A medley of vague, half muffled sounds followed. We heard a heavy thud as the gorilla flung himself straight from the bridge to the deck; then the rush of padded feet; another thud; a groan, which might have been either human or simian—and, finally, a sudden, breathless silence.
I was horrified by the imaginative but vivid picture of Gran'pa lying helpless, with perhaps a broken limb or neck, and the wounded gorilla seeking some ghastly revenge.
"Gran'pa!" I shouted. "I'm coming aboard!"
"Stop where you are, you fool . . . !" came the reply.
Pandemonium ensued. The gorilla roared; Gran'pa fired; and the whole deck seemed to be suddenly alive with bustle and noise. I was convinced that not one, but a dozen apes were loose. Cries, bumps, yells and roars ascended into the night air as if the lid had been taken off some hidden inferno of lost and tortured souls. Every gorilla on board, whether free or captive, must have been contributing to that chorus of rage and hatred.
At times, individual cries followed one another in quick succession, culminating in a unanimous roar that seemed to shake the vessel from stem to stern.
No man but Gran'pa could have lived and retained his sanity through such an ordeal; and yet never once did he cry for help. Single-handed, he went aboard "The Pilgrim Father," and fought—and won.
"George!" he yelled, during the first lull.
"Yes?" I shouted back.
"It's all right, laddie! He's dead!"