“Hold on by the chains, mate,” whispered Tom Fillot, “and I’ll help you. Dessay we can make the painter fast afore we get aboard.”
As he spoke, he was busily loosening the rope which held them to the tree, and then stood holding the end just round the bough.
“Ready, sir, when you like to say ‘Let go!’”
Mark paused a moment or two, breathing hard, and tried to think of anything that had been left undone, knowing as he did that the slightest hitch in the proceedings might mean failure; but he could think of nothing, and leaning forward, he whispered,—
“You understand, my lads? Drop down, make fast, all in silence. Then follow me aboard, make for the cabin, and knock down every man who tries to get on deck.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” came in a whisper that was terribly impressive in its earnestness.
Nothing then remained but for him to say “Let go!” But he hesitated yet, and looked about him, to see that in a very few minutes the moon’s edge would be rising above the forest, flooding the river with its silvery light. If a watch was kept, which seemed to be certain, they would be seen, the captain and crew alarmed before they could get aboard, and, with so weak an attacking party, they would be at a terrible disadvantage. So hesitating no longer than to give himself time to loosen his dirk in its sheath, he leaned forward once more, and in a low, earnest whisper gave the order,—
“Go!”
There was a faint rustle as the rope passed over the bough, a little splash as it struck the water, the two oars dipped without a sound, as the boat swung round, and they glided rapidly up the river with the tide.
The distance, at the rate of speed at which they were going, was extremely short, and Mark had to whisper to the men to pull harder, so as to make the boat answer to the rudder: while the moon rose higher, and though still invisible above the horizon, sent upward so warm a glow that the topmasts of the schooner became visible, and Mark was able to steer right for her bows.