Just then there was a fresh crackling and breaking sound, and the skylight, through which he had meant to lead his men, was also darkened by the falling over it of a part of the great sail and the gaff; so that they were in twilight.
“Better try the door, sir,” cried Tom Fillot. “We’ll kick it out now, sir; there’s nothing behind.”
“Quick, then, quick!” cried Mark, excitedly; and the men went at it with a cheer, while the shouting of orders on deck grew more loud and angry.
“We must get out, Tom,” cried Mark, “and make a desperate effort ourselves. If the boats get here first, they will claim to have taken the schooner, and rob us of all the honour.”
“We’ll try, sir,” cried Tom. “Go it, my lads! Lay your backs into it. Soup, heave!”
But the door resisted all their efforts, and it was evident that the Americans had wedged it with a couple of pieces of wood.
“Oh, this is maddening,” cried Mark. “They mustn’t find us prisoners here below.”
“Let’s try the skylight, sir,” cried Tom Fillot; and at a word from Mark, he mounted the little table, and began to drag at the heavy canvas, so as to get it aside, but came down with a crash, as there was a flash and the report of a pistol.
“Hurt, Tom?” cried Mark, in agony, as he went down on one knee in the dim cabin, and caught at the sailor’s arm.
“Hurt, sir!” grumbled the man. “Just you lose your footing, and come down with your ribs on the edge of that table, and see if you wouldn’t be hurt.”