Old Ding-dong sat propped on his corpse, shaving a quid of tobacco. "Who come?" "The boats, sir--boarding." "That's the game, is it?" He shut his jack-knife deliberately, and arranged his plug in the corner of his jaw. "Fetch me that ere boardin-pike. Now give me a hike up. Then nip below and pass the word to Mr. Lanyon." As Kit turned, he heard the rip of the first boat under the counter of the sloop and a sharp command in French, sounding strange and terrible in his ears. Furiously he sped along the deck. As he bundled down the ladder, he caught a glimpse of the old Commander, braced against the bulwarks, and spitting into his hands. The boy dropped into hell. Down there was no order. All was howling chaos. Each gun-captain fought his own gun, regardless of the rest. Billows of smoke drifted to and fro; shadowy forms flitted; guns bounded and bellowed; here and there a red glare lit the fog. Through the shattering roar of the guns, the rendings of planks, the scream of round-shot, came the voices of men, dim-seen. Jokes, blasphemies, prayers, groans, issued in nightmare medley from that death-fog. "Chri', kill me!--My God, I sweats!--Pore old Jake's got it!" On mid-deck a shadow was pirouetting madly. Suddenly it collapsed; and the boy saw it ended at the neck. A dim figure lolled against an overturned gun. As the lad gazed, it pointed to a puddle beside it. "That's me," it said with slow and solemn interest. The boy trod on something in the smoke. A bloody wraith, spread-eagled upon the deck, raised tired eyes to his. "That's all right, sir," came a whisper. "Don't make no odds. I got all I want." A hand out of the mist clutched his ankle. "Stop this racket," gasped a voice, querulous and tearful. "I ain't well." A stump flapped in his face. A ghost, sitting up against the side close by, began to titter. "Once I was mother's darling. Mightn't think it to see me now." A shot, screeching past the boy's nose, took his breath away. He staggered back, and brought up against a gun-captain, his shoulders to the breech of the gun. The man turned with a grin. It was the Gunner, naked to the waist, and smoke-grimed. "Sweet mess, ain't it?" he coughed. "How d'ye like your first smell o powder, sir?" "They're boarding!" panted Kit. "Quick!" The man leapt up. "Boardin!" he roared. "Board _ME!_ I'll give em board." He snatched up a chain-shot, and raced down the deck. "Up aloft the lot o you!" he howled. "Heaven waits ye there!" II As he flamed through the smoke-drift, the crew caught fire from him. Behind him in roaring flood they poured--black men and bloody, snatching each the weapon nearest to hand. An aweful joy seemed beating up through mists in their faces. Time and Eternity warred within them. Man, the creature, hideously afraid for his flesh, strove with Man, the Creator, impregnable in his immortality.