“Beg pardon, sir. Slipped, sir.”
“Slipped! I believe you were asleep.”
The man was silent.
“You were nodding off, weren’t you?”
“Don’t think I was, sir,” was the reply.
But the man’s officer was right, and the rest of the crew knew it, being ready to a man, as they afterwards did, to declare that “that there Bill Smith would caulk,” as they termed taking a surreptitious nap, “even if the gunboat were going down.”
“Put your backs into it, my lads,” whispered the lieutenant. “Now then, with a will; but quiet, quiet!”
As he spoke the speed of the boat increased and its progress made it more unsteady, necessitating his steadying himself by gripping Fitz by the collar as he stood up, shading his eyes and keeping a sharp look-out ahead.
A low hissing sound suggestive of his vexation now escaped his lips, for to his rage and disgust he saw plainly enough that their light must have been noticed.
Fitz Burnett had come to the same conclusion, for though he strained his eyes with all his power, the Will-o’-the-Wisp-like light that they were chasing had disappeared.