"The water rises fast. It's over our ankles," Hugh said quietly.
The bumping of a boat was again heard outside, then a trampling of
feet, and all was still again.
"They have taken to the boats."
Not all, however, for through the door there came a shout,
"Goodbye, Master Holliday," and a loud, jeering laugh.
"Au revoir, Sir Richard Fulke," Rupert shouted back; "and when we
meet next, beware!"
"Ha, ha! it won't be in this world;" and they heard their enemy get
into the boat.
"Now, Hugh, we must set to work; we have got the boat to
ourselves."
"But what are we to do, Master Rupert?"
Rupert was silent for a minute.
"There is but one way, Hugh. We must blow up the boat."
"Blow up the boat!" Hugh repeated, in astonishment.
"Yes, Hugh. At least, blow the deck up. Give me that keg of
powder."
Hugh opened the locker. It was, fortunately, still above water.
"Now, Hugh, put it in that high locker there, just under the deck.
Knock its head out.
"Now tie a pistol to those hooks just above, so that its muzzle
points at the powder.
"Now for a piece of cord."
"But it will blow us into smash, Master Rupert."
"I hope not, Hugh; but we must take our chance. I would rather that
than be drowned gradually. But look, the water is up nearly to our
waists now; and the boat must be pretty nearly sinking. I will take
hold of the cord. Then both of us throw ourselves down to the
floor, and I will pull the string.
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