“That’s the way to take it, sir. Won’t try again to-night, I suppose?”
“Of course not, nor yet that way, Tom. We’ll wait for morning now.”
Chapter Thirty Eight.
Tom makes a Suggestion.
Morning was a long time coming to the prisoners, but at last the bright light of day shed hope into all their hearts, and, forgetful of the sufferings of the night, Mark’s eyes were strained as far as the cabin window would admit in search of their prize.
It was nowhere in sight. Dance’s head had evidently proved sufficiently clear to enable him to sail the craft well enough to keep out of the would-be captor’s reach, unless she were somewhere in sight forward and the American captain was in pursuit.
Whenever any tack was made, eyes were strained to try and catch a glimpse of her, but all in vain, and the prisoners sat about avoiding each other’s eyes, for, in spite of all determination to be patient and try and think out some plan, a hopeless state of despondency would creep over them.
Their captors, following their own example, flung them some biscuit through the cabin skylight, and lowered a bucket of fresh water, the American skipper shouting down in a fierce snarl that if they made any further attempt to escape he would have them shot like mad dogs.