"We'll all be worse than sleepy in about a minute," groaned another.
"Well," spoke up Mr. Golden, "It's hard to die penned up like this, but if it's God's will, let us meet it like men."
"Oh, what'll my poor wife and babies do?" groaned the man who had spoken before.
But little more was said. Bob got hold of Jack's hand and whispered:
"It'll be an easy death, old man."
"I know," replied Jack. "I'm not afraid, but I do wish we could see the folks."
The deadly gas was rapidly getting in it's work, and three of the officers were already stretched on the floor, while the others were breathing heavily. Bob's head was swimming and he knew that he would be unconscious in another moment. He stretched himself out on the floor, putting one arm around the neck of Jack, who was already lying down. The other arm he stretched out along the floor, and as he did so, suddenly his fingers felt an iron ring. Hardly knowing what he did, he began to pull on it. To his surprise, he felt it give, and summoning all his remaining strength, he rose to his knees and gave a quick yank to it. A trap door opened, letting in a rush of cool fresh air. It partially revived him and he shouted.
Only Mr. Golden and the captain were conscious, and they dragged themselves, as quickly as possible, to the opening.
The inrush of air had cleared the gas away from the open door somewhat, and Mr. Golden had strength enough to whisper: