As the hours went on, and they were not interrupted, the dread increased that they might be summoned to descend as prisoners before they had completed their work; but Jem’s rough common sense soon suggested that this was not likely to be the case.
“Not afore night, Mas’ Don,” he said. “They won’t take us aboard in the day. We’re smuggled goods, we are; and if they don’t mind, we shall be too many for them. ’Nother hour, and I shall begin to twist up our rope.”
About midday the same sailor came up and brought them some bread and meat.
“That’s right, my lads,” he said. “You’re taking it sensible, and that’s the best way. If we’ve any luck to-night, you’ll go aboard afore morning. There, I mustn’t stop.”
He hurried down, closing and fastening the trap, and Jem pointed to the food.
“Eat away, Mas’ Don, and work same time. Strikes me we sha’n’t go aboard afore close upon daylight, for they’ve got us all shut up here snug, so as no one shall know, and they don’t dare take us away while people can see. Strikes me they won’t get all the men aboard this time, eh, Mas’ Don?”
“Not if we can prevent it,” said Don, with his hand upon the rough piece of sacking which covered his share of the work. “Think it’s safe to begin again?”
“Ay! Go on. Little at a time, my lad, and be ready to hide it as soon as you hears a step.”
In spite of their trouble, they ate with a fair appetite, sharpened perhaps by the hope of escape, and the knowledge that they must not be faint and weak at the last moment.
The meal was finished, and all remaining silent, they worked on unravelling the sacking, and rolling up the yarn, Don thinking of home, and Jem whistling softly a doleful air.