"Near?"

"Yes, sir; I thought I was gone."

"But you warn't, mate," said Tom Fillot; "and you and me's got to
pollergise for making the cabin floor so wet."

"Never mind the cabin floor," said Mark.

"You dunno how juicy I am, sir, or you wouldn't talk like that," said
Tom.

"Are either of you much hurt?" said Mark. "Can't tell yet, sir; haven't
had time to think. Pretty tidy, though, I should say."

"Let's have a light and see."

"Oh, never mind about that, sir. We shan't hurt, Dick and me. It was
all wrastling, and no knives or pistols. We shall do. Sorry we didn't
get up quicker."

"It was a failure, Tom, but only the first time. They tried till they
took the schooner; we're going to try the same."

"That's the way to take it, sir. Won't try again to-night, I suppose?"

"Of course not, nor yet that way, Tom. We'll wait for morning now."

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

TOM MAKES A SUGGESTION.

Morning was a long time coming to the prisoners, but at last the bright
light of day shed hope into all their hearts, and, forgetful of the
sufferings of the night, Mark's eyes were strained as far as the cabin
window would admit in search of their prize.

It was nowhere in sight. Dance's head had evidently proved sufficiently
clear to enable him to sail the craft well enough to keep out of the
would-be captor's reach, unless she were somewhere in sight forward and
the American captain was in pursuit.

Whenever any tack was made, eyes were strained to try and catch a
glimpse of her, but all in vain, and the prisoners sat about avoiding
each other's eyes, for, in spite of all determination to be patient and
try and think out some plan, a hopeless state of despondency would creep
over them.

Their captors, following their own example, flung them some biscuit
through the cabin skylight, and lowered a bucket of fresh water, the
American skipper shouting down in a fierce snarl that if they made any
further attempt to escape he would have them shot like mad dogs.

"If you can," cried Mark, defiantly, and then he shrank and gave an
uneasy glance round at his men to see what effect the American's words
had upon them. For with a contemptuous laugh the Yankee uttered the one
word "cockerel," and slammed down and fastened the light.

"Never you mind, sir," whispered Tom Fillot at the first opportunity;
"cockerels is young game cocks, and we know as you're game to the
backbone. You'll give him one p'r'aps '