It soon became evident that either the other prize had been taken and sent off, or Dance had managed to effect his escape, for there was no further sign of her. Tom Fillot felt bitterly aggrieved. "He must ha' been a bit flighty still, sir, or he wouldn't ha' done it. He's gone off with that there craft. I would ha' stood by my messmates if it had been me." Night came, with the position unaltered. They were still coasting along south, and they had full testimony of the fact that their captors did not mean to give them the slightest chance to escape. The skylight was tried and the door. There was a discussion as to the possibility of getting through the bulkhead forward, and one or two attempts were made, but each time, at the first crack made by the wood, there was the report of a pistol, and the shattering of the bulkhead above their heads, plain proof that they were strictly watched by one who had had orders to fire at the first attempt. "P'raps we'd best take it coolly, sir," said Tom Fillot, the second time, "or else put it off till after dark." Mark nodded, and sat listening to some cries which made their black companion begin to pant and glare at the cabin-hatch; and Mark himself felt as if he could have enjoyed lashing with wires the backs of the scoundrels who treated their black fellows worse than they would have treated dogs. Then night came once more, with the resolve to make another attempt to get on deck; but to their disgust and misery, they found that a lanthorn was placed upon the skylight, where it would cast down its rays and show what they were about, and once more when a movement was made to make an attack upon the door, there came the splintering of glass, a bullet struck down into the floor, and a sharp report told them how well their captors were upon the _qui vive_. "Look here," shouted Tom Fillot, "I know who you are, Mr Skipper. You'll be hitting some one if you don't mind, and it may be murder." There was no response, and the little party subsided into a state of despair. Excepting Mark. He was as determined as ever to escape, and felt that there must be a way if he could only hit upon it. His last idea was to raise some of the cabin floor boards and get down below, where they might reach a hatchway; but there was no chance of doing this while a man was watching them, armed with a pistol. Nothing could be done but wait. Mark sat back against the bulkhead, with his hand playing with the hilt of his midshipman's dirk, which he had managed to retain all through his various struggles, from the habit of thrusting it into its sheath the moment opportunity served; and as he sat he glared up at the skylight feeling as if he would give anything to have a fair chance on deck, his men against the American skipper's, and the victory to the bravest and most strong. He was ready, boy as he was, to lead them on, being wound up to a pitch of utter recklessness.