Hughes stood by the gun, his clothes torn, and his face black with the smoke; the peculiar smell of blood was perceptible, mixed with the odour of the gunpowder, and Isabel feeling it became sick and weak, just as a dark form, bounding from the main chains, leaped on to the quarter-deck. A loud shriek burst from her lips, as the Malay leader threw himself on Hughes. Partially overpowered, the soldier grasped his powerful foe by the throat. They swayed to and fro, struggling and fighting; the frightened girl rushed forward, the Malay striking wildly at her with his dagger. With a scream of pain Isabel fell on the deck just as a tremendous blow from the broken spar, given with a hearty good will, smashed in the Malay's skull, both he and the soldier, who was held in the death grasp, falling to the deck. "Hurrah for Old England!" shouted the excited captain, as he flourished the jagged and blood-besmeared spar over his head with one hand, and dragged Hughes clear of the dead Malay with the other. "See if any of the miscreants are below. A short shrift and a pistol bullet if you find any, my lads. Here, Mr Lowe, lend a hand with this lubber; he nearly did for me just now, but we are quits." A loud splash in the water told that the pirate had gone over the side, and every now and then a similar splash, with a "Yeo, heave ho!" from forward, marked the fate of a fallen Malay. Carefully and gently Isabel was lifted from the deck and borne below by the steward and Hughes. Dom Maxara was forward, staunching a severe wound from a Malay creese in the shoulder. Wyzinski, who during the hand-to-hand combat had fought like a tiger, and received a stab in the leg, now remembered he was a missionary, and, though weak with loss of blood, was engaged smoothing the passage of one of the crew from the world his soul was quitting. Four men killed, and almost every one of the crew wounded, three severely, were the casualties on board the brig, while those among the pirates were never known, but must have been very severe. The Malay had dealt his blow wildly, his intention being revenge, for Hughes's grip held him by the throat, and the savage pirate was choking as he struck. The creese had entered Isabel's arm above the elbow, making a nasty jagged wound. They placed her on the crimson cushions in the cabin, Masters, the steward, bathing her head with water, while the wounded arm hung down, the soldier kneeling near her, and doing his best to bandage it. His was a curious figure as he knelt by her side, for both face and hands were nearly black with the powder and smoke, his dress torn in many places, and what had been a shirt showing very many tokens of the bulky pirate's terrible grip. All this was forgotten in the anxiety of the moment, and there the two were in the almost deserted cabin eagerly waiting for returning consciousness. Isabel's face was pale and bloodless, and her teeth firmly clenched. There was no doctor on board the brig.