The daily Alaskan., 1919-05-29
ton those about him, seeking to learn

ton those about him, seeking to learn i the situation.
 "Who have cutlasses? So manyl & dozen form with me. Now bullies, they are on the stairs there, and that is the only way to the deck. Now then ito hell with 'em"
 We met them, point to point, our ad- l vantage the narrow staircase and the higher position; theirs the faint glim- mer of light at our backs. The first rush was reckless and deadly, the in- 1 furiated devils not yet realizing what they faced, but counting on force of ! numbers to crush our defense. Man uel led them yelling encouragement, , and sweeping his cutlass, gripped with both hands, in desperate effort to break through. DeLasser caught its point with his blade while my cleaVer missing him with it's sharp edge, nev- ertheless dealt the fellow a blow which hurled him back into the arms of the man behind. Saw nothing else In de. tail, the faint light barely revealing h. distinct figures and gleam of steel. It was a pandemonium of blows and yells, strange faces appearing and dis appearing, as men leaped desperately { at us up the steps, and we beat them remorselessly back. I saw nothing more of Manuel in the fray, but his shrill voice urged on his fellows. It was strike and parry, cut and thrust. Twice I kicked my legs free from hands that gripped me and DeLas- ser fell, pike thrust through him. Who took his place I never knew, but stout fighter the lad was, yielding his cutlass viciouSly, so that we held them, with dead men littering every step to the cabin deck.
 But they were of breed trained to such fighting, and the lash of Manuels tongue drove them into mad reckless ness. And there seemed no end of them, sweeping up out of those black shadows, with bearded or lean brown savage faces, charging over the dead bodies, hacking and gouging in vain effort to break through. l struck until my arms ached, until my head reeled, scarcely conscious of physical action, yet aware of Manuel's shouts.
 "Now you hell-hounds-now! once more, and you have them. Santa Ma ria you've got to go through, bullies there Is no other way to the deck. Rush lem! That's the way! Here you-go in outside the rail! Broth of hell! Now you have him, Pedro"
 For an instant l believed it true; I saw Jim Carter seized and hurled side ways, his cutlass clashing as it fell, while a dozen hands dragged him headlong into the ruck beneath. But 1t was only an instant. Before the charging devils could pass me, a huge figure filled the vacant space, and the butt of a gun crashed into the mass. It was the Dutchman, SChmitt, fight ing like a demon, his strength that of an OK. They gave way in. terror be fore him, and we went down battering our way, until the stairs were clear to the deck, except for the dead under foot. When We stopped, not fight ing man was left within the sweep of our arms. They scurried back into the darkness like so many rats, and we could only stare about blindly, cursing them, as we endeavored to recover breath. Schmitt roared like a wild bull, and would have rushed on, but for my grip on his shirt.
 Get back, men! :" ordered sharply. '"There may be fifty of them yonder. Our only chance Is the stairs"
 We flung the bodies on one side, and formed again from rail to rail. Below US there was noise enough, q babel of angry voices, but no movement of as- sault, What they would do next was answered by a blaze of light, revealing the silhouette of man, engaged in touching flame to torch of hemp. It flung forth a dull yellow flare, and re- vealed a scene of horror. Our assail- ants were massed halfway back, Be- tween us, even ten feet from the stairs, the deck was filtered with hodIap ohsS silly faces staring up, with