Hester was the first to recover herself, and she rose and tried to comfort her stricken companion, than whom now she seemed to be far the stronger in spirit.
“Help must come soon, Bessy,” she whispered. “They will have heard our screams.”
“It would be better to die,” sobbed Bessy. “There is no hope—no hope whatever.”
“What!” cried Hester. “No hope? And with my brave, true husband on board? I tell you help will come, and soon.”
“When it is too late,” sobbed Bessy. “Those wretches will soon be back.”
“Hush, listen,” whispered Hester; and she stole to the door to peep through one of the holes, and see the drunken ruffian sitting there with his head down upon the table, apparently asleep.
The Cuban had evidently gone on deck, and, nerved now to take some desperate course, Hester stole back to where Bessy crouched.
“Get up—quickly,” she whispered. “We must escape from the place now.”
“But where, where, unless overboard?” wailed Bessy.
“To the deck—to the other cabin. They will fight for us. Dutch will save us from another such outrage as this.”