A few puffs came from the southwest, but they had no effect on the "Albatross." She remained motionless at her anchor, and the cable stretched vertically downward to the ground.
Uncle Prudent and his colleague, imagining they were under way again, sat shut up in their cabin, exchanging but a few words, and listening to the f-r-r-r-r of the suspensory screws, which drowned every other sound on board.

They were waiting till the time of action arrived.
A little before midnight Uncle Prudent said, "It is time!" Under the berths in the cabin was a sliding box, forming a small locker, and in this locker Uncle Prudent put the dynamite and the slow-match.

In this way the match would burn without betraying itself by its smoke or spluttering.

Uncle Prudent lighted the end and pushed back the box under the berth with "Now let us go aft, and wait." They then went out, and were astonished not to find the steersman at his post.
Phil Evans leant out over the rail.
"The "Albatross" is where she was," said he in a low voice.

"The work is not finished.