The gaunt, broken old master of the Doraine drove the horde back from the boats, but as he stood there haranguing them in good maritime English he could see plainly enough that they were not to be so easily subdued.

The first panic was over, but they were crazed by the fear that had gripped them for days; they believed that the ship was soon to sink beneath their feet; safety lay not more than a hundred yards away,--and it was being denied them by this heartless, unfeeling despot.
They were mainly low-caste Portuguese bound for Rio and Bahia, and they had obeyed him through all those tortuous days out on the deep where he was the shepherd and they the flock.

But now,--now they could well afford to turn upon and rend him, for he had brought them safe to land and they no longer owed him anything! "My God, I don't want to shoot any of them," groaned the Captain, steadying himself against the rail.

"But they've got guns, and they're crazy.

I--" Some one touched his arm, and a firm, decisive voice spoke in his ear.
"I'm used to handling gangs like this, Captain Trigger.