"Oh, if I could only whisper to Poole," he thought. "Come on, quick, old fellow, and then together we can get it to the side, drop it overboard, and follow so quickly that we need only make one splash, for it would be impossible to go back as we came." "Yes, that will be the way," thought Fitz; "and our fellows will row towards the splash at once, and pick us up. Why didn't I think to tell them? Never mind. That's what they are sure to do." Directly after he was running his hand along the pleasantly cool surface of the gun; but he paused for a moment to listen, and begin to wonder in the darkness why it was that Poole had not made some sign of being near. He reached back, giving a sweep with his hand; but Poole was not there, and he took a step forward to repeat the movement--still in vain. "Oh, I am wasting time," thought Fitz, as he stepped back to his former position. "He's waiting for me to reconnoitre and fetch him if I want him." In this spirit he felt the gun again, guiding himself by his hands to its huge butt, his fingers coming in contact first with the sight and then with the two massive ball-ended levers which turned the great screw. He could barely see at all, but his finger-tips told him that it was just such a piece as they had on board the _Tonans_, but not so large. Forgetting Poole for the moment, he passed right round to the breech, thrust in his hand, which came in contact with the solid block, and then withdrawing his hand he seized hold of the great balls, gave them a wrench, and in perfect silence the heavy mass of forged and polished steel began to turn, the well-oiled grooves and worm gliding together without a sound, and, after the first tug, with the greatest ease. It was all simple enough till he came to the final part of his task, and attempted to lift out the breech-block, the quoin that when the breech was screwed up held all fast. He took hold and tried to lift, but tried in vain, for it seemed beyond his strength. His teeth gritted together as he set them fast in his exasperation against Poole for not being at hand to help and make what now seemed an impossibility an easy task. Perspiring at every pore, he tried again and again, the more eagerly now, for a low growling voice was heard from the direction whence he had crawled. But the piece of steel was immovable, and in his despair he felt that all was over and that he had failed. Then came light--not light to make the gun visible, but mental light, with the question, Had he turned the levers far enough?