The Unspeakable Gentleman/Chapter 15
XV
Brutus had evidently kept a slow match burning, for with a sudden flare a rocket flashed into the wind. In the momentary glare of the light I could see my father, his lips pressed together more tightly than usual, but alertly courteous as ever, helping Mademoiselle over the side, and there was Brutus grinning at me. Then the light died, and my father continued giving his directions.
"Stand by Master Henry at the stern, Brutus. I shall stay here amidships. Now into the water when I give the word. Pray do not be alarmed, Mademoiselle. There is quite nothing to bother."
A breaker crashed down on the beach ahead of us.
"Now!" he shouted, and a moment later we were up to our waists in water that was stinging in its coldness.
"Get aboard," said my father. "The oars, Brutus."
Drenched and gasping, I pulled myself over the side just as we topped a second wave. My father was beside me, as bland and unconcerned as ever.
"You see, Mademoiselle," he said, "we are quite safe. The Sea Tern is standing in already. While Brutus is rowing, my son, we had better load the pistols."
"Surely we are through with them," I said. The boat was tossing wildly, and Brutus was using all his strength and skill to keep it in the wind.
"Still," said my father, kneeling on the grating beside me, "let us load them. Look, Henry, I think we got off in very good time."
A knot of horsemen were galloping down the beach we had just quitted.
"They must have taken the old wagon road," he said. "I had thought as much. It becomes almost tiresome, this running away."
He reached for his cloak, placed it over Mademoiselle's shoulders, and seated himself in the stern beside her, apparently forgetful that he was drenched from head to foot.
"You are not afraid, Mademoiselle?" he asked.
"Afraid? Indeed not," I heard her reply, in a voice that was muffled by the wind. "It is a luxury, Captain, which you have made me do without too long."
"Good," said my father, a motionless shadow beside her. "If you cannot trust yourself, there are plenty of other things to trust in—God, for example, or the devil, if you prefer, or even in circumstances. How useless it is to be afraid when you remember these! Put the boat up a little more, Brutus."
And he sat silent, watching the lights of the ship towards which we were moving with each tug that Brutus gave the oars. The ship also was drawing nearer. We could make out the spars under shortened sail, and soon we were hailed from the deck. My father called back, and then there came the snapping of canvass as they put up the helm and the ship lost way tossing in the wind.
Wet and shivering, I watched her draw toward us. So this was the end after all, and I was glad it was over—glad that I would soon be quiet and alone with my thoughts. Could it have been only yesterday that I had turned my horse and passed between the sagging posts that marked the entrance to his house? Was it only a day ago I had first seen him leaning back idly in his arm chair by the fire?
My father leaned forward and thrust something into my hand.
"A pistol, Henry," he said. "Put it inside your shirt. It will be a souvenir for you when you are home again."
We could hear the waves slapping against the vessel's sides, and the orders from the deck above us. As I looked, it seemed a perilous distance away.
"Alongside, Brutus," said my father.
Two lanterns cast a feeble glow on the sheets of water that rolled under us, shouldering our frail boat impatiently in their haste to move along. Brutus pulled an oar sharply. I saw a ladder dangling perilously from the bulwarks. I saw Brutus seize it, and then our boat, arrested and stationary, began to toss madly in ill-concerted_ effort. My father sprang up, balancing himself lightly and accurately against each sudden roll.
"Now, Mademoiselle," he said, "we will get on deck. Brutus will carry you up quite safely. Hold the ladder, Henry, hold to it, or we may be in the water again."
His voice was still coldly precise, not raised even to a higher pitch.
"You are chilled, my son?" he asked. "Never mind, we will have brandy in a moment."
Strange how the years make the path seem smooth and mellow. As I look back on it today, boarding the ship seems a light enough matter, though I know now that every moment we remained by the ladder, eternity was staring us in the face. Even now, when I look back on it, the water is not what I see, nor Brutus grasping at the dangling rope, but rather my father, standing watching the ladder, detached from the motion and excitement around him, a passive onlooker to whom what might happen seemed a matter of small concern. Brutus, holding Mademoiselle on one arm, managed the ladder with ready adroitness, and I followed safely, but not before I had been hurled against the side with a force that nearly drove away my breath. I reached the deck to find a lantern thrust into my face, and stared into it, for the moment quite blinded.
"It is the son," remarked a voice which I thought I remembered, and then my father followed me.
"We are on board, Mr. Aiken," he called. "Never mind the boat. Get your men on the braces, or we'll blow on shore."
"Yes, Captain Shelton," said the voice again. "You are on board, to be sure, and very prettily done. I have been waiting for you all evening.
"Indeed," said my father, in his old level tone, "and who the devil are you?"
"Mr. Sims, Captain," came the reply. "I managed to seize your ship before it left the river. It is hard, after so much trouble, but you are my prisoner, Captain Shelton."
My eyes had become accustomed to the light. I looked about me to find we were in the center of a group of men. Mr. Sims, small and watchful, his face a pale yellow in the glow, was standing beside a tall man who held the lantern at arm's length. My father was facing him about two paces distant, his hand on the wet and bedraggled lapel of his coat, his glance vague and thoughtful, as though he was examining at his leisure some phenomenon of nature. Brutus, looking as unpleasant as I had ever seen him, had half thrust Mademoiselle behind his back, and stood half crouching, his eye on my father's hand, his thick lips moving nervously. My father patted his coat gently and sighed.
"I must admit," he said, "that this is surprisingly, indeed, quite delightfully unexpected. I hope you have been quite comfortable."
Mr. Sims permitted himself to smile.
"I told them you were a man of sense," he said. "Is it not odd that only you and I should have imagination and ingenuity? I knew you would see when the game is over. My compliments, Captain Shelton. You deserve to have done better."
"Of course," said my father, with a slow nod of assent, "I see when the game is over."
"I knew you would be reasonable," said Mr. Sims. "When it is finished, you and I stop playing, do we not? I am sorry we were not on the same side, but I have been commissioned to take you, captain, for a little man whom you and I both knew back in Paris. I have a dozen men aboard now, who will get us to the harbor. You are a prisoner of France, as you have doubtless guessed. We shall all be trans-shipped to Mr. Jason Hill's schooner, which has been waiting for you; and now you may go below."
Still staring thoughtfully before him, my father rested his chin in the palm of his hand.
"I remember you now," he said. "And may I add it is a pleasure to have met you? It is still a pleasure, much as I resent being taken on board a ship I own."
Mr. Sims bowed ironically.
"And now, Captain, the document, if you please, unless you care to be searched."
I thought my father had not heard, for he still looked quite blandly at the lantern.
"Would you mind telling me," he inquired, "what became of my crew? You bribed them, I suppose."
"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 bable 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.
"It is not worth troubling over," said my father. "And you, my lady, you are quite all right? I fear I handled you roughly. I was afraid for a moment we might be inconvenienced."
"And now," I said sarcastically, speaking into the darkness before me, "I suppose our troubles are over."
"I think so," replied my father. "Now that Brutus has thrown Mr. Sims over board. It might be different if he were still with us. He seemed to be a determined and resourceful man. We are in the after cabin, Henry, quite the pleasantest one on the ship, and not ten paces from the wheel."
Still out of breath, still confused, I tried to look, but could see nothing. I could only smell the pungent odor of tarred rope and stale tobacco smoke. Having finished speaking, I could hear my father still moving about deliberately and moderately, seemingly well pleased at the place where we had been driven.
"Yes," he said again, "not ten paces from the wheel, and now we will finish it."
"Will you never be serious, sir?" I cried. "Do you suppose they are going to let you take charge of the ship?"
"I think so," replied my father. "But first, I must take a swallow from my flask. There is nothing like a drink to rest one. Open the port by the door, Brutus."
And I felt him groping his way past me.
"Brutus," he said, "pass the flask to my son, and give me a pistol, and steady me with your arm—so. Ah, that is better—much better. . . ."
He fired, and the sound of his pistol in the closed room made my ears ring, and then the ship lurched, so that I had nearly lost my balance. We were rolling heavily in the trough of the sea, and outside the canvas was snapping like a dozen small arms, and then I knew what had happened. My father had shot the man at the helm—shot him where he stood, so that the wheel had broken from his grasp, so that the ship was out of control, and the wind was blowing it on shore. Had he thought of the plan while he was watching Mr. Sims in the light of the lantern? I half suspected that he had not, but I never knew.
"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."
A hoarse voice bellowed out an order, and another answered.
"Good," said my father. "It was a nearer thing than I expected. You can hear the breakers now. Give me your arm, my son. A lantern, Brutus."