"Silence!" said Mark, sharply. "Who else is down here?" "There's me," said Stepney. "Fillot, Stepney, Bannock, and the black, isn't it?" "Ay, ay, sir. You're here, Soup?" "Ay, ay, sir," came in the negro's familiar voice. "Anybody wounded?" asked Mark, anxiously. "Too dark to see, sir," growled Stepney. "I feel as if I'd got only one leg." "Ah! your leg not broken?" "No, sir, I don't think so. I'm a-feeling for it. It's all right, sir; it's here, only got it doubled under me when I fell. Aren't we going to make someone's head ache, sir, for this?" "We're going to make a dash for them directly," said Mark, in a voice full of suppressed excitement. "Ah! the light at last. Now we shall be able to see what we are going to do. Hush! what's that?" For there was a loud rattling of chain forward, and Mark looked inquiringly at the face of Tom Fillot, which was gradually growing plainer in the coming light. "They're a-hauling the chain cable out o' the cask, sir, and running it back into the tier. Hadn't we better make a try, sir, now they're busy?" "Yes. Now then, Fillot--Bannock, open that hatch, and then follow me." "Better let me go first, sir," growled Tom. "I'm harder than you, and had better take the first hits." "Don't talk," cried Mark, snappishly. "Now then, can you get it open?" "No, sir," grumbled Tom, after a good deal of trying, thrusting and dragging at it. "Tight as a hoyster." As he spoke, he and Bannock heaved and thrust at the door, and a heavy blow was struck upon it outside. "Keep below there, dew yew hear?" came in an unmistakable voice. "You might as well mind your own business," growled Tom Fillot. "D'yer hear? Keep below." The door cracked again with Tom Fillot's efforts, and the next moment there was a sharp report, and a bullet crashed through. "Guess yew'd best keep from ahind that theer hatchway, strangers, for I'm out o' practyse, and I'm going to make a target o' that theer door." "Stand down, Tom," said Mark. "Oh, I ain't feared, sir, if you like to say keep on," cried Tom Fillot. "I know that, my lad; but I'm not going to run foolish risks." The man came down, and the little party stood gazing at each other in the low ceiled cabin, as the first rays of the rising sun flooded the place, and they could see the schooner astern, with Joe Dance, and Taters the black, looking over the bows eagerly, as if wondering what had taken place. Mark turned to where Mr Russell lay, in the same calm state of stupor, and the sun lit up his face. "Don't look like dying, sir," said Tom Fillot. "Strikes me, sir, as he's getting all the best of it." Mark turned upon him angrily, and Tom Fillot gave him a deprecating look. "Beg pardon, sir. It's my tongue, not me. It will talk." "I suppose the others are imprisoned in the forecastle," said Mark, ignoring his remark. "Dessay, sir. That's why they were getting the chain out of the cask." "I hope they are not much hurt."