He looked excitedly at Tom Fillot for a few moments, and then his countenance changed.
“No,” he said; “it is impossible.”
“Not it, sir. Lay the powder snug again the door, make a train, fire it, get out of the way. Then bang it goes; smash tumbles the door and hatch and all the rest of it, and then out we rushes, knocks ’em over one at a time, and the schooner’s ours.”
“Man, man, can’t you see that if we did that we should blow ourselves up as well?”
“No, we wouldn’t sir, because we’d lie down.”
“Well, what difference would that make?”
“All on it, sir. Powder flies up, and it wouldn’t hurt us.”
“Think not?”
“Sure on it, sir.”
“Tom, I’m not sure; but dare we risk—”