"They must have got it in the hold," replied the steward.
"It is a mistake that these casks were not stove before," I replied, as I led the way, pistol in hand, to the steerage.
"Let me go first," said Sanderson. "You are a young man, and have a mother. It is not time for you to die yet, Phil."
He crowded himself ahead of me, and threw open the door which led into the steerage. I followed him closely, for if there was a fight, I intended to do my full share in it. The lantern, which had been suspended from a deck beam overhead, to enable the sentinel to see his prisoners, had been taken down, and the steerage was so dark that we could see nothing.
"Bring the cabin lantern, Palmer," said I, taking Sanderson by the arm, and pulling him back.
"Who's there?" demanded a voice out of the gloom of the apartment, as soon as I spoke.
"Who is it?" asked Sanderson.
"It is I."
"Who?"
"Franklin."