The seamen were upon me instantly; Oliver was thrust aside, cursing most foully. Two fellows gripped me and dragged me forward, ranging me a prisoner before my grandfather and Blunt. Said Blunt coolly, “Here’s one who’ll make you speak. Hark’ee, Craike, you tell us where the loot is, or the lad’ll suffer for it. Have you told him, Craike, where it’s hid? Have you? Then, by the Lord, he’ll tell us!”
“Loose the boy!” my grandfather said, quietly, “Hands off the boy!”
“Not till you say where the stuff’s hid. He’ll go down to my ship to-night, except you speak. D’ye hear me, Craike?”
My grandfather’s right hand shot up suddenly from the fold of his gown. His pistol blazed; I heard Blunt scream; I saw him fall and writhe, and struggle on the floor. My grandfather was roaring, “Loose the boy! Loose him!”—and as the seamen recoiled before him, his hand had dragged me from them, and pulled me in beside him. And a great cry arose among them all; and silence fell as suddenly—silence save for the crying of the winds about the house. I snatched my pistol from my tail-pocket and thrust it into his hand; he advanced slowly, and they fell back from him; he towered above them—a man above wolves. I could picture him so upon the deck of his own ship in battle or in storm, or mutineers so cowering before him; peril could be of no account to such a man—no, though he knew himself upon the shores of the eternal sea; though all the night seemed burthened with his sins; though his enemies were all about him, menacing in the house, or risen from the sea, he blenched in no way. The huge figure, the face suffused, the eyes aflame, the head thrown proudly back, the mocking laughter on his lips.
He cried to them, “Would you threaten me, rogues? Would you come like carrion crows about a dying beast? Think you that I am dying—think you? Hey, but I’ve whipped you many’s the time, when you’ve thought to put me from command of my ship, and set another in my place! Hey, and men have died, and backs have run red—hey, and I’ve won; always I’ve won! Blunt would have robbed me! Take your man! You! You!”—pointing to two fellows of Blunt’s crew. “Pick him up and take him out of here. D’ye hear me?”—the pistol quivering in his grasp.