Lashed on by the harsh voice of Mr. Rogers, Bobby once more fell to work at his uncongenial tasks.
On the last watch that afternoon when he had just about given up hope of getting a word with Billy, Bobby’s chance came suddenly and unexpectedly.
He found himself close to Billy and a quick glance about the deck showed him that at that moment neither the captain nor Mr. Rogers was on deck.
He leaned over and whispered, his voice hoarse with excitement and triumph!
“Twelve o’clock, stern, port,” and Billy flashed him a swift look that showed that he understood. He would have spoken too, but Bobby raised his hand in a gesture of warning.
“The captain,” he whispered, and then proceeded to put as much of the deck between him and Billy as he could before the captain’s grim gaze fastened on him again.
“Well, it’s done,” thought Bobby. “The four of us will meet to-night for a council of war, even though it be the last one we’ll ever have.”
They must take a chance of discovery. They had come to a point where desperate measures were necessary if they were to escape at all. They could never hope to get anywhere unless they took a chance.
If they could only escape that night! Bobby’s face tingled with the hot blood that rushed to it at the very thought. That night! But how?
There were the longboats. They might manage—the four of them—to get one free, lower it into the blackness of the night to the restless ocean. That they might do. But what then?