“Yes, and about re-taking the ship,” I said excitedly, though I could not then see the slightest chance of success.
Chapter Eighteen.
Mr Frewen and I were both too weak and faint from the terrible shock we had had, to do anything that day but lie back and rest, my place being chosen close to the hole I had bored, so that I could be ready to answer Mr Preddle’s questions, which were constantly coming, and to listen to his lamentations about his fish—about the trouble he had taken, the water which must be drying—till, as I lay back there with my ear close to a second hole which I had bored lower down, every now and then from pain, heat, and the consequent faintness, I kept on dropping into a curious half-dreamy state, in which I seemed to be watching Mr Preddle’s fish swimming about with their fat little mouths gasping at the surface of the water, and all looking as if they were so many hundreds of tiny Preddles asking me to get them out of prison.
Oh, what a wretched time that was, and how I wished that I could go right off to sleep—a sleep without any dreams—and keep asleep till my side had left off aching. But it was no use to wish, for though Mr Frewen was sleeping, so sure as I nearly dropped off, Mr Preddle would put his lips to the hole I had made for my own torture, and whisper something.
“Dale, I’ve been thinking that if Mr Frewen could seize the man who opens your door and attends upon you, and hold him while you ran out and opened mine, you and I could then go and open two more cabins, and so on, and then we could seize the ship.”
“Yes,” I said heavily, and there was a pause. Then just as I was dropping off to sleep again—“Dale!”
“Yes, sir.”
“We ought to do it when it is dark. I’m quite strong, and not hurt a bit. Do you think Mr Frewen is well enough?”