Immediately all was confusion. Whilst the old man thundered out orders from the poop, the bosun bellowed for all hands, and Jim rushed wildly to the stern, and, cutting loose the three life-buoys, sprang over with them into the swirling wake; and so quick was the boy, that Jack and Broncho, both good swimmers, came to the surface close to him. The three scrambled into the life-buoys, and even in that short space of time the _Higgins_ was nearly half a mile away. Meanwhile on board of her there was trouble. As the port watch rushed wildly aft at the bosun's call, the first thing they saw was the broken body of Studpoker Bob, which, with crushed-in head, was lying crumpled up in a pool of blood, within a few feet of the senseless form of Black Davis. The carpenter stood waving his arms at the door of his shop, shouting, "Man ovairboard! Man ovairboard!" The starboard watch came sliding down backstays from aloft in frantic haste. All hands were speedily in a wild state of excitement and indignation. "Steady, boys, steady! Stand by yer lee braces!" called the bosun quietly in his deep voice. "Hard down the wheel!" roared the old man. "No, hold hard, as yew were! Hold on all! Keep her as she goes!" "Ain't you goin' to try an' pick 'em up, sir?" asked the bosun indignantly. "What kin I do, bosun, what kin I do? We ain't got no boats! Snakes, what a 'tarnal mess! But thar ain't nothin' ter do. Send the port watch below," cried the old man unsteadily. There was a roar of indignation from the crew at these words, and a storm of groans, hoots, and hisses broke forth. "It's murder, begorr, black, bloody murder!" screeched Pat. "Ain't you goin' ter give 'em a chanst?" cried the cockney with his shrill squeak. Things began to look nasty. The men gathered round the main-hatch. Some of them drew knives, others pulled belaying-pins from the rail, and fists were shaken wildly at the old man as he stood at the break of the poop, roaring: "Git forrard, yew rakin's an' scrapin's o' hell an' Sing-sing, git forrard, or I'll blow the guts outer some o' yer," and he lifted his Winchester threateningly. A belaying-pin whirled and nearly knocked it out of his hands, whilst Angelino's knife stuck quivering in the rail before him. "Jump up hyeh, bosun!" he jerked rapidly. "Steward, whar' are yew?" "Here, sir!" called the steward at his back. "Fetch my pistols an' git the hell of a gait on yer." "Here they be's, sir," said the steward meekly, thrusting them forward. He was a well-trained steward, and had been through this sort of business with Captain Bob Riley before. "Better get forrard, boys," said the bosun soberly. "It's too late to do anything now, an' you ain't foolish enough to go buckin' against guns, are ye? We're short-enough handed as it is, without any more lame ducks." The bosun's sensible words had their effect, and so did the old man's glittering nickel-plated six-shooters.