All this I heard mazily, for my head was still whirring with its discovery.

Then, without a sign of warning, like one jerked by sudden instinct, Torode
turned, pushed through the double row of men behind whom I had shrunk--and
they opened quickly enough at his approach--and raising his great fist
struck me to the deck like an ox.

When I came to I was lying in a bunk, bound hand and foot. My head was
aching badly, and close above me on deck great traffic was going on between
the ship and the schooner, transferring choice pickings of the cargo, I
supposed, when my senses got slowly to work again.

But why was I there--and still alive? That was a puzzle beyond me
entirely. By all rights, and truly according to my expectation, I should
have been a dead man. Why was I here, and unharmed, save for a singing
head?

Puzzle as I might, I had nothing to go upon and could make nothing of it.
But since I was still alive, hope grew in me. For it would have been no
more trouble to Torode to kill me--less indeed. And since he had not, it
could only be because he had other views.

For a long time the shuffling tread of laden men went on close above my
head--for hours, I suppose. The sun was sinking when at last the heel and
swing of the schooner told me we were loosed and away.

No shot had been fired, save the first one calling the Indiaman to stop,
and the second one that drove the command home. To that extent I had been
of service to them, bitter as surrender without a fight had been, for an
utterly impossible resistance could only have ended one way and after much