The swimming priest noted the fact quite as soon as they did, and altered his course a little to intercept the slowly-moving boat. Soon he was alongside, and the willing hands of his savages quickly hauled him aboard. A groan burst from Mervyn’s lips. Nordhu was winning all along the line. “What have they done with Garth?” Wilson cried, with a break in his voice. “Heaven knows!” snapped Haverly savagely; “that darned priest has put us in a tight corner. Here we are, with never a toothpick among us, and a boatload of niggers coming ashore in a brace of shakes.” “They mean to beach her, by the look of things,” cried Seymour; then, turning, he whispered something to the Ayuti, who nodded affirmatively. Three minutes later the _Seal_ came ashore with a rush, and buried her nose in the sand. Ere her plates had ceased to quiver, Chenobi and the baronet swung themselves aboard, and were raging along the deck with no weapons but their mailed fists. This state of things did not last long, however. Quickly they wrenched the spears from the hands of two of their enemies, and fell to with these weapons with a fury born of desperation. On their efforts, they knew, depended not alone their own lives but those of their friends, who, in their entirely defenceless condition, would fall an easy prey to the wolf-men. So they raged up and down the deck amid that shrieking mob of savages, cutting and stabbing with merciless vigour. One thing puzzled them: Nordhu was nowhere visible, and to his absence they doubtless owed the halfhearted resistance which they encountered. The baronet fought with a definite object--to break his way through to the turret, around which the wolf-men were clustered the thickest, and obtain possession of a rifle. With one in his hands he knew he could quickly drive the wolfish horde from the vessel’s deck, so he strained every nerve to accomplish his purpose. And nobly did the king second his efforts. Back and forth they stamped and drove, yet ever pressing on towards their goal; ever struggling towards the open door of the wheelhouse. They reached it at length. A final rush, a last savage charge, and they were through the ring of savages, within the shelter of the turret. A moment’s breathing space they allowed themselves, then Seymour snatched down the elephant gun, which still rested, loaded, on its rack, and fired both barrels into the surging mass of savagery without the doorway. Two dropped, and the rest, with a terror-stricken cry, fell back hastily. Quick as thought, the baronet whipped up a couple of loaded revolvers, and sallied forth, determined to complete the discomfiture of the enemy. Not to be outdone, Chenobi cast his eyes round for a more serviceable weapon than his spear, finding what he sought at last in an axe. Gripping this, he followed his friend, and, shouting his thunderous war-cry, hurled himself into the midst of his foes.