The heart leaped into my throat, yet I ran on, unhalted, unseen, until the planks of the wharf were beneath my feet, the low side of the sloop looming black before me.

There was confusion aboard, the sounds of struggle, mingled with curses and blows.

With one upward swing of my body I was safely aboard, knife still in hand, peering eagerly forward.

Through the gloom concealing the deck, I could perceive only dim figures, a riot of men, battling furiously hand to hand, yet out of the ruck loomed through the darkness in larger outline than the others---Cochose, the negro.

I leaped at the fellow, and struck with the keen knife, missing the heart, but plunging the blade deep into the flesh of the shoulder.