Their very numbers and the narrowness of the passage was our only salvation.

At first our resistance was blind enough, guided only by the senses of touch and sound.

We could see nothing of our antagonists, although their fierce rush hurled us backward.

I fired into the mass, as Watkins slashed madly with his cutlass, both managing in some way to keep our feet.
Hands gripped for us, a bedlam of oaths splitting the air; yet, even in that moment of pandemonium, I was quick to realize the fellows were weaponless, seeking only to reach and crush us with bare hands.

The same discovery must have come to the mind of the sailor, for he yelled it out defiantly, every stroke of his blade drawing blood.