The lanthorn had gone overboard, and as the water, disturbed by the fall of the lanthorn and the rocking motion given to the boat, washed and lapped and whispered against the sides, with gasps and suckings and strange sounds, that seemed to be ten times louder in the darkness, Josh growled out:
“Well, you have gone and done it now!”
Then there was utter silence. The water came in with a rush and gurgle that was fearful. The boat heaved and bumped against the side, and it seemed to the prisoners as if the next moment they must be swamped.
But as with breathlessness they listened, the sounds and disturbance died away to whispers, and there was nothing but a feeble lapping.
“It’s only noise,” said Will, suddenly breaking the silence. “The boat can’t hurt.”
“Will’s right,” growled Josh; “but it’s a gashly place to be in without a light.”
“Crick, crack!”
There was a flash, and a little flame for a few moments as Josh, who had taken out his match-box, struck a light, and held it till it was ready to burn his fingers, when he let it fall in the smooth surface of the water, where it was extinguished with a hiss.
“Don’t burn any more, my man,” said Mr Temple; “we may want them—”
He was about to say, “in a greater emergency,” but he checked himself.