"Them Yankees, sir. They've done us this time. I thought they would."

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR.

IN DESPERATION.

"In the name of common sense, Tom Fillot, what are you talking about?"

cried Mark, angrily.

"The Yanks, sir."

"But what have they to do with it? Oh, my arm! It's nearly dragged out of the socket. Here, speak out. What do you mean?"

"Only this, sir: they were too cunning for us. They cheated us with that row they made."

"Look here," cried Mark, pettishly, for he was in great pain, "I'm in no humour for listening to your rigmaroles. Help me to get this hatch undone, and then we must make a rush at them and drive them below. Nice state of affairs to beat the Americans, and all the time leave the way open for those wretched blacks to take us in the rear."

"You don't see the rights of it, sir," said Tom Fillot, dismally.

"Yes, I do. The blacks thought they had a good chance of getting their own way, and they took it."

"Ah, you think it was the n.i.g.g.e.rs, then?"

"Why, of course. Bah! how stupid of me. They made that noise below in the forecastle--the Yankees, I mean."

"Yes, sir, you've got the right pig by the ear now," said Tom Fillot.

"They kicked up that row to cover the noise they made breaking through the bulk-heading, so as to get into the hold where the blacks are."

"Yes," cried Mark, excitedly, "and the slaves fought and tried to keep them back. Of course; and we thought it was those poor fellows. Well, it was a cunning trick. A ship makes a bad prison for one's enemies."

"Yes, sir; they've been one too many for us this time," said Tom Fillot.

"The Yankees are sharp, and no mistake."

"Do you mean to say, mate," growled d.i.c.k Bannock, "that the Yanks got out through the hold where the n.i.g.g.e.rs was?"

"Yes; that's it."

"Oh, very well; that's it, then. Stow all that talking, mate, and let's have a go at 'em again. Strikes me we'd better drive 'em overboard this time."

"Ay, but then they'd come up through the keel or in at the hawse-holes,"

growled Tom Fillot.

"Silence!" said Mark, sharply. "Who else is down here?"

"There's me," said Stepney.

"Fillot, Stepney, Bannock, and the black, isn't it?"

"Ay, ay, sir. You're here, Soup?"

"Ay, ay, sir," came in the negro's familiar voice.

"Anybody wounded?" asked Mark, anxiously.

"Too dark to see, sir," growled Stepney. "I feel as if I'd got only one leg."

"Ah! your leg not broken?"

"No, sir, I don't think so. I'm a-feeling for it. It's all right, sir; it's here, only got it doubled under me when I fell. Aren't we going to make someone's head ache, sir, for this?"

"We're going to make a dash for them directly," said Mark, in a voice full of suppressed excitement. "Ah! the light at last. Now we shall be able to see what we are going to do. Hush! what's that?"

For there was a loud rattling of chain forward, and Mark looked inquiringly at the face of Tom Fillot, which was gradually growing plainer in the coming light.

"They're a-hauling the chain cable out o' the cask, sir, and running it back into the tier. Hadn't we better make a try, sir, now they're busy?"

"Yes. Now then, Fillot--Bannock, open that hatch, and then follow me."

"Better let me go first, sir," growled Tom. "I'm harder than you, and had better take the first hits."

"Don't talk," cried Mark, snappishly. "Now then, can you get it open?"

"No, sir," grumbled Tom, after a good deal of trying, thrusting and dragging at it. "Tight as a hoyster."

As he spoke, he and Bannock heaved and thrust at the door, and a heavy blow was struck upon it outside.

"Keep below there, dew yew hear?" came in an unmistakable voice.

"You might as well mind your own business," growled Tom Fillot.

"D'yer hear? Keep below."

The door cracked again with Tom Fillot's efforts, and the next moment there was a sharp report, and a bullet crashed through.

"Guess yew'd best keep from ahind that theer hatchway, strangers, for I'm out o' practyse, and I'm going to make a target o' that theer door."

"Stand down, Tom," said Mark.

"Oh, I ain't feared, sir, if you like to say keep on," cried Tom Fillot.

"I know that, my lad; but I'm not going to run foolish risks."

The man came down, and the little party stood gazing at each other in the low ceiled cabin, as the first rays of the rising sun flooded the place, and they could see the schooner astern, with Joe Dance, and Taters the black, looking over the bows eagerly, as if wondering what had taken place.

Mark turned to where Mr Russell lay, in the same calm state of stupor, and the sun lit up his face.

"Don't look like dying, sir," said Tom Fillot. "Strikes me, sir, as he's getting all the best of it."