It was an ugly thought, bringing up others of a strangely confusing nature, but at last, just when he was ready to confess to this fresh trouble, he came upon candle and tinder-box, over which his trembling fingers played for some minutes before the welcome spark appeared in the tinder and suffered itself to be blown up into a glow instead of dying out.
Hot and tired, the two lads made for the resting-place, and were thankful to cast themselves down, to lie in silence for close upon an hour before either of them ventured to advert to their position; but at last the midshipman declared that he knew it from the first, and that they were a pair of idiots to trust the word of a smuggler.
“I don’t see it,” said Aleck, who felt ready to give the man credit for having met with some mishap.
“Well, I do. It was a deeply-laid scheme to trap us—shut us up here and leave us to die while he escaped.”
“Nonsense,” cried Aleck. “Why, it would be a horrible murder!”
“Yes; horrible—diabolical—shocking.”
“I don’t believe Eben Megg would be such a wretch,” said Aleck, stoutly.
“What, not a smuggler? They’re the greatest villains under the sun.”
“Are they?” said Aleck, drily.
“Yes, I know that,” cried the middy angrily; “but I’ll let the brute see. I’ll have him hung at the yard-arm for this. He shall find out he made a mistake.”