They had armed themselves with knives, pieces of furniture converted
into clubs--anything that could be had. Those who had Winchesters
opened a wild though almost useless fire on the whites, then clubbed
their guns.
One ball did indeed strike the second mate, and another put out the two
lanterns, leaving the after part of the ship in darkness. But the
terrible conflict was over soon.
The last Duff saw of Gary he was backed against the main mast defending
himself. One arm hung useless, as he faced a circle of savage,
merciless faces. Then one of the negroes felled the captain from
behind, and a shower of blows was rained upon his prostrate figure.
Duff, who had done his part during the fighting, managed to make his
way to the quarter deck by striking down a negro or two who opposed
him. It was then that he was shot.
Realizing that all was over, and determined to sell his life as dearly
as possible, he limped to the stern, and awaited his fate. As if by an
inspiration, he thought of his stateroom which, as far as he knew,
might have remained locked after he had abandoned it upon the first
breaking forth of the blacks.
For the moment he was unobserved in the darkness that now reigned aft.
The negroes had just brought forth Neb's body, and were manifesting
their disapproval of his association with the whites by beating and
kicking the inanimate clay.
Duff, despite the pain of his fractured limb, lowered himself by a rope
to the still open window, and managed to pull himself through into his
stateroom, and drag his body to his berth.
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