"Come on!" whispered Mark; "we must stop that game. Who's on the watch at the hatch?" "Sam Grote, sir; but, poor lad, he can't keep awake." "A lantern," said Mark, laconically; and Tom Fillot trotted aft to the cabin, and came back in five minutes with a light half hidden in his breast. During his absence, Mark had stood there listening in the darkness with a peculiar shuddering sensation to the soft clinking as link passed over link; and in imagination, while he peered through the transparent darkness, he saw a hand, which had been thrust out after the hatch had been raised a little, softly lifting and passing the cable off to the deck. Tom came back so silently that Mark was half startled. Then together they went on tiptoe in the direction of the sound, the lantern being carefully screened, and then only just a ray of light allowed to shine out forward. It fell upon the figure of the sailor Grote in a very peculiar attitude; for the poor fellow, unable to keep awake, had knelt close by the hatch, with his drawn cutlass point downward, resting on the cover, his two hands upon the hilt, and his forehead upon his hands--fast asleep. It was a dire offence against discipline, and a hot feeling of indignation swelled in Mark's breast against the man. But it died out as quickly as it had come. The man had done his best to guard against the cover of the hatch being moved, feeling certain that any attempt to stir it must be communicated to his brain by the cutlass; and so no doubt it would have been later on. He was fast asleep, but for the last two nights he had hardly closed his eyes, though utterly worn out by the day's exertion, while still suffering from his injuries. Greater reason still why Mark could not sit in judgment upon his man; he himself had been utterly unable to keep awake. These thoughts passed as the ray of light was shifted by Tom Fillot's manipulation of the lantern, which shone directly after upon the clean white planks, with their black, well-caulked seams. Then, very slowly and cautiously, Tom Fillot guided the little patch of light along the boards till it fell upon a big heap of rusty chain between them and the hatch, showing how long and patiently someone must have been at work, and also the terrible fact that before long every link would have been removed, and in all probability the crew would have been taken by surprise. For now, as Tom still guided on the little patch of light, it fell upon a red hand visible as far as the wrist. This had been thrust out beside the edge of the cover after a portion had been hacked away with a knife, and the fingers, rust covered and strange looking, were working away, industriously easing down link after link on to the deck, their weight helping the worker, while the heap on the hatch was steadily, as it were, melting away.