In a few minutes they approached the side of the ship.

“I see you have got half a dozen fish left in your boat now,” Francis said.

“They are of no account,” one of the men said.  “They are good enough for our eating, but not such as they buy on board a ship where money is plentiful.  You are heartily welcome to them if you have a fancy for them.”

“Thank you,” Francis said.  “I will take two or three of them, if you can spare them.  I want to play a trick with a comrade.”

As the fishermen said, there were several boats lying near the vessel, and the men were leaning over the sides bargaining for fish.  Handing the fishermen their promised reward, Francis sprang up the ladder to the deck.  He was unnoticed, for other men had gone down into the boats for fish.

Mingling with the sailors, he gradually made his way to the hatchway leading into the hold, descended the ladder, and stowed himself away among a quantity of casks, some filled with wine and some with water, at the farther end of the hold; and as he lay there devoutly thanked God that his enterprise had been so far successful.

Men came down from time to time with lanterns, to stow away the lately-arrived stores, but none came near the place where Francis was hidden.  The time seemed long before he heard the clank of the capstan, and knew the vessel was being hove up to her anchors.  Then, after a while, he heard the creaking of cordage, and much trampling of feet on the deck above, and knew that she was under way.  Then he made himself as comfortable as he could, in his cramped position, and went off to sleep.

When he woke in the morning, the light was streaming down the hatch, which was only closed in rough weather, as it was necessary frequently to go down into it for water and stores.  Francis had brought the fish with him as a means of subsistence during the voyage, in case he should be unable to obtain provisions, but for this there was no occasion, as there was an abundance of fruit hanging from the beams, while piles of bread were stowed in a partition at one end of the hold.  During the day, however, he did not venture to move, and was heartily glad when it again became dark, and he could venture to get out and stretch himself.  He appropriated a loaf and some bunches of grapes, took a long drink from a pail placed under the tap of a water butt, and made his way back to his corner.  After a hearty meal he went out again for another drink, and then turned in to sleep.

So passed six days.  By the rush of water against the outside planks, he could always judge whether the vessel was making brisk way or whether she was lying becalmed.  Once or twice, after nightfall, he ventured up on deck, feeling certain that in the darkness there was no fear of his being detected.  From conversation he overheard on the seventh evening, he learned that Corfu had been sighted that day.  For some hours the vessel’s sails had been lowered, and she had remained motionless; but she was now again making for the land, and in the course of another two hours a landing was to be made.