“You speak to me, sir?” said Tom Fillot.
“Eh? No, Tom; I was only thinking.”
“Of how to get out of this place, sir, and dropping on to them beggars up above?”
Mark shook his head.
“Don’t say that, sir. Do think o’ some way. It’s ’orrid, and I feel ’shamed o’ myself. I’d sooner have a fight for it, and be down in hospital six months arter, than be beaten like this here.”
“So would I, Tom; but what can be done?”
“Why, here’s five on us, sir, and you to lead us, all ready to make a rush for it. We’re a bit knocked about, but full of fight. It’s only for you to say the word.”
“I’m ready to say the word, man, but how can I?” cried Mark, eagerly. “Can we get out on deck through that light?”
“Well, I’m feared as only ’bout a couple on us would, sir.”
“Right, even if we could manage that; and the survivors would be thrown back, worse off than we are now.”