through.

Meanwhile that floating coffin had left its moorings and was gliding
with the stream. On the hatches sat Grandmaison, with Jolly and two
other Marats, howling the "Carmagnole" to drown the cries of the
wretches underneath, and beating time with their feet upon the deck.

Leroy's teeth worked on like a rat's until at last the cord was severed.
Then, lest they should be parted in the general heaving and shifting of
that human mass, those teeth of his fastened upon the Capuchin's sleeve.

"Take hold of me!" he commanded as distinctly as he could; and the
Capuchin gratefully obeyed. "Now untie my wrists!"

The Capuchin's hands slid along Leroy's arms until they found his hands,
and there his fingers grew busy, groping at the knots. It was no easy
matter to untie them in the dark, guided by sense of touch alone. But
the friar was persistent and patient, and in the end the last knot ran
loose, and our cocassier was unpinioned.

It comforted him out of all proportion to the advantage. At least his
hands were free for any emergency that might offer. That he depended in
such a situation, and with no illusions as to what was to happen, upon
emergency, shows how tenacious he was of hope.

He had been released not a moment too soon. Overhead, Grandmaison and
his men were no longer singing. They were moving about. Something bumped
against the side of the vessel, near the bow, obviously a boat, and
voices came up from below the level of the deck. Then the lighter
shuddered under a great blow upon the planks of the forecastle port.
The cries in the hold redoubled. Panting, cursing, wailing men hurtled
against Leroy, and almost crushed him for a moment under their weight as
the vessel heaved to starboard. Came a succession of blows, not only on
the port in the bow, but also on that astern. There was a cracking and
rending of timbers, and the water rushed in.

Then the happenings in that black darkness became indescribably
horrible. In their frenzy not a few had torn themselves free of their
bonds. These hurled themselves towards the open ports through which the
water was pouring. They tore at the planks with desperate, lacerated
hands. Some got their arms through, seeking convulsively to widen the
openings and so to gain an egress. But outside in the shipwrights' boat
stood Grandmaison, the fencing-master, brandishing a butcher's sword.

With derision and foul objurgations he slashed at protruding arms and
hands, thru