"Open the door, Brutus," said my father, and suddenly his voice was raised to a shout that rose above the wind and the sails.
"Keep clear of that wheel! If a single man touches it—do you hear me?—Stand clear!" And he fired again, and the Sea Tern still lurched in the trough of the sea.
I ran to the door beside him. Ten paces away the light of the binnacle was burning, and by it I saw two men lying huddled on the deck, and the ship's wheel whirling backwards and forwards as the waves hit the rudder.
"Get the wheel!" someone was shouting frantically. "Get the wheel! She's being blown on the bar. Get the wheel!"
"Stand clear, you dogs," called my father. "We're all going on the bar together."
"Brutus," he added, "go forward and open the forecastle, and tell my men to clear the decks. If any of these fools notice you, kill them, but they won't, Brutus, they won't. Their minds are too much set on a watery grave."
The ship heeled far over on her side as another gust of wind took her. Six men were clinging to the rail to keep their balance, staring at my father with white faces, while sea after sea swept over the bulwarks. Three of them were edging toward us, when a wave caught them and sent them sprawling almost to his feet.
"Your sword, Henry," called my father. I ducked under his arm, and stepped out on the swaying deck, but they did not wait.
"Ah," said my father, "here they come. Brutus was quicker than I could have hoped."
"Aiken!" he shouted, "are you there? Put up that helm, or we'll be drowned. Put up that helm and get your men on the braces. D'you hear me? Get some way on the ship."