Chapter Twenty One.
A Desperate Attempt.
For the boat quivered as to a man all sprang up, and forgetting everything in their excitement, the men were about to cheer, but were brought back to a knowledge of their position by that softly-uttered warning sound just as a lanthorn was seen moving at a distance once more, followed by a sharp sound like the closing of a hatch.
The boat rocked a little again as the men sank back in their places, while Mark felt as if he were being suffocated, as he trembled, and felt the perspiration stand in big drops upon his forehead.
For he was startled at his venturesome plan, knowing that such a task would be that of a strong, experienced, determined man, and now that he had made the proposal he felt as if he must have been mad.
To carry out such a venture needed quite fresh, active men. Those to whom he had proposed the attempt were in no wise fit, and to induce them to try and recapture the schooner was like tempting them to their death.
“It is all foolishness,” he said to himself in the brief instants during which these thoughts flashed through his brain, but the next moment he awoke to the fact that he had set a spark in contact with a train of human gunpowder, that the spark had caught, and that it was impossible now to stop.
“Heads close together, mates,” whispered Tom Fillot. “Not a sound on your lives. Come, Mr Vandean, sir, say the word—when. Now? At once?”
“No, no,” whispered back Mark; “you are all weak and ill. I’ve been thinking about it since I spoke, and it is too much for you to do.”
A low, angry murmur arose, and Tom Fillot chuckled.