What followed was a series of furious, short hand-to-hand conflicts, men being driven in among the blacks, who came on now wild with excitement. They seized their enemies and, in spite of their struggles, hurled them overboard to swim for the shore, till only the skipper was left, and he was being hunted from place of vantage to place of vantage, till he made a dash and ran down into the cabin. But the biggest of the blacks, one of the two armed with capstan bars, rushed down after him, followed by his brave companion, and the next minute there was the sound of a plunge, evidently from the cabin window. Mark and Tom Fillot rushed to the stern together, and looked over. "Have they killed him?" said the midshipman, hoarsely. "No, sir; he's swimming like a seal--the warmint. He'll reach the shore. But hadn't you better get us together, sir? The niggers may have a turn at us now. P'r'aps they don't know we're friends." "Oh yes they do, Tom; they must have seen how we fought for them." But all the same the lad gave a long piercing whistle, and his men clustered about him, ready for the blacks, who were now coming aft in a body. "It means another fight, sir," whispered Tom. "Can't anybody say in nigger lingo as we're friends?" "Yes, friends; all friends," cried a harsh voice, as the great, perfectly nude, black sprang up out of the hatchway, and threw down his heavy wooden bar, an example followed by the other, while, as the moon now shone full upon their convulsed and excited faces, Tom Fillot burst into a roar of laughter, rushed forward, and slapped first one and then the other on the bare shoulder, yelling out,-- "Here's a game, mates; why, it's old Soup and Taters. Why, my black-mugged messmates, we thought you was both on you drowned. What's become of your _tog-a-ree_?" The blacks' faces relaxed into a broad smile, as, led by Mark, the men crowded round to shake hands warmly, while the crowd of slaves set up a peculiar cry, and danced about them, waving their arms, ending by going down upon their knees about Mark and laying their foreheads on the deck, while the women in the background set up a strangely wild wail. "Then you two escaped," cried Mark, as soon as the excitement had subsided a little; and the big black tried to explain, but could only get out the words, "All right, messmate," and then spoke volubly in his own tongue. "Never mind, sir; they did get off," cried Tom Fillot. "They must have been chucked below along with the rest, and then kep' prisoners." "And a good job for us, Tom," said Mark. "Ay, ay, sir, and no mistake, for we couldn't have took the schooner again without them." "There, silence!" cried Mark. "These men must keep the blacks in order, while you, my lads, get the arms together. We must have a strong watch kept. The scoundrels may try to retake the schooner."