“We’ll all go down,” replied Walter; “and we’ll not go ashore at all if we can help it. I, for one, don’t intend to leave the yacht again until I am put off by a superior force. We’ll do as Tomlinson and his crowd did—conceal ourselves in the hold until the Banner is so far out to sea that we can’t be put off, and then we’ll come out.”
This was more than Perk and Eugene had bargained for. They believed it to be rather a reckless piece of business to trust themselves in the power of the new crew of the Banner. It was probably the best way to regain control of the yacht—the deserters would have no use for her after they reached Havana—but what if they should be angry when they found the boys aboard, and vent their spite by treating them harshly? In that event, they would be in a predicament indeed, for they could not get ashore, and neither could they defend themselves against the attacks of grown men. But if Walter was determined to stay, of course they would stay with him. If he got into trouble, they would be near him to share it; and there was some consolation in knowing that they could not get into much worse situations than those they had already passed through. They followed him when he lowered himself into the hold, and it was well they did so; for when Perk, who brought up the rear, was half way through the hatch, some one in the cabin uttered a loud yawn, and rising to his feet, approached the door leading into the galley. As quick as a flash, Perk dropped into the hold, closing the hatch after him; and immediately afterward, almost before he had time to draw another breath, the cabin door opened, and the man came in. The frightened and excited boys crouched close under the hatch, afraid to move for fear of attracting his attention. They heard him move something across the floor of the galley and step upon it; and they knew by the first words he uttered that it was Pierre, and that he was taking an observation of the weather.
“Roll out there, lads, and turn to!” he exclaimed. “By the time we get the yacht turned round, and the sails hoisted, it will be dark. We’re going to have a cloudy, breezy night for our run, and that’s just what we want. Come, bullies, make a break, there.”
The order was followed by a general movement in the cabin, and the boys, believing that the sound of the heavy footsteps overhead would drown any noise they might make in moving about the hold, seized the opportunity to look up a place of concealment among the water-butts and tool-chests. Walter’s first care, however, was to look, or rather feel for the lantern which he and his brother always used when visiting the hold. It was found hanging in its accustomed place. With the solitary match he happened to have in his pocket he lighted the wick, and the first object that was revealed to himself and companions was Bab, sitting with his hands tied behind him and his back against one of the water-butts. The prisoner, who, up to this time had believed that his visitors were some of the deserters, was too amazed to speak. Indeed he did not try until Eugene and Perk had untied his hands, and given him each a hearty slap on the back by way of greeting.
“All the merest accident in the world, my boy,” said Eugene. “Such a thing never happened before and never will again. We never expected to see you on the yacht, either. Come up into this dark corner, and tell us what you know of the plans of these men. Hallo! what’s this?”
While Eugene was speaking he was walking toward the after end of the hold. On the way he stumbled over something, which, upon examination, proved to be a long, narrow box, bearing upon its top a name and address: “Don Casper Nevis, Port Platte, Cuba.”
“How did that box come here?” asked Walter, “I never saw it before. And what are in those packages?” he added, pointing to a couple of bales that lay near by.
“Here’s another box,” continued Eugene, “and it is so heavy I can scarcely move it. There’s some printing on it, too. Hold your lantern here.”
Walter did as his brother requested, and he and the rest, who crowded about the box and looked over Eugene’s shoulder, read the same name and address they had seen on the other box; and underneath, in smaller print were the words: “Percussion Cartridges.”
“Now just listen to me a minute and I’ll tell you what’s a fact,” said Perk. “Here are the bullets—I don’t know how they came here, but they’re here—and if we only had the guns to throw them, we could clear the yacht’s deck of these interlopers in less time than it takes to tell it.”