They all began to try to swarm together through the narrow opening, and those in the rear tore at the reed deck.
Into that pandemonium went Coutlass, armed with nothing but Hellenic fury, thoughtful of nothing but his lady-love--surely reckless of his own skin.

He beat, kicked, bit, scragged, banged their foolish heads together, cursed, spat, gouged, and strangled as surely no catamount ever did.

Brown leaped in to lend a hand, and into the midst of that inferno three more bullets penetrated, each wounding a man.

Lady Waldon, mad with some idiotic strategy of her own sudden devising, seized the tiller and tried to wrench it from my hand.

The Syrian Rebecca, imagining new treachery and fearful for her Greek lover, tried to prevent her with teeth and nails.