“If you can,” cried Mark, defiantly, and then he shrank and gave an uneasy glance round at his men to see what effect the American’s words had upon them. For with a contemptuous laugh the Yankee uttered the one word “cockerel,” and slammed down and fastened the light.
“Never you mind, sir,” whispered Tom Fillot at the first opportunity; “cockerels is young game cocks, and we know as you’re game to the backbone. You’ll give him one p’r’aps ’fore he knows where he is.”
It was weary work in that breathlessly hot cabin, but no one murmured, and Mark sat gazing out of the window and wondering why their captors did not set them adrift in a boat, the simple explanation being that they would have done so had they not dreaded being followed and caught when becalmed, and then surprised. For it was evident that, for reasons of his own, the American skipper shrank from leaving the coast, with its many creeks and rivers, where he could hide or run from pursuit.
It soon became evident that either the other prize had been taken and sent off, or Dance had managed to effect his escape, for there was no further sign of her.
Tom Fillot felt bitterly aggrieved.
“He must ha’ been a bit flighty still, sir, or he wouldn’t ha’ done it. He’s gone off with that there craft. I would ha’ stood by my messmates if it had been me.”
Night came, with the position unaltered. They were still coasting along south, and they had full testimony of the fact that their captors did not mean to give them the slightest chance to escape.
The skylight was tried and the door. There was a discussion as to the possibility of getting through the bulkhead forward, and one or two attempts were made, but each time, at the first crack made by the wood, there was the report of a pistol, and the shattering of the bulkhead above their heads, plain proof that they were strictly watched by one who had had orders to fire at the first attempt.
“P’raps we’d best take it coolly, sir,” said Tom Fillot, the second time, “or else put it off till after dark.”
Mark nodded, and sat listening to some cries which made their black companion begin to pant and glare at the cabin-hatch; and Mark himself felt as if he could have enjoyed lashing with wires the backs of the scoundrels who treated their black fellows worse than they would have treated dogs.