolm, take care
that every one has a lifebelt."
A sort of cheer came from the men. Who could fail to believe in a
leader so cool and resourceful? He ran out into the darkness to
discover the cause of the shooting. A number of sailors and firemen
were striving to launch a boat. There was a struggle going on. He
could not distinguish friend from foe in the melee, but he threw
himself into it fearlessly.
"You fools!" he shouted. "You may die soon enough without killing each
other. Make way there! Ah! would you?" He caught the gleam of an
uplifted knife, and struck savagely at the face of the man who would
have used it. The butt of the revolver caught the sailor on the
temple. He went down like a stone. Courtenay stumbled over another
prostrate body. It was Mr. Boyle, striving to rise. Their eyes met in
the gloom.
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