“Hum! Perhaps—I think I do; I think—I—I—hum! I—know it,” answered Appadocca, while his face brightened up a little.
The officer drew nearer to the side of the ship to listen—Appadocca remained where he was.
The dull sounds of muffled instruments could now be distinctly heard. From its direction, it could be easily discovered that these instruments were applied to the dead light, which had been carefully battened in for greater security against the prisoner’s escape. The sounds continued, and the sharp point of a large chisel, with which some individual from the outside was endeavouring to wrench away part of the cover, was now seen through the dead light of the ship.
The young officer looked round inquiringly at Appadocca, but met, in the gaze of that individual, only the coldness that characterised him.
“An attack, an attack!” he cried, and rushed out of the cabin. His instincts, as he called them, at once belying the ingenious arguments with which he had lulled his spirit of honor, when his friendship for Appadocca interposed.
He arrived on deck in time to hear the sharp challenge of the marine on duty.
“Who is there?” no answer was made to the challenge.
The guard was called out. The marine fired. In return only a derisive shout arose from a boat that was now moving away in the darkness. One, two, three volleys were fired in succession, when the angry voice of a man was heard from the boat.