“This will do for Mr Preddle,” he said, and after listening at the door, where nothing was to be heard but the creaking of the ship’s timbers as she laboured on, sounding to me as if at any moment she might come to pieces, my fellow-prisoner tapped softly at the partition, and placing his lips to the opening, called softly upon Mr Preddle.
This had to be repeated several times without effect, and it was not until I had taken Mr Frewen’s place and jerked a little empty phial bottle through, so that it fell upon him where he was sleeping, that Mr Preddle started up and cried loudly—
“Who’s there?”
“Hist!” I whispered, and he came quickly to the opening.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “I had just lain down, and the noise of the waves prevented my hearing you.”
“I thought you were asleep,” I said dryly.
“Asleep? Well, perhaps I was nearly. You’ve come to tell me that all the water will be tossed out of those trays. Oh, my poor fish!”
“I hadn’t,” I said, “Mr Frewen wants to speak to you. He has a pistol for you ready for when we try to escape.”
“Oh dear! oh dear!” he sighed. “We shall never try to escape. We’re shut in here, and shall be drowned. Is the ship going down?”
“No, no; she’ll ride it out.”