"The Yanks have bored a hole through into the bottom of the cask, and the water's nearly out." Tom ran aft, barefooted, and without a sound, while Mark stepped back to the hatch, and reached over to feel for the water once more. As he did so, and was straining over, with the edge of the cask against his armpit, he distinctly felt it heave up, as if men were busy raising it from below. CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. METHODICAL MADNESS. Those were thrilling moments in the darkness, as one side of the cask was heaved up and let down again, probably to try its weight, for it was by no means empty, and the water within washed to and fro, and then made whispering noises as it subsided, but the trickling sound went on. Then came, faintly heard, a whispering, as of orders what to do; and Mark drew his dirk in an agony of desperation, wondering the while why he did not rouse up the blacks to help him. The moments seemed to be drawn out into minutes, the minutes to hours, before he heard the soft patting of the men's bare feet over the deck. Then they were about him, each seizing the side of the cask to hold it down, and the blacks sprang up, ready to strike at those around. "Yah!" growled Tom Fillot, fiercely; "it's court-martial for you." At that moment there was a strong heave up of the hatch, but the attempt was vain; and knowing that all had been discovered, a low growl arose, and then, as if enraged beyond bearing at their failure, one of the men below fired a shot upwards, one which passed through the bottom of the cask, but did no harm to its holders, the only effect produced being the trickling out of the water through a second hole. "Shall we have it off now, sir, and nail down the hatch?" "No," said Mark; "two of you open the cable tier, and hand out the chain." "Again, sir?" whispered Tom. "Yes, man, quick!" Fillot and Stepney seized the chain and brought the end forward. "Ready, sir," cried the former, as the links rattled and clinked over the deck; and they stood waiting for the cask to be removed for the chain to be laid down in its place. "Now then, in with it!" cried Mark. "In with it, sir?" "Yes; into the cask." "Oh!" cried Tom Fillot, with an exultant cry, and the next moment the chain was being rattled into the empty cask at a rapid rate, and in very short time, a quarter of a ton was occupying the place of the water. "I think that'll puzzle 'em now, sir," cried Tom; and Mark Vandean breathed freely once again. But there were the blacks to punish, and the men fell back while Mark turned angrily upon the two culprits, who stood trembling before him with the light from a lantern one of the men had fetched thrown full upon their faces.