There were shouts along the deck—and shots—and I saw sailors running up, and then more soldiers—and I sprang to meet them. But already Marc was at my side, and a dozen, nay, a score, of my fellow-captives. In a breath, as it were, the score doubled and trebled—the hold seemed to spout them forth, so hotly they came. There were but few shots, and a fall or two with groans. The thing was over before it was well begun, so perfect had been the surprise. We had all who were on deck in irons, save for three slain and one grievously wounded. Those who had been asleep in their bunks when the alarm was given now promptly gave themselves up, soldiers and sailors alike, being not mad enough to play out a lost game. Handcuffs were abundant, which made our work the simpler. As I went forward, wondering where Shafto was this while, I was met by La Mouche and two others leading a prisoner. It was Captain Eliphalet, with blood on his face, sorely dazed, but undaunted. Indignation and reproach so struggled within him that he could not for the moment find speech. “Pardon, I beseech you, Captain Wrye,” I made haste to say, “the need which has compelled me to make such rude return for your courtesy. This,” and I tapped his irons with my finger, “is but for an hour or two at most, till we get things on our ship fitly ordered. Then, believe me, you will find that this is merely a somewhat abrupt reversal of the positions of host and guest.” I fear that Captain Eliphalet’s reply was going to be a rude one, but if so it was quenched at his lips. The door of the cabin opened, a bright light streamed forth, and down it glided Yvonne in her white gown, the black lace over her head. “Oh, Paul, what has happened? Are you—are you safe?” she asked breathlessly, ‘twixt laughing and tears. The shooting and shouting had aroused her roughly. “Quite safe, my dearest,” I whispered. “And—the ship is ours.” All that this meant flashed upon her, and her face flushed, her eyes dilated. But before she found voice to welcome the great news, her glance fell upon Captain Eliphalet’s blood-stained countenance, and her joy faded into compassion. “Oh!” she cried, “you are _not_ wounded, surely, surely!” And she pressed her handkerchief pitifully to the blood-spots. “It is nothing, nothing, mademoiselle, but a mere scratch, or bruise, rather,” stammered Captain Eliphalet. Then she saw that his hands were fettered. “Paul!” she exclaimed, turning upon me a face grown very white and grave. “And he was so kind to me! How could you!” “As a matter of fact, I didn’t, Yvonne,” said I. “But this is what I am going to do.” Slipping off the irons I tossed them into the sea. “Captain Wrye,” said I to him, with a bow, “I have much yet to do, and I must not stay here any longer. May I commit to your charge for a little while what is more precious than all else?” Yvonne thanked me with a look, and laid her hand on the captain’s arm.