“I think they must be safe this time, Tom,” said Mark, walking back to the cask, and giving a pull at it, to find it as solid as so much iron.
“Well, sir, that’s what I think; but don’t you trust ’em. They mean to get out and take the schooner again.”
“And we mean that they shan’t, Tom,” said Mark, merrily; “and as we have the strongest position, we must win.”
“That’s it, sir; so if you’ll give me the watch there by the fo’c’sle hatch, I’ll promise you I won’t go to sleep.”
“Take the watch, then,” said Mark; and then suddenly, “Why, what does that mean?”
For just then the prisoners began in chorus to whistle an American air, accompanying it with a rhythmic clapping of hands.
Then the sound ended as quickly as it had begun, and there was a hearty burst of laughter.
“Merry, eh?” said Tom Fillot. “Well, there’s no harm in that.”
They listened in the darkness, and one man with a musical voice began a plantation ditty, his companions breaking in with a roaring chorus at the end of every verse, clapping their hands and stamping their feet, ending by one of the party starting up and breaking into a kind of jig or hornpipe, evidently keeping it up till he was tired, when, with a shout, another man took his place and danced with all his might.
The listeners had to trust to their ears for all this, but it was perfectly plain, and it seemed to Mark that in despair of escaping the Americans had determined to make the best of their position.