"I should as soon think of getting out if we were buried a hundred feet under ground as to think of getting out of this place," replied Flint, who was hardly as enterprising as his officer, though he was always ready to follow when he was well led. "There is a guard at the door, Mr. Passford." "He may stay there; we don't want anything of him," replied Christy. "I see no other way out of this den, unless we jump down into the street; but I will follow you, sir, if I fall a hundred feet in doing it," protested the master's mate. "You shall not fall six inches, and you will have no opportunity to do so. But if you are all ready to follow my lead, we may as well begin at once," added Christy, who had expected that it would require some persuasion to induce his companion to join him. The first thing the midshipman did was to take off his shoes, and to require Flint to do the same. With these in their hands, Christy paced off twenty steps, which brought him, according to a calculation he had made in the daylight, under a scuttle that led to the roof of the warehouse. Stationing the master's mate as a mark, he laid off five paces at right angles with the first line from the party-wall. It was as dark as Egypt, and the scuttle could not be seen; but the operator had located it mathematically, and was confident as to its position. Flint was planted under the opening, with the shoes of both at his side. The master's mate was nearly six feet in his stocking feet as he stood, and Christy whispered to him the next thing in his scheme. With the aid of his willing assistant, the midshipman was mounted on the shoulders of the former, where he stood up like an athlete in the gloom, though he almost instantly obtained a hold above with his hands. He unfastened the scuttle, and slid it off the aperture with the greatest care. Then he drew himself up with his strong hands, and was on the roof. Then Flint passed up the shoes, as he reached down for them. Seating himself on one side of the frame, he braced his feet against the other side, and grasped the hands of the mate. It did not work. CHAPTER XXIX THE NEW MATE OF THE COTTON SCHOONER Christy had given himself credit for more physical strength, or Flint for less weight, than the circumstances warranted, and found that he could not draw up his companion as he intended. He made several efforts to accomplish his purpose, but he failed every time. The fear of making a noise cramped his efforts to some extent. "Let go, Mr. Passford," whispered Flint, when he realized that his avoirdupois was too much for the young officer. "I will get that box, and then I can manage it myself." "All right; but don't make a particle of noise," added Christy. It required some time for the mate to find the box in the darkness, but he had it in position at last, standing upon one end. Mounting it, he found that his head was on a level with the roof, and he could easily draw himself up; but he did not do so at once.