Such was the origin of the exultant thrills that shot brightly through Martin's despair. But the triumphant thought was momentary. Love could not brighten their lot; nay, love but made more numerous the grim host of cruel fears that pressed upon him. Ruth—God! What would happen to Ruth, what had happened to her, what was happening to her even now, while he sat mooning, cooped and helpless in this black hole? It was unendurable! He exploded a fierce oath.
"Bosun, we must do something—now—at once!" he cried.
The giant placed a restraining hand upon his shoulder.
"Easy lad! Not so loud, or ye'll 'ave them coming down for a look-see. We don't want that," he admonished. "Steady! I know 'ow you feel—but raising a rumpus down 'ere won't 'elp us none. We'll do something right enough. I got a plan, didn't I tell ye! I was just thinking it out—'ere, I'll tell you. First, though, let's fix these bleedin' irons, in case they pay us a visit."
He leaned over, searching about on the dark deck, and Martin heard the clinking as he gathered up the cuffs. He fiddled with them for a moment.
"'Ere, Martin, stick out your 'ands!"
Martin complied, and felt the handcuffs close about his wrists.
"See if you can pull your 'ands out."
Martin found he could, easily.
"All right—just keep them 'anging from one wrist," said the boatswain. "In case they come down on us, we don't want them to find us loose. Just clap your 'ands be'ind you and slip your irons on. I 'ave mine fixed, too, and I'll be 'uggin' the post in the same old way. They won't think o' examinin' us."