"There was only an anchor watch on deck when we came on board," said Mr. Sims. "We drove them below quite easily. The only man who gave us any trouble was your master. We had to hit him over the head when he reached the deck."
My father nodded slowly, seemed to lose his balance on the rolling deck, recovered himself, and set his feet a trifle wider apart.
"I am sincerely sorry for you, Mr. Sims," he said.
But if Mr. Sims ever asked why, it was in another life than ours. I recall his sudden bewilderment, but I never have understood exactly how it happened. I remember Brutus' eyes on my father's hand, as it moved so gently over his coat. It must have been some gesture, smooth and imperceptible. For suddenly, my father's languor left him, suddenly his lips curled back in a smile devoid of humor, and he leapt at the lantern. He leapt, and at the same instant, as perfectly timed as though the whole matter had been carefully rehearsed, Brutus' great bulk had streaked across the deck, crashing towards Mr. Sims like an unleashed fury. The speed of it, the unexpectedness, the sheer audacity, held the men around us motionless. Mr. Sims had barely time to level the pistol he was holding; but when he fired the deck was in darkness.
"This way, Mademoiselle," came my father's voice, and I ran towards it.
"Hold them off, Brutus," he was calling. "Ha! It is you, my son."
While he was speaking, he darted lightly aft, and I followed. Behind me came the confused babel of struggling men. Someone was calling for a light, and someone was shrieking for help. A man with a lantern was running forward. I tripped him and we fell together, and then I felt a hand on my collar. It dragged me to my feet. I struck at it blindly, while I felt myself being half pulled, half carried through the black. And then I heard my father's voice again, close beside me, as slow and cold as ever.
"Close the door, Brutus," he said. "Listen to them. They must think we are still there."
And then I knew what had happened. Brutus had dragged me with him, and we were in a cabin. I heard my father fumbling about in the dark.
"Ah," he said, "here is the powder. Load these pistols, Brutus. Gently, you fool! Do you want to kill me?"
"You are hurt, captain," cried Mademoiselle.