"Then don't think so again, sir," cried Mark, who wondered at his own sharpness and authoritative way. "Now then, stand by all. Ready?" "Ay, ay, sir." "Hah! look-out!" _Crash_. "Well done, my lad." This was as a pistol was once more thrust out, and the hand which held it appeared ready for Soup to hit at, which he did, and missed. But, all the same, the hand and pistol disappeared, and the next minute Tom and Dick, one on each side, thrust the cover over the hatch as they crawled forward, Tom flinging himself across it, while the rest of the men hauled away, and began to pile on the chain cable. _Bang_ again--a pistol-shot fired up through the hatchway lid, and Tom gave a sharp start. "Ah! Hurt?" cried Mark, excitedly, as the sailor rolled over, while as quickly as possible more of the cable was piled up where he had lain. "Dunno yet, sir," said Tom, rising up and feeling his side. "Something give me an awful whack on the ribs. Don't look like a dead 'un, do I?" "Don't say you're wounded, Tom," said Mark, in a hoarse whisper. "Wasn't going to, sir," replied the man, whose hands were still busy feeling his side. "No, I don't think I'm wounded; don't feel like it-- only savage, and as if I should like to drop on to the chap as fired that shot. I know: I have it. The bullet must have hit the chain, and drove it against my ribs. I'm all right, sir. Deal o' fight in me yet." "Thank Heaven!" said Mark to himself, as he thought of how helpless he would have been without the frank young sailor who was completely his strong right hand. By this time the hatch was loaded with coil upon coil of the strong chain, and, though a couple more shots were fired, the bullets were only flattened against the iron links. "Hah, that gives us breathing time, my lads," cried Mark. "Now then, what next?" "Daylight'd be the best thing, sir," said Dance; "and then I should be able to see about--" He stopped short, put his hand to his head, and looked around vacantly. "What was it I wanted to see about?" "It's all right, messmate; don't you worry about that," cried Tom, clapping him on the shoulder. "Eh? No, I won't, Tom," said Dance, thoughtfully. "It's my head goes all foggy sometimes, and then I can't think; but I'm all right again, ain't I, mate? Not going to be like the lufftenant, eh?" "Not you," said Tom Fillot. The coxswain laughed. "Yes, I'm coming round," he said. "Head's a bit soft, that's all; but I'm coming round." While this was going on, Mark had turned to the black, whose shirt was wet with the blood which oozed from the score made in his shoulder by the bullet fired at him when first the attempt was made to escape, and then by the light of a lantern, while the man knelt down, the wound was bound up, the black smiling and making very light of it the while.