nothing to say to me, and I've nothing to say to you. I don't want the
skipper to come down on my head with a capstan bar. Here, both on you:
just a word as I will say--Don't you be sarcy to the skipper. He's
Frenchy, and he's got a temper of his own, so just you mind how you trim
your boats. There, good-night."

"One moment," said Vince, in a quick whisper.

_Bang_! went the door, and they heard a hasp put over a staple and a
padlock rattled in.

"Here, youngsters!" came through the door.

"What is it?"

"Mind you put out that light when you're in your bunks. Good-night!"

"Good-night," said Mike.

"Bad night," said Vince. And then: "Oh, Ladle, old chap, what shall we
do?"

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

LONGINGS FOR LIBERTY.

It was easier to ask that question than to answer it, and they cast a
brief glance round the bare, cupboard-like place, with its two shelves,
which represented the prisoners' beds, each bearing a small horsehair
mattress and a French cotton blanket.

"Put out the light," was all the answer Vince received; and, after
holding it to the side of the place for a moment or two, he opened the
lanthorn door and blew the candle out.

"No good to keep that in. Only makes the place hot and stuffy. I'm
going to open that light."

The "light" was a sort of wooden shutter, which took the place of an
ordinary cabin window, and as soon as he had drawn it wide open the soft
night air entered in a delicious puff.

"Hah! that's better," sighed Vince. "Come here and breathe, Ladle, old
chap. It's of no use to smother ourselves if we are miserable. I say,
isn't it a beautiful night?"

"Who's going to think anything beautiful when one's like this? It's
horrible!"

"Pst!" whispered Vince, for the voice of the captain was plainly heard
overhead, and the deep growl of old Daygo in answer, the way in which
the tones grew more subdued suggesting that the speakers had gone right
forward.

"I should like to pitch that old villain overboard," said Mike, in a
fierce whisper.

"Well, if you'd let me tie a rope round him first I'd help you, Ladle;
but I shouldn't like him to drown till he'd had time to get a little
better."

"Better?" said Mike: "he'll never grow any better."

"Well, never mind him," said Vince. "Now then, let's look the state of
affairs in the face. You won't tell us what to do, so I must see what I
can think of."

"Have you thought of anything?" cried Mike eagerly.

"If