Chapter Fifteen.

Chapter Fifteen.A Difficult Task.“Old Staples’ll serve me out for this,” cried Bob, merrily.“Hallo! What’s the matter? Don’t stare in that solemn fashion.”“I was looking at the schooner,” said Mark. “Mr Russell has so few men with him in case of a rising on the part of the blacks. He would be as good as helpless.”“As bad, you mean,” cried Bob. “Oh, it’s all right. The niggers won’t rise. They’d better!”This was said so importantly that the men began to laugh; and as Bob turned upon them sharply, they grew preternaturally serious.“I say, look at Soup and Taters,” whispered Bob; “they’re as pleased as children to have a ride. I shall make two clever sailors out of them before I’ve done.”Mark glanced at the two blacks, and saw that their faces were lit up as they rode over the glancing waters. Then turning to Bob,—“That was a good idea of yours to bring them.”“Yes, I reckon that was a bright notion.”“Only you’ve spoiled it by being so cocky. I say, Bob, what a conceited chap you are.”“Oh, am I? Pity you aren’t a little more so, too. Hallo! what’s the matter with Soup?”Mark looked at the black sharply, half expecting that he was again going to leap overboard and swim for his liberty, for the man was glaring at the schooner they were approaching fast, his nostrils distended, and there was a curious lurid light in his eyes as if he were suddenly enraged.“Why, Taters has got it too. Look at him.”The bigger of the two blacks had muttered something to his companion as they sat together forward, and they both turned to Mark now as they started up in the boat and pointed to the schooner, uttering a low guttural cry.“Sit down both of you; do you hear?” cried Bob.“I see,” cried Mark, excitedly. “They know that it is a slaver, and they think we are going to take them off in it.”“No, no!” growled the bigger black, fiercely.“Yes; that’s what they think,” cried Mark.“Then they’re a pair of black-looking old noodles,” said Bob. “Here, hi! sit down, or you’ll be overboard.”“Yes; sit down,” said Mark, rising, and speaking authoritatively as he pointed downward.“Yes, sir, begging your pardon, that’s what it is; they think you’re going to sell ’em, sir.”“I wish to goodness they could understand English,” said Mark, impatiently. “How am I to explain?”“Oh, they know a lot,” said Bob. “Here, I’ll show you. Hi, Soup! Taters, ahoy!”The two blacks looked at him excitedly.“It’s all right.”“All—righ?” said Soup.“Yes, all right.”The man turned to Mark and looked at him inquiringly. “All righ?” he said.“Yes; all right,” cried Mark, with a look which gave the men some confidence, and they sat down.“That’s right, my dark-skinned messmate,” growled Tom Fillot, “Why don’t you larn to understand that you’re a free nigger now?”They were close alongside of the schooner; and the blacks’ nostrils began to quiver and their excitement increase as they caught the horrible, sickening effluvium which was wafted from the hold. Starting up, they made as if they were about to jump overboard, in the full belief that they were once more about to be entrapped into the hold of a slaver; but dropping the rudder-lines, Mark sprang to them, and laid his hands upon their shoulders.“I tell you it is all right,” he said. “Won’t you believe me?”The men could not understand his words, but the open countenance and frank manner of the midshipman inspired confidence, and they sank down, stretched out their hands to him, took his, and held it against their foreheads in turn.“Come, that’s right, my lads,” continued Mark, smiling. “There, don’t think we English folk could be so treacherous. You’ll see directly what we want of you. Come along.”“Well, I’m blest!” cried Bob. “I say, play fair, Van. You’re taking my job out of my hands. I’m showman here. Stow that.”“Show up, then,” cried Mark, merrily. “There, up with you.”He sprang on board, to find that there had been no change in the state of affairs, but that Mr Russell had been anxiously awaiting his coming.The men followed, till only the coxswain and the two blacks remained hanging back, for once more the feeling of mistrust had come uppermost, and they were muttering together and looking wildly round.“Here, I say,” cried Bob; “there’s sharks enough about here to make any man sorry who begins to swim. Come on board. D’ye hear?”“What is it?” said the lieutenant.“The two blacks are suspicious; they don’t understand why we want to bring them aboard this schooner. They think we mean mischief to them.”“Poor fellows! No wonder,” said the lieutenant. “We must be careful, or we shall scare them, and they’ll try to swim ashore.”“Well, wouldn’t that be best for them?”“No, Vandean; they’d only be captured and sold again. You must coax them aboard.”“Are you two coming?” cried Bob, looking as fierce as he could—“fierce as a maggot,” Tom Fillot said. “Because if you’re not, I’m coming to fetch you.”The men joined hands and stood back.“Come,” said Mark, quietly, as he stepped to the gangway and held out his hand; “it is all right.”“No all righ,” cried the big black, fiercely, as he pointed to the vessel’s side and listened to the peculiar dull humming sound which came from the hold.“Yes—I—tell—you—it—is—all—right,” said Mark, quietly. “You hardly understand me, but you may believe.”The big black turned to his fellow, and said something, and then without a word they came on board, with their nostrils working, and the big black’s eyes flashed as he pointed to the way down into the vessel’s hold, as much as to say, “There, you are deceiving me.”“Yes, I know,” said Mark, quietly; and the man looked more at ease, but still terribly suspicious.“There,” cried Bob; “now you see what a pair of black fools you were.”“That will do, Mr Howlett,” said the lieutenant sternly; “let Mr Vandean manage them. He can do it better than you.”“Well, I am blest!” muttered Bob, turning scarlet.“That was a capital thought of yours, Mr Vandean. You brought these men to interpret.”“Well, Iamblest, and no mistake,” muttered Bob, “and him going to take all thekudos. It’s too—”He had no time to saybad, for Mark spoke out,—“No, sir; it was Bob Howlett’s idea.”“Oh, was it?” said Mr Russell. “Well, never mind; they seem to trust you. Go on and see what you can do.”“It’s so difficult, because they cannot understand, sir,” replied Mark; “but I think I can show them what we want. Shall I try?”“Yes, of course,” said the lieutenant, to whom Mark had already given his message. “The schooner is too fast on the bank here for us to get her off, so the blacks must be taken to theNautilus, and then we’ll fire her at once. Pity too—such a fine boat. There, try and get the poor wretches on deck, and let’s see how many there are. I’m afraid that some are dead.”Mark shuddered and turned to the blacks, who were watching him eagerly. Signing to them to pick up a couple of buckets, he led them to the fresh-water tub, made them fill them, and then, taking up a couple of pannikins, he led the way to the mouth of the noisome hold, from which low moans were now issuing.They followed him, and he pointed down, but they shrank away wildly, their eyes rolling, and the fear of treachery still in their breasts.“Very well, then,” said Mark, quietly, while the officers and boat’s crew looked on. “We are going to give those poor creatures some water;” and he stepped through the hatch to the ladder, and once more began to descend.That was enough. The two blacks carefully raised their buckets of water and followed him down, to the satisfaction of every one save Bob Howlett, who felt horribly aggrieved.“Hadn’t I better go too, Mr Russell?” he said. “I understand those two blacks.”“Perhaps you had,” said the lieutenant, drily. “By all means go.”“Thankye, sir,” cried Bob; and he stepped toward the hatch, where, as Mr Russell turned away, he found Tom Fillot looking at him with his face puckering up into a broad grin.Meanwhile Bob had reached the hatch and bent over it prior to stepping down, but instead of raising his foot for that step, he started back, his hand to his face, and a look of the most intense horror and disgust overspreading his merry countenance.“Oh!” he ejaculated; and then again, “Oh!”“What is the matter, Mr Howlett?” said the lieutenant, quietly.“Oh, just you go there, sir. ’Pon my word! it’s just awful.”“Ah, yes, I know,” said the lieutenant, quietly. “The hold is bad with the poor creatures being shut up there. That is why I want to get them on deck;” and he walked to the hatch.“You beggars! I’ll serve some of you out for this,” said Bob to himself, as he saw several of the men grinning hugely at his discomfort.He turned away and found himself face to face with Tom Fillot, who looked at him with a preternaturally solemn aspect.“Find it a bit strong, sir?”“What?” cried Bob, haughtily.“I said find it a bit strong, sir? I did at first when I went down; but, bless your ’art, sir, after the first few sniffs you don’t mind it a bit, you rather likes it.”“Then you’d better go down, sir,” said Bob, sharply.“Yes, sir, soon as I’m wanted, sir. I did go down before with Mr Vandean.”“Did he go down, then?”“Oh yes, sir. We was there ever so long. Just you go down and see, sir; it’s very interesting. Never was in the hold of a slave ship, sir, I s’pose? It’s something to talk about, I can tell you. Wonderful dark, and all you can see is the niggers’ eyes. You see, them being black, they fits in with the darkness, and as they never laughs you don’t see their teeth. I’d go if I was you.”Bob hesitated. It would never do for him to show the white feather before the man, and if he did not go Mark Vandean was taking all the credit. Tom Fillot was right, it would be something to talk about, and after another moment’s hesitation, he turned to the sailor.“I say, Tom Fillot,” he whispered, “is it very bad?”“What, down there, sir?”“Yes; I mean can a fellow bear it?”“Bear it, sir? Oh yes, if it comes to that; you see, Mr Vandean and me bore it ever so long. You’d stand it, I should say. Oh yes, you’ve got so much pluck in you, sir, you’d stand it right enough. There, sir, if I was you I’d go. You could but come up again.”“Yes, of course,” said Bob, cavalierly. “I could come up again.”“Of course, sir, if you could stand it, and didn’t faint right away.”Bob turned upon him sharply, with the fact dawning upon him that Tom Fillot, the most impudent joker on board theNautilus, was laughing in his sleeve at his expense; but before he could make quite sure, a thrill ran through all on deck, and a rush was made for the hatchway.The moment before, Mr Russell was peering down uneasily, and his conscience was smiting him for allowing so young an officer to undertake the onerous task of descending into that loathsome den. For strange noises—low mutterings, and harsh whisperings—were going on; and directly after, to his horror, Mark’s voice rang out in wildly excited tones, just as there were the sounds of a struggle going on.“Here, men—Mr Russell! Help—quick!” shouted Mark; and in response thereto the lieutenant shouted to the boat’s crew to come on, took a step downward to lead the way, and then stepped back as the lesser of the two black sailors suddenly appeared at the hatchway with his face wild with excitement, and his white duck frock and trousers horribly stained with blood.

“Old Staples’ll serve me out for this,” cried Bob, merrily.

“Hallo! What’s the matter? Don’t stare in that solemn fashion.”

“I was looking at the schooner,” said Mark. “Mr Russell has so few men with him in case of a rising on the part of the blacks. He would be as good as helpless.”

“As bad, you mean,” cried Bob. “Oh, it’s all right. The niggers won’t rise. They’d better!”

This was said so importantly that the men began to laugh; and as Bob turned upon them sharply, they grew preternaturally serious.

“I say, look at Soup and Taters,” whispered Bob; “they’re as pleased as children to have a ride. I shall make two clever sailors out of them before I’ve done.”

Mark glanced at the two blacks, and saw that their faces were lit up as they rode over the glancing waters. Then turning to Bob,—

“That was a good idea of yours to bring them.”

“Yes, I reckon that was a bright notion.”

“Only you’ve spoiled it by being so cocky. I say, Bob, what a conceited chap you are.”

“Oh, am I? Pity you aren’t a little more so, too. Hallo! what’s the matter with Soup?”

Mark looked at the black sharply, half expecting that he was again going to leap overboard and swim for his liberty, for the man was glaring at the schooner they were approaching fast, his nostrils distended, and there was a curious lurid light in his eyes as if he were suddenly enraged.

“Why, Taters has got it too. Look at him.”

The bigger of the two blacks had muttered something to his companion as they sat together forward, and they both turned to Mark now as they started up in the boat and pointed to the schooner, uttering a low guttural cry.

“Sit down both of you; do you hear?” cried Bob.

“I see,” cried Mark, excitedly. “They know that it is a slaver, and they think we are going to take them off in it.”

“No, no!” growled the bigger black, fiercely.

“Yes; that’s what they think,” cried Mark.

“Then they’re a pair of black-looking old noodles,” said Bob. “Here, hi! sit down, or you’ll be overboard.”

“Yes; sit down,” said Mark, rising, and speaking authoritatively as he pointed downward.

“Yes, sir, begging your pardon, that’s what it is; they think you’re going to sell ’em, sir.”

“I wish to goodness they could understand English,” said Mark, impatiently. “How am I to explain?”

“Oh, they know a lot,” said Bob. “Here, I’ll show you. Hi, Soup! Taters, ahoy!”

The two blacks looked at him excitedly.

“It’s all right.”

“All—righ?” said Soup.

“Yes, all right.”

The man turned to Mark and looked at him inquiringly. “All righ?” he said.

“Yes; all right,” cried Mark, with a look which gave the men some confidence, and they sat down.

“That’s right, my dark-skinned messmate,” growled Tom Fillot, “Why don’t you larn to understand that you’re a free nigger now?”

They were close alongside of the schooner; and the blacks’ nostrils began to quiver and their excitement increase as they caught the horrible, sickening effluvium which was wafted from the hold. Starting up, they made as if they were about to jump overboard, in the full belief that they were once more about to be entrapped into the hold of a slaver; but dropping the rudder-lines, Mark sprang to them, and laid his hands upon their shoulders.

“I tell you it is all right,” he said. “Won’t you believe me?”

The men could not understand his words, but the open countenance and frank manner of the midshipman inspired confidence, and they sank down, stretched out their hands to him, took his, and held it against their foreheads in turn.

“Come, that’s right, my lads,” continued Mark, smiling. “There, don’t think we English folk could be so treacherous. You’ll see directly what we want of you. Come along.”

“Well, I’m blest!” cried Bob. “I say, play fair, Van. You’re taking my job out of my hands. I’m showman here. Stow that.”

“Show up, then,” cried Mark, merrily. “There, up with you.”

He sprang on board, to find that there had been no change in the state of affairs, but that Mr Russell had been anxiously awaiting his coming.

The men followed, till only the coxswain and the two blacks remained hanging back, for once more the feeling of mistrust had come uppermost, and they were muttering together and looking wildly round.

“Here, I say,” cried Bob; “there’s sharks enough about here to make any man sorry who begins to swim. Come on board. D’ye hear?”

“What is it?” said the lieutenant.

“The two blacks are suspicious; they don’t understand why we want to bring them aboard this schooner. They think we mean mischief to them.”

“Poor fellows! No wonder,” said the lieutenant. “We must be careful, or we shall scare them, and they’ll try to swim ashore.”

“Well, wouldn’t that be best for them?”

“No, Vandean; they’d only be captured and sold again. You must coax them aboard.”

“Are you two coming?” cried Bob, looking as fierce as he could—“fierce as a maggot,” Tom Fillot said. “Because if you’re not, I’m coming to fetch you.”

The men joined hands and stood back.

“Come,” said Mark, quietly, as he stepped to the gangway and held out his hand; “it is all right.”

“No all righ,” cried the big black, fiercely, as he pointed to the vessel’s side and listened to the peculiar dull humming sound which came from the hold.

“Yes—I—tell—you—it—is—all—right,” said Mark, quietly. “You hardly understand me, but you may believe.”

The big black turned to his fellow, and said something, and then without a word they came on board, with their nostrils working, and the big black’s eyes flashed as he pointed to the way down into the vessel’s hold, as much as to say, “There, you are deceiving me.”

“Yes, I know,” said Mark, quietly; and the man looked more at ease, but still terribly suspicious.

“There,” cried Bob; “now you see what a pair of black fools you were.”

“That will do, Mr Howlett,” said the lieutenant sternly; “let Mr Vandean manage them. He can do it better than you.”

“Well, I am blest!” muttered Bob, turning scarlet.

“That was a capital thought of yours, Mr Vandean. You brought these men to interpret.”

“Well, Iamblest, and no mistake,” muttered Bob, “and him going to take all thekudos. It’s too—”

He had no time to saybad, for Mark spoke out,—

“No, sir; it was Bob Howlett’s idea.”

“Oh, was it?” said Mr Russell. “Well, never mind; they seem to trust you. Go on and see what you can do.”

“It’s so difficult, because they cannot understand, sir,” replied Mark; “but I think I can show them what we want. Shall I try?”

“Yes, of course,” said the lieutenant, to whom Mark had already given his message. “The schooner is too fast on the bank here for us to get her off, so the blacks must be taken to theNautilus, and then we’ll fire her at once. Pity too—such a fine boat. There, try and get the poor wretches on deck, and let’s see how many there are. I’m afraid that some are dead.”

Mark shuddered and turned to the blacks, who were watching him eagerly. Signing to them to pick up a couple of buckets, he led them to the fresh-water tub, made them fill them, and then, taking up a couple of pannikins, he led the way to the mouth of the noisome hold, from which low moans were now issuing.

They followed him, and he pointed down, but they shrank away wildly, their eyes rolling, and the fear of treachery still in their breasts.

“Very well, then,” said Mark, quietly, while the officers and boat’s crew looked on. “We are going to give those poor creatures some water;” and he stepped through the hatch to the ladder, and once more began to descend.

That was enough. The two blacks carefully raised their buckets of water and followed him down, to the satisfaction of every one save Bob Howlett, who felt horribly aggrieved.

“Hadn’t I better go too, Mr Russell?” he said. “I understand those two blacks.”

“Perhaps you had,” said the lieutenant, drily. “By all means go.”

“Thankye, sir,” cried Bob; and he stepped toward the hatch, where, as Mr Russell turned away, he found Tom Fillot looking at him with his face puckering up into a broad grin.

Meanwhile Bob had reached the hatch and bent over it prior to stepping down, but instead of raising his foot for that step, he started back, his hand to his face, and a look of the most intense horror and disgust overspreading his merry countenance.

“Oh!” he ejaculated; and then again, “Oh!”

“What is the matter, Mr Howlett?” said the lieutenant, quietly.

“Oh, just you go there, sir. ’Pon my word! it’s just awful.”

“Ah, yes, I know,” said the lieutenant, quietly. “The hold is bad with the poor creatures being shut up there. That is why I want to get them on deck;” and he walked to the hatch.

“You beggars! I’ll serve some of you out for this,” said Bob to himself, as he saw several of the men grinning hugely at his discomfort.

He turned away and found himself face to face with Tom Fillot, who looked at him with a preternaturally solemn aspect.

“Find it a bit strong, sir?”

“What?” cried Bob, haughtily.

“I said find it a bit strong, sir? I did at first when I went down; but, bless your ’art, sir, after the first few sniffs you don’t mind it a bit, you rather likes it.”

“Then you’d better go down, sir,” said Bob, sharply.

“Yes, sir, soon as I’m wanted, sir. I did go down before with Mr Vandean.”

“Did he go down, then?”

“Oh yes, sir. We was there ever so long. Just you go down and see, sir; it’s very interesting. Never was in the hold of a slave ship, sir, I s’pose? It’s something to talk about, I can tell you. Wonderful dark, and all you can see is the niggers’ eyes. You see, them being black, they fits in with the darkness, and as they never laughs you don’t see their teeth. I’d go if I was you.”

Bob hesitated. It would never do for him to show the white feather before the man, and if he did not go Mark Vandean was taking all the credit. Tom Fillot was right, it would be something to talk about, and after another moment’s hesitation, he turned to the sailor.

“I say, Tom Fillot,” he whispered, “is it very bad?”

“What, down there, sir?”

“Yes; I mean can a fellow bear it?”

“Bear it, sir? Oh yes, if it comes to that; you see, Mr Vandean and me bore it ever so long. You’d stand it, I should say. Oh yes, you’ve got so much pluck in you, sir, you’d stand it right enough. There, sir, if I was you I’d go. You could but come up again.”

“Yes, of course,” said Bob, cavalierly. “I could come up again.”

“Of course, sir, if you could stand it, and didn’t faint right away.”

Bob turned upon him sharply, with the fact dawning upon him that Tom Fillot, the most impudent joker on board theNautilus, was laughing in his sleeve at his expense; but before he could make quite sure, a thrill ran through all on deck, and a rush was made for the hatchway.

The moment before, Mr Russell was peering down uneasily, and his conscience was smiting him for allowing so young an officer to undertake the onerous task of descending into that loathsome den. For strange noises—low mutterings, and harsh whisperings—were going on; and directly after, to his horror, Mark’s voice rang out in wildly excited tones, just as there were the sounds of a struggle going on.

“Here, men—Mr Russell! Help—quick!” shouted Mark; and in response thereto the lieutenant shouted to the boat’s crew to come on, took a step downward to lead the way, and then stepped back as the lesser of the two black sailors suddenly appeared at the hatchway with his face wild with excitement, and his white duck frock and trousers horribly stained with blood.

Chapter Sixteen.Interpreting under Difficulties.“Comeon!”Bravery or determination, whichever you please, say both, were displayed by Mark Vandean as he fought horror and disgust in his effort to do his duty and master self.Stepping quickly down, he stood at the bottom of the ladder in utter darkness once more, listening to the strange whispering, thrilling noise about him, while first one and then the other black cautiously descended with the bucket of water he bore.By the time they were in the hold his sight was beginning to grow accustomed to the change from the bright glare of sunshine on deck, and once more there were faint suggestions of glistening eyes watching him out of the cave-like darkness, as if so many savage beasts were about to spring.But he had no time to think of his own feelings, for the two blacks now stood gazing at him inquiringly, and with some trace of their old suspicious aspect lingering still.“Water—to drink,” said Mark: and he pointed away into the darkness.They understood him, and dipping the pannikins full, they took each a step into the darkness, and held out the precious fluid toward those who must have been suffering agonies for its want. But no one stirred—not an advance was made, to Mark’s great surprise, for he had anticipated that the black faces of his ambassadors would have been sufficient to make the prisoners feel confidence that no harm was intended.“Go closer,” said Mark; and the two blacks looked back at him inquiringly, but obeyed as soon as he laid his hand upon their shoulders and pressed them forward.Then a voice broke the silence, the big black saying a few words in his own tongue, their effect being magical. A low murmur ran through the hold, and a harsh voice croaked out what was evidently a question, for the big black answered in a hesitating way, saying a few words, and then sharply one in a questioning tone, as if he had not understood.The harsh, croaking voice was heard again, speaking angrily, and there were several interchanges of question and answer, as if between two men who did not quite understand each other’s dialect.And now Mark’s eyes had become so accustomed to the darkness that he could dimly see that the place was full of a steamy mist, through which horrible-looking, ill-defined figures were moving, wild-eyed and strange. Some were tossing their arms about, others were stretching out their hands supplicatingly toward the water pannikins, which the two blacks kept dipping full and handing to those who pressed toward them; but there was no scuffling or fighting for the water, as might have been expected under the circumstances. The wretched prisoners seemed gentle and tolerant to each other, drinking and making way for companion sufferers.As this went on, and Mark was able to search the horrible gloom more and more, he shuddered; and, suffering as he was from the effects of the deadly mephitic air, the whole scene preyed upon his mind until he could hardly believe that he was gazing at reality, the whole tragedy before him resembling the dream accompanying some fever, and it was only by an effort that he could master the intense desire to struggle up the ladder and escape into the light and the free fresh air.The buckets were nearly empty, and he felt that it would be better for what was left in one to be poured into the other, so that the supplying might still go on while more was fetched, when it suddenly struck him that there was something wrong. In the darkness he could dimly make out two or three tall blacks pressing forward toward where the white-clothed sailors were dispensing the precious fluid, and it struck him that their aspect was threatening. The next moment he set the idea down as being imaginative, and the result of the unreal-looking, dreamy scene before him. For it was impossible, he argued, for the slaves to be about to resent the treatment they were receiving.“It’s my head all in a whirl,” he said to himself; “and it’s just like I used to feel when I was ill and half dead in the boat.”But the next minute he felt that the first idea was correct; something was wrong, and it struck him that the prisoners were going to make an attack. But he could not be sure; the darkness was too thick, and the excitement and horror of the whole scene made his imagination play strange pranks. At one moment he could see right back into the fore part of the hold where it was crowded with writhing, struggling beings; the next the mist closed over it apparently, and he could only make out gleaming eyes and shadows sweeping toward him and fading away, to appear at the side or hovering over his head.“Yes; it’s all from a disordered imagination,” he said to himself; and he had hardly come to this conclusion, when he knew that he was gazing at the real, for dimly-seen, there before him was a crowd of figures surrounding the two black sailors. A harsh sound arose—a mingling of muttered cries and savage growlings as of wild beasts; there was the noise of the buckets being knocked over, of a fierce struggle and heavy blows, and a hot, sickening wave of mephitic air was driven outward. Thoroughly alarmed now, Mark shouted for help, and was then thrust aside as one of the blacks whom he had brought down made for the hatchway, and in the brief glance he obtained in the light which shone down from above, he saw that the man was covered with blood.For a moment or two, weak still from his late illness, Mark felt completely prostrate and unable to act; but he recovered himself as quickly, and started forward to grasp the black’s arm.“Hurt?” he cried.The man dropped back from the ladder to gaze at him, and then uttered a few words excitedly as he pointed back into the forward part of the dark hold.“Here, stand aside!” cried the lieutenant, as he stepped down into the noisome hold, followed by Tom Fillot and a couple of the crew, each man with sword or cutlass in hand. “Now, Mr Vandean, quick; an attack?”“Yes, sir; the slaves attacked our two men. One of them’s badly wounded.”At that moment a dead silence fell, and the big black’s white shirt and trousers were visible, and he, too, now stepped forward into the light, while before he could speak a low groan came out from the darkness.“I thought he was killed,” cried Mark, and the man began to speak volubly and gesticulate, pointing back.“Bah!” exclaimed Mr Russell. “We ought not to be here without an interpreter. He is not hurt; it is the other black. Stand fast, my lads, in case the poor wretches attack. Now, then, where are you hurt?”This was to the second black sailor, whose white duck shirt was horrible with stains of blood, as he began to talk fast now and point forward.“Wounds must be slight,” cried the lieutenant. “Can you make out a word of what he says, Vandean?”“No, sir; but let me try.”Mark pointed forward, and without a moment’s hesitation the two black sailors plunged into the darkness and returned, half dragging, half carrying a ghastly-looking object into the square of light shed from above.“Oh, here’s the wounded man, then,” cried the lieutenant. “Let’s get him up into the daylight.”Mark pointed down at the slave, who was bleeding freely, and the big sailor now spoke out a few words fiercely, with the result that half a dozen nude slaves came shrinkingly forward, and in obedience to a gesture, lifted the wounded man and carried him up to the deck.The officers and men followed, and the two black sailors came last, to pay no heed to the wounded man, but proceed at once to refill the buckets, and carry them down into the hold past the guard set over the hatchway. Then after bidding Bob Howlett to hoist a signal for the surgeon to come aboard, Mr Russell roughly bandaged the terrible wound the slave had upon his head, the others who had carried up the sufferer looking stupidly on, blinking and troubled by the sunlight, to which they had evidently been strangers for some time.“Now,” said Mr Russell, as he rose, “we are in the dark as much as ever. Can’t you explain what was wrong, Mr Vandean?”“No, sir; I saw a struggle, and one man seemed wounded.”“And it was someone else. Tut—tut—tut! and we can’t understand a word. What a useful thing speech is, after all.”Just then the two blacks came up for more water, and Mark tried to communicate with them, but only with the result that they looked puzzled till the midshipman pointed to the wounded man.“How did it happen?” he said; and the big black looked at him heavily. Then he seemed to grasp the meaning of the question, and laughed excitedly.Pointing to the wounded man lying on the deck, he ran to the group of slaves standing staring at him, with their foreheads wrinkled up and their eyes full of despair; he seized one, whose countenance assumed a stern look of anger as the black sailor pointed to him, and made the sign of striking a blow, pointing again at the wounded man.“He evidently means that the man was wounded by his fellow-slave,” said Mr Russell.The black sailor watched the officer, and then thrust his hand behind the slave to take a short, flat piece of wood from the poor wretch’s waistband—a piece of heavy wood, shaped something like a willow leaf.“The weapon evidently,” said Mr Russell; “but I don’t see why he should wound his fellow-sufferer.”But the black sailor had not done with his explanation. He looked to see that the officers were watching him, and then placed the weapon in its owner’s hand, which he raised, and said a few words to his fellow black with the blood-stained garb.This man waited a moment to assist in the pantomimic explanation, and then, as his companion brought down the weapon towards his own head, he rushed up between them and received the blow, staggered away as if very much hurt, and, still acting, reeled and fell down beside the wounded man, pointing to him as he half rose, and then at the stains upon his own shirt.“Well, what do you make of it?” said Mr Russell.“I know, sir,” cried Bob Howlett; “he wants you to understand that if we take them and make sailors of them, they’ll kill all the slavers.”“Thank you, Mr Howlett. Now, then, Mr Vandean, what do you say?”“I see now,” cried Mark, eagerly. “What happened below helps me. That big fellow thought our man Taters was an enemy, and he tried to cut him down, but this poor fellow knew better, rushed between and received the blow.”“I’m inclined to think you are right,” said Mr Russell. “Ah, here comes the doctor. Now, then, about getting these poor wretches up. Perhaps they’ll come now.”He was right, for the task was easy. The blacks on deck, apathetic as they were, gradually comprehended that they had fallen into hands where they would be well treated, and after a few gestures and orders given by Mark, the two black sailors turned to the slaves and spoke. The result was that the big, fierce-looking black who was answerable for the injury done to his fellow-prisoner went down on his knees before Soup, and touched the deck with his forehead before rising with some show of animation, and then going to the hatch, descended in a half-crippled way, and they heard his voice directly after.By this time the doctor was on board, sniffing about with an air of the most intense disgust.“Faugh!” he ejaculated; “how horrible! And no disinfectants. Hallo! wounded man, eh? Humph!”He forgot everything else in the interest he took in his fresh case, while now, slowly and shrinkingly, the slaves began to come up from below, foul, weak from injuries, and suffering from the dreadful air that they had been forced to breathe. They were a terrible crowd to gaze upon. Men, women, and children, all herded together like cattle, and flinching away whenever a sailor went near, as if expecting a blow.There were nearly a hundred when all were on deck, and the first thing done was to distribute food and water. The next, to arrange about their being rowed on board theNautilus, while the schooner was burned.“And the best thing too,” said the doctor. “Faugh! the vessel’s loathsome. Nothing like fire for purifying.”“But we have to try first if we can get her off,” said the lieutenant.“Then all I can say is I hope you will not,” said the doctor.“But if we get her off,” said Mark, smiling, “it means that the slaves will stay on board here.”“Eh? Does it? Oh, well then, I hope you will,” cried the doctor. “Now, Russell, have me rowed back. That fellow’s badly wounded, but he’ll soon get well.”

“Comeon!”

Bravery or determination, whichever you please, say both, were displayed by Mark Vandean as he fought horror and disgust in his effort to do his duty and master self.

Stepping quickly down, he stood at the bottom of the ladder in utter darkness once more, listening to the strange whispering, thrilling noise about him, while first one and then the other black cautiously descended with the bucket of water he bore.

By the time they were in the hold his sight was beginning to grow accustomed to the change from the bright glare of sunshine on deck, and once more there were faint suggestions of glistening eyes watching him out of the cave-like darkness, as if so many savage beasts were about to spring.

But he had no time to think of his own feelings, for the two blacks now stood gazing at him inquiringly, and with some trace of their old suspicious aspect lingering still.

“Water—to drink,” said Mark: and he pointed away into the darkness.

They understood him, and dipping the pannikins full, they took each a step into the darkness, and held out the precious fluid toward those who must have been suffering agonies for its want. But no one stirred—not an advance was made, to Mark’s great surprise, for he had anticipated that the black faces of his ambassadors would have been sufficient to make the prisoners feel confidence that no harm was intended.

“Go closer,” said Mark; and the two blacks looked back at him inquiringly, but obeyed as soon as he laid his hand upon their shoulders and pressed them forward.

Then a voice broke the silence, the big black saying a few words in his own tongue, their effect being magical. A low murmur ran through the hold, and a harsh voice croaked out what was evidently a question, for the big black answered in a hesitating way, saying a few words, and then sharply one in a questioning tone, as if he had not understood.

The harsh, croaking voice was heard again, speaking angrily, and there were several interchanges of question and answer, as if between two men who did not quite understand each other’s dialect.

And now Mark’s eyes had become so accustomed to the darkness that he could dimly see that the place was full of a steamy mist, through which horrible-looking, ill-defined figures were moving, wild-eyed and strange. Some were tossing their arms about, others were stretching out their hands supplicatingly toward the water pannikins, which the two blacks kept dipping full and handing to those who pressed toward them; but there was no scuffling or fighting for the water, as might have been expected under the circumstances. The wretched prisoners seemed gentle and tolerant to each other, drinking and making way for companion sufferers.

As this went on, and Mark was able to search the horrible gloom more and more, he shuddered; and, suffering as he was from the effects of the deadly mephitic air, the whole scene preyed upon his mind until he could hardly believe that he was gazing at reality, the whole tragedy before him resembling the dream accompanying some fever, and it was only by an effort that he could master the intense desire to struggle up the ladder and escape into the light and the free fresh air.

The buckets were nearly empty, and he felt that it would be better for what was left in one to be poured into the other, so that the supplying might still go on while more was fetched, when it suddenly struck him that there was something wrong. In the darkness he could dimly make out two or three tall blacks pressing forward toward where the white-clothed sailors were dispensing the precious fluid, and it struck him that their aspect was threatening. The next moment he set the idea down as being imaginative, and the result of the unreal-looking, dreamy scene before him. For it was impossible, he argued, for the slaves to be about to resent the treatment they were receiving.

“It’s my head all in a whirl,” he said to himself; “and it’s just like I used to feel when I was ill and half dead in the boat.”

But the next minute he felt that the first idea was correct; something was wrong, and it struck him that the prisoners were going to make an attack. But he could not be sure; the darkness was too thick, and the excitement and horror of the whole scene made his imagination play strange pranks. At one moment he could see right back into the fore part of the hold where it was crowded with writhing, struggling beings; the next the mist closed over it apparently, and he could only make out gleaming eyes and shadows sweeping toward him and fading away, to appear at the side or hovering over his head.

“Yes; it’s all from a disordered imagination,” he said to himself; and he had hardly come to this conclusion, when he knew that he was gazing at the real, for dimly-seen, there before him was a crowd of figures surrounding the two black sailors. A harsh sound arose—a mingling of muttered cries and savage growlings as of wild beasts; there was the noise of the buckets being knocked over, of a fierce struggle and heavy blows, and a hot, sickening wave of mephitic air was driven outward. Thoroughly alarmed now, Mark shouted for help, and was then thrust aside as one of the blacks whom he had brought down made for the hatchway, and in the brief glance he obtained in the light which shone down from above, he saw that the man was covered with blood.

For a moment or two, weak still from his late illness, Mark felt completely prostrate and unable to act; but he recovered himself as quickly, and started forward to grasp the black’s arm.

“Hurt?” he cried.

The man dropped back from the ladder to gaze at him, and then uttered a few words excitedly as he pointed back into the forward part of the dark hold.

“Here, stand aside!” cried the lieutenant, as he stepped down into the noisome hold, followed by Tom Fillot and a couple of the crew, each man with sword or cutlass in hand. “Now, Mr Vandean, quick; an attack?”

“Yes, sir; the slaves attacked our two men. One of them’s badly wounded.”

At that moment a dead silence fell, and the big black’s white shirt and trousers were visible, and he, too, now stepped forward into the light, while before he could speak a low groan came out from the darkness.

“I thought he was killed,” cried Mark, and the man began to speak volubly and gesticulate, pointing back.

“Bah!” exclaimed Mr Russell. “We ought not to be here without an interpreter. He is not hurt; it is the other black. Stand fast, my lads, in case the poor wretches attack. Now, then, where are you hurt?”

This was to the second black sailor, whose white duck shirt was horrible with stains of blood, as he began to talk fast now and point forward.

“Wounds must be slight,” cried the lieutenant. “Can you make out a word of what he says, Vandean?”

“No, sir; but let me try.”

Mark pointed forward, and without a moment’s hesitation the two black sailors plunged into the darkness and returned, half dragging, half carrying a ghastly-looking object into the square of light shed from above.

“Oh, here’s the wounded man, then,” cried the lieutenant. “Let’s get him up into the daylight.”

Mark pointed down at the slave, who was bleeding freely, and the big sailor now spoke out a few words fiercely, with the result that half a dozen nude slaves came shrinkingly forward, and in obedience to a gesture, lifted the wounded man and carried him up to the deck.

The officers and men followed, and the two black sailors came last, to pay no heed to the wounded man, but proceed at once to refill the buckets, and carry them down into the hold past the guard set over the hatchway. Then after bidding Bob Howlett to hoist a signal for the surgeon to come aboard, Mr Russell roughly bandaged the terrible wound the slave had upon his head, the others who had carried up the sufferer looking stupidly on, blinking and troubled by the sunlight, to which they had evidently been strangers for some time.

“Now,” said Mr Russell, as he rose, “we are in the dark as much as ever. Can’t you explain what was wrong, Mr Vandean?”

“No, sir; I saw a struggle, and one man seemed wounded.”

“And it was someone else. Tut—tut—tut! and we can’t understand a word. What a useful thing speech is, after all.”

Just then the two blacks came up for more water, and Mark tried to communicate with them, but only with the result that they looked puzzled till the midshipman pointed to the wounded man.

“How did it happen?” he said; and the big black looked at him heavily. Then he seemed to grasp the meaning of the question, and laughed excitedly.

Pointing to the wounded man lying on the deck, he ran to the group of slaves standing staring at him, with their foreheads wrinkled up and their eyes full of despair; he seized one, whose countenance assumed a stern look of anger as the black sailor pointed to him, and made the sign of striking a blow, pointing again at the wounded man.

“He evidently means that the man was wounded by his fellow-slave,” said Mr Russell.

The black sailor watched the officer, and then thrust his hand behind the slave to take a short, flat piece of wood from the poor wretch’s waistband—a piece of heavy wood, shaped something like a willow leaf.

“The weapon evidently,” said Mr Russell; “but I don’t see why he should wound his fellow-sufferer.”

But the black sailor had not done with his explanation. He looked to see that the officers were watching him, and then placed the weapon in its owner’s hand, which he raised, and said a few words to his fellow black with the blood-stained garb.

This man waited a moment to assist in the pantomimic explanation, and then, as his companion brought down the weapon towards his own head, he rushed up between them and received the blow, staggered away as if very much hurt, and, still acting, reeled and fell down beside the wounded man, pointing to him as he half rose, and then at the stains upon his own shirt.

“Well, what do you make of it?” said Mr Russell.

“I know, sir,” cried Bob Howlett; “he wants you to understand that if we take them and make sailors of them, they’ll kill all the slavers.”

“Thank you, Mr Howlett. Now, then, Mr Vandean, what do you say?”

“I see now,” cried Mark, eagerly. “What happened below helps me. That big fellow thought our man Taters was an enemy, and he tried to cut him down, but this poor fellow knew better, rushed between and received the blow.”

“I’m inclined to think you are right,” said Mr Russell. “Ah, here comes the doctor. Now, then, about getting these poor wretches up. Perhaps they’ll come now.”

He was right, for the task was easy. The blacks on deck, apathetic as they were, gradually comprehended that they had fallen into hands where they would be well treated, and after a few gestures and orders given by Mark, the two black sailors turned to the slaves and spoke. The result was that the big, fierce-looking black who was answerable for the injury done to his fellow-prisoner went down on his knees before Soup, and touched the deck with his forehead before rising with some show of animation, and then going to the hatch, descended in a half-crippled way, and they heard his voice directly after.

By this time the doctor was on board, sniffing about with an air of the most intense disgust.

“Faugh!” he ejaculated; “how horrible! And no disinfectants. Hallo! wounded man, eh? Humph!”

He forgot everything else in the interest he took in his fresh case, while now, slowly and shrinkingly, the slaves began to come up from below, foul, weak from injuries, and suffering from the dreadful air that they had been forced to breathe. They were a terrible crowd to gaze upon. Men, women, and children, all herded together like cattle, and flinching away whenever a sailor went near, as if expecting a blow.

There were nearly a hundred when all were on deck, and the first thing done was to distribute food and water. The next, to arrange about their being rowed on board theNautilus, while the schooner was burned.

“And the best thing too,” said the doctor. “Faugh! the vessel’s loathsome. Nothing like fire for purifying.”

“But we have to try first if we can get her off,” said the lieutenant.

“Then all I can say is I hope you will not,” said the doctor.

“But if we get her off,” said Mark, smiling, “it means that the slaves will stay on board here.”

“Eh? Does it? Oh, well then, I hope you will,” cried the doctor. “Now, Russell, have me rowed back. That fellow’s badly wounded, but he’ll soon get well.”

Chapter Seventeen.Mark’s Rest is Disturbed.The boat started back with the doctor, while the other took out an anchor right astern, the capstan was rigged, a good strain got upon the cable, and after a great deal of tugging with the handspikes the men gave a hearty cheer and began to strain harder, for the tide had risen a little, and the schooner gradually glided off into deeper water.An answering cheer came back from theNautilus, and a signal was hoisted, which Mr Russell read to mean, “Well done!”Five minutes after they were lying at anchor, and Tom Fillot took the opportunity of passing to whisper to Mark,—“We did tug at them bars, sir. It means no end o’ prize-money—the saving of a smart craft like this; but, beg pardon, sir, ain’t we going to have a bit of a wash and swab?”“More signals, sir,” cried Bob, who was watching theNautilusand the flags being run up.“Yes, I see,” said the lieutenant. “Take the boat, Mr Howlett, and ask for stores to be sent on board here. We are to remain.”Bob looked disappointed, and then pleased.“You’re in for it, Van,” he whispered, as they walked to the gangway. “I say, shall I send you a bottle of eau-de-cologne with the stores?”Mark made a gesture as if to kick him, but Bob dropped down into the boat, was rowed off, and in due time the supplies arrived.“Not quite the sort of duty we expected, Vandean,” said the lieutenant, “but we must take the rough with the smooth, I suppose.”“Shall we have to stop on board here?”“Not a doubt about it, my lad; but she’s a valuable prize, and by to-morrow we’ll have her different from this, or know the reason why.”He set to work giving orders after the men had been refreshed; and, now that the two black sailors grasped the object of the taking of the schooner, and comprehended that the slaves were to be set free, they began to work with tremendous energy. Though speaking a dialect somewhat different from that of the poor creatures on board, they made them understand that their lot had been bettered, and, as soon as this was understood, a complete change came over the scene. The women laughed and cried, and the men evinced a desire to help, so that before night the hold had been cleansed and ventilated, and the deck opened to let in light, till, though still far from being pure, the place began to be bearable.The task had not been completed, though, without attendant horrors, for upon the first steps being taken to examine the hold, no less than six poor creatures, victims to the hideous traffic, were found lying where they had fallen—dead.It was horrible in the extreme, Mark felt, but nothing else could be done, and the sufferers were committed to the deep by their more fortunate companions, with a few wails of grief and beatings of the breast. Then all was over, and the cleansing went on, till Mr Russell gave orders for the men to cease.“And pretty well time,” grumbled Tom Fillot. “There’s been some hundred millions o’ buckets o’ water slooshed about this here schooner.”“More or less, Tom,” said Mark, laughing.“Well, sir, I dessay you’re right,” said the man, “for I didn’t count; but I’ve been hauling up buckets and swabbing till I don’t seem to have no arms. Howsoever, we are a little bit more decent, and I don’t think we shall have anything on our consciences to-night.”“What do you mean?”“I don’t think any niggers’ll die ’cause of our not taking care on ’em, sir, that’s all.”Just before dark, Bob Howlett was back on board with a despatch for the lieutenant, and soon after he had gone Mr Russell told Mark the contents.“We’re to make sail as soon as there’s a breath of wind,” he said, “and steer for Port Goldby, so as to get the blacks ashore and in charge of the authorities as quickly as possible. But there will be no wind to-night, my lad, and I shouldn’t be surprised if it was calm all day to-morrow. Still, there, one never knows what the weather is likely to be.”“It’s calm enough now,” said Mark, as he looked shoreward over the glassy sea to where a thin haze veiled the shore. “How hot it is!”“Yes; Africa deserves its character,” said the lieutenant, smiling. Then, as he looked toward the groups of blacks—slaves no longer—lying about the deck in comparative bliss, after what they had gone through—“I must send those poor creatures below,” he said. “I don’t think there is the most remote idea among them of an attempt to turn against us, but the land is near, and they might think they would like to strike off for liberty, and it would be a cruelty to let them go back to slavery, as they would if they got ashore.”“It does seem hard to send them down into that stifling hold,” said Mark; “but I suppose it must be done.”“Yes, and at once,” said Mr Russell, firmly. “Call that big black.”Mark went forward and summoned Soup, who came smiling, to look from one to the other inquiringly.With some difficulty he was made to understand what was wanted; and as soon as he did he called his companion, and in a very few minutes they had cleared the deck, the women and children going below docilely enough, and the men making not the slightest opposition, though giving a longing look round at the soft evening sky.“No trouble there,” said Mr Russell. “Now, Vandean, I propose that we divide the night. I’ll take the watch, and will call you for the next, unless the wind springs up, and then of course it will be all hands on deck. Who will you have in your watch—Dance, or Fillot?”“Fillot,” said Mark, promptly.“Most amusing companion, but Dance is the better seaman.”“Shall I have Dance, then, sir?”“I would rather you did, my lad, as the responsibility is great, and I should lie down to rest with more confidence. Not that I doubt you,” he hastened to add. “There, I’ll join you at a bit of supper at once. Things seem pretty comfortable in the cabin, and, as it is our prize, we may make free with what we like. Come along.”Mark gave a sharp look round as they walked toward the cabin-hatch, to see through the hot glow theNautilusat anchor, looking trim, and with every yard squared. She seemed to stand up out of the water in the transparent atmosphere, with every rope clearly seen, but there was a peculiar look seaward, as if the transparent darkness were sweeping over the ocean to shut her in. He looked shoreward to faintly discern the tops of some palms, but all below these was shut in by haze which rose from the mouth of the river.“Doesn’t look a healthy place, and this can’t be a healthy ship, Vandean, but we must make the best of it, and be off to sea at the first chance.”They both stood at the head of the cabin stairs, and took another look round, to see if anything had been left undone; and just then Dance the coxswain came up and touched his hat.“Shall I hoist an anchor-light, sir, as soon as it’s dark?” said the man, respectfully.“No,” replied the lieutenant, decisively. “No one is likely to run us down, here. Now, Vandean.”He led the way into the cabin, saying, “We don’t want to show people ashore where we are. Hah! that’s right. This is Tom Fillot’s doing. He’s a handy fellow.”He pointed to the preparations for a meal of no mean proportions, for the skipper of the schooner and his crew had been liberally provided for by their owners; and now, feeling hungry for the first time that day, Mark ate a hearty supper. After a little chat they went on deck again, to find that the sky was now literally black, and the only thing visible as they lay there in the utter silence was a star-like light lying apparently close by—a light which Mark knew at once must be that of theNautilus.“Why, she has come in closer while we’ve been below,” he said.“On the contrary, she has run out with the tide, and is a good two miles away. Let’s have a look round.”The first movement was to the sentry on guard over the hatch, from which came the sounds of heavy breathing, and the man reported in a whisper that the blacks had not made another sound.The rest of the watch were next visited, and there was nothing to report.“There,” said the lieutenant, “all’s well. Go and sleep, my lad. I’ll keep a faithful watch over you; when your turn comes do the same for me. Good-night.”“Good-night, sir,” said Mark, eagerly taking the hand extended to him, and gripping it firmly. Then going below, feeling weary, but unwilling to leave the deck, he crept into the skipper’s comfortable bunk to rest himself, feeling certain that he would not sleep. For it was very hot down there, in spite of the open cabin window; the mosquitoes were uttering their tiresome fine-drawn hum, and he was excited by the events of the day.“It’s like going to sleep on the edge of a volcano,” he thought. “Suppose the blacks do rise, and, led by our two fellows, attack us. We should be taken by surprise, and it would be all over in a minute. I can’t go to sleep. I’ll lie still a bit, and then go on deck.”Mark lay still a bit, but did not go on deck, for he dropped off into a deep sleep, which seemed only to have lasted five minutes when Mr Russell came and roughly told him to turn out, flashing the lanthorn in his eyes as he awoke, puzzled and confused at the rough way in which his fellow-officer spoke. Then with a start he grasped the reality.It was not the lieutenant holding the light, but someone else, who growled,—“Make so much as a sound and it will be your last—all but the splash going overboard. D’yer see this? Guess you do. Mind it don’t go off.”There was no need for guessing; the object named was plain enough in the light of the lanthorn, being a pistol barrel, whose muzzle was about two feet from the lad’s head.

The boat started back with the doctor, while the other took out an anchor right astern, the capstan was rigged, a good strain got upon the cable, and after a great deal of tugging with the handspikes the men gave a hearty cheer and began to strain harder, for the tide had risen a little, and the schooner gradually glided off into deeper water.

An answering cheer came back from theNautilus, and a signal was hoisted, which Mr Russell read to mean, “Well done!”

Five minutes after they were lying at anchor, and Tom Fillot took the opportunity of passing to whisper to Mark,—

“We did tug at them bars, sir. It means no end o’ prize-money—the saving of a smart craft like this; but, beg pardon, sir, ain’t we going to have a bit of a wash and swab?”

“More signals, sir,” cried Bob, who was watching theNautilusand the flags being run up.

“Yes, I see,” said the lieutenant. “Take the boat, Mr Howlett, and ask for stores to be sent on board here. We are to remain.”

Bob looked disappointed, and then pleased.

“You’re in for it, Van,” he whispered, as they walked to the gangway. “I say, shall I send you a bottle of eau-de-cologne with the stores?”

Mark made a gesture as if to kick him, but Bob dropped down into the boat, was rowed off, and in due time the supplies arrived.

“Not quite the sort of duty we expected, Vandean,” said the lieutenant, “but we must take the rough with the smooth, I suppose.”

“Shall we have to stop on board here?”

“Not a doubt about it, my lad; but she’s a valuable prize, and by to-morrow we’ll have her different from this, or know the reason why.”

He set to work giving orders after the men had been refreshed; and, now that the two black sailors grasped the object of the taking of the schooner, and comprehended that the slaves were to be set free, they began to work with tremendous energy. Though speaking a dialect somewhat different from that of the poor creatures on board, they made them understand that their lot had been bettered, and, as soon as this was understood, a complete change came over the scene. The women laughed and cried, and the men evinced a desire to help, so that before night the hold had been cleansed and ventilated, and the deck opened to let in light, till, though still far from being pure, the place began to be bearable.

The task had not been completed, though, without attendant horrors, for upon the first steps being taken to examine the hold, no less than six poor creatures, victims to the hideous traffic, were found lying where they had fallen—dead.

It was horrible in the extreme, Mark felt, but nothing else could be done, and the sufferers were committed to the deep by their more fortunate companions, with a few wails of grief and beatings of the breast. Then all was over, and the cleansing went on, till Mr Russell gave orders for the men to cease.

“And pretty well time,” grumbled Tom Fillot. “There’s been some hundred millions o’ buckets o’ water slooshed about this here schooner.”

“More or less, Tom,” said Mark, laughing.

“Well, sir, I dessay you’re right,” said the man, “for I didn’t count; but I’ve been hauling up buckets and swabbing till I don’t seem to have no arms. Howsoever, we are a little bit more decent, and I don’t think we shall have anything on our consciences to-night.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think any niggers’ll die ’cause of our not taking care on ’em, sir, that’s all.”

Just before dark, Bob Howlett was back on board with a despatch for the lieutenant, and soon after he had gone Mr Russell told Mark the contents.

“We’re to make sail as soon as there’s a breath of wind,” he said, “and steer for Port Goldby, so as to get the blacks ashore and in charge of the authorities as quickly as possible. But there will be no wind to-night, my lad, and I shouldn’t be surprised if it was calm all day to-morrow. Still, there, one never knows what the weather is likely to be.”

“It’s calm enough now,” said Mark, as he looked shoreward over the glassy sea to where a thin haze veiled the shore. “How hot it is!”

“Yes; Africa deserves its character,” said the lieutenant, smiling. Then, as he looked toward the groups of blacks—slaves no longer—lying about the deck in comparative bliss, after what they had gone through—“I must send those poor creatures below,” he said. “I don’t think there is the most remote idea among them of an attempt to turn against us, but the land is near, and they might think they would like to strike off for liberty, and it would be a cruelty to let them go back to slavery, as they would if they got ashore.”

“It does seem hard to send them down into that stifling hold,” said Mark; “but I suppose it must be done.”

“Yes, and at once,” said Mr Russell, firmly. “Call that big black.”

Mark went forward and summoned Soup, who came smiling, to look from one to the other inquiringly.

With some difficulty he was made to understand what was wanted; and as soon as he did he called his companion, and in a very few minutes they had cleared the deck, the women and children going below docilely enough, and the men making not the slightest opposition, though giving a longing look round at the soft evening sky.

“No trouble there,” said Mr Russell. “Now, Vandean, I propose that we divide the night. I’ll take the watch, and will call you for the next, unless the wind springs up, and then of course it will be all hands on deck. Who will you have in your watch—Dance, or Fillot?”

“Fillot,” said Mark, promptly.

“Most amusing companion, but Dance is the better seaman.”

“Shall I have Dance, then, sir?”

“I would rather you did, my lad, as the responsibility is great, and I should lie down to rest with more confidence. Not that I doubt you,” he hastened to add. “There, I’ll join you at a bit of supper at once. Things seem pretty comfortable in the cabin, and, as it is our prize, we may make free with what we like. Come along.”

Mark gave a sharp look round as they walked toward the cabin-hatch, to see through the hot glow theNautilusat anchor, looking trim, and with every yard squared. She seemed to stand up out of the water in the transparent atmosphere, with every rope clearly seen, but there was a peculiar look seaward, as if the transparent darkness were sweeping over the ocean to shut her in. He looked shoreward to faintly discern the tops of some palms, but all below these was shut in by haze which rose from the mouth of the river.

“Doesn’t look a healthy place, and this can’t be a healthy ship, Vandean, but we must make the best of it, and be off to sea at the first chance.”

They both stood at the head of the cabin stairs, and took another look round, to see if anything had been left undone; and just then Dance the coxswain came up and touched his hat.

“Shall I hoist an anchor-light, sir, as soon as it’s dark?” said the man, respectfully.

“No,” replied the lieutenant, decisively. “No one is likely to run us down, here. Now, Vandean.”

He led the way into the cabin, saying, “We don’t want to show people ashore where we are. Hah! that’s right. This is Tom Fillot’s doing. He’s a handy fellow.”

He pointed to the preparations for a meal of no mean proportions, for the skipper of the schooner and his crew had been liberally provided for by their owners; and now, feeling hungry for the first time that day, Mark ate a hearty supper. After a little chat they went on deck again, to find that the sky was now literally black, and the only thing visible as they lay there in the utter silence was a star-like light lying apparently close by—a light which Mark knew at once must be that of theNautilus.

“Why, she has come in closer while we’ve been below,” he said.

“On the contrary, she has run out with the tide, and is a good two miles away. Let’s have a look round.”

The first movement was to the sentry on guard over the hatch, from which came the sounds of heavy breathing, and the man reported in a whisper that the blacks had not made another sound.

The rest of the watch were next visited, and there was nothing to report.

“There,” said the lieutenant, “all’s well. Go and sleep, my lad. I’ll keep a faithful watch over you; when your turn comes do the same for me. Good-night.”

“Good-night, sir,” said Mark, eagerly taking the hand extended to him, and gripping it firmly. Then going below, feeling weary, but unwilling to leave the deck, he crept into the skipper’s comfortable bunk to rest himself, feeling certain that he would not sleep. For it was very hot down there, in spite of the open cabin window; the mosquitoes were uttering their tiresome fine-drawn hum, and he was excited by the events of the day.

“It’s like going to sleep on the edge of a volcano,” he thought. “Suppose the blacks do rise, and, led by our two fellows, attack us. We should be taken by surprise, and it would be all over in a minute. I can’t go to sleep. I’ll lie still a bit, and then go on deck.”

Mark lay still a bit, but did not go on deck, for he dropped off into a deep sleep, which seemed only to have lasted five minutes when Mr Russell came and roughly told him to turn out, flashing the lanthorn in his eyes as he awoke, puzzled and confused at the rough way in which his fellow-officer spoke. Then with a start he grasped the reality.

It was not the lieutenant holding the light, but someone else, who growled,—“Make so much as a sound and it will be your last—all but the splash going overboard. D’yer see this? Guess you do. Mind it don’t go off.”

There was no need for guessing; the object named was plain enough in the light of the lanthorn, being a pistol barrel, whose muzzle was about two feet from the lad’s head.

Chapter Eighteen.A Confused Awakening.“Now then, out you come.”Mark Vandean did come out of the bunk in remarkably quick time, but he was still confused, and his brain refused to solve the puzzle before him, so he, to use a familiar expression, pulled himself together. The young officer resented being spoken to in this rough manner and threatened by a stranger with an American accent, and in as haughty a tone as he could assume he cried,—“Who are you? What are you doing here?”“Come, I like that. Hear him. Oh, all right,” cried the man, as there was a hoarse chorus of laughter. “Who’m I, eh, my bantam cock? Waal, I’m Cap’n Ephrum Bynes, o’ Charleston, South Car’lina. That’s who I am. And what am I doing here? I’m kicking a set o’ sarcy Britishers out o’ my ship. Now you know that.”“Where’s Lieutenant Russell?”“Down in the boat, my sarcy Tom chicken; and that’s all you’ve got to know. Say another word, and I’ll have you pitched into the sea among the sharks instead of into the boat. So mind that. Bring him on deck.”Rough hands seized Mark on the instant, and as a man carrying the lanthorn stepped back, Mark saw the legs of the Yankee skipper ascending the companion ladder, and a minute later he was rudely dragged on deck, his heart beating wildly as he tried to pierce the darkness around in search of his companions. But all was pitchy black, and though his eyes wandered in search of the bright star-like lamp of theNautilus, it was not to be seen. The next moment he knew why; a pleasant breeze was blowing off shore, hot but powerful enough to be acted upon, and in those brief moments he knew that the vessel must have sailed.He had little time for thought. He was suddenly lifted from the deck, and he began to struggle wildly, striking out with his fists, but all in vain.“Over with him!” cried the Yankee skipper, and a cry escaped from Mark’s lips as he felt himself swung out over the side of the schooner, to fall, he expected, splash into the sea. He had time to think all this, for thought flies fast in emergencies, but his fall was partly upon someone below, partly upon the thwart of a boat, and a deep groan came from close to his ear as he looked up and saw the lanthorn resting on the schooner’s bulwark, and several faces staring down.“My compliments to your skipper,” said a mocking voice, “if you ever ketch him, and tell him he’s welkim to my boat. I’ll take a glass o’ liquor with him if ever he comes our way.—Now then, shove off, you there forward. If you stop another minute, I’ll send a pig o’ ballast through your bottom.”This was said with a savage snarl, and as Mark struggled up into a sitting position, he felt the boat begin to move.“Here, ahoy, below there! You’d best lay your head to the north,” came the voice again, as the light was suddenly hidden or put out. “Your skipper made signals when the wind rose, and we answered ’em for you. Get your oars out sharp, or you won’t overtake them this year.”Then all was silence and darkness save where the movement of an oar sculling over the stern made the water flash and gleam with phosphorescence, and raised up ripples of pale lambent, golden light.“Who’s that?” said Mark, in a whisper.“On’y me, sir,” replied a familiar voice, in company with a smothered groan.“Tom Fillot?”“Ay, ay, sir,” came back dismally. “I’ve got us out o’ reach o’ that pig o’ ballast.”“But, Tom,” cried Mark, excitedly, “what does it mean? Where’s Mr Russell?”“Somewheres underneath you, sir. I think you’re a-sitting on him.”“There’s someone lying here,” cried Mark.“Yes, sir, several someuns,” said Tom Fillot. “Oh, my poor head!”“But you don’t tell me what it all means,” cried Mark, angrily.“Didn’t know as it wanted no telling on, sir. Thought you knowed.”“But I know nothing. I was roused up, dragged out of the cabin, and thrown down into the boat.”“Yes, sir; so was we, and not very gently, nayther.”“Then the—” began Mark, but he did not finish. “That’s it, sir. You’ve hit it. The Yankee captain come back from up the river somewhere in his boat as quiet as you please, and the first I knowed on it was that it was dark as pitch as I leaned my back against the bulwarks, and stood whistling softly, when—bang, I got it on the head, and as I went down three or four of ’em climbed aboard. ‘What’s that? You there, Fillot?’ I heered in a dull sort o’ way, and then the poor lufftenant went down with a groan, and same moment I hears a scrufflin’ forrard and aft, cracks o’ the head, and falls. Minute arter there was a row going on in the fo’c’s’le. I heered that plain, sir, and wanted to go and help my mates, but when I was half up, seemed as if my head begun to spin like a top, and down I went again, and lay listening to the row below. There was some fighting, and I heered Joe Dance letting go awful. My, he did swear for a minute, and then he was quiet, and there was a bit o’ rustling, and I hears a voice say, ‘Guess that’s all. Show the light.’ Then there seemed to me to be a light walking about the deck with a lot o’ legs, and I knowed that they were coming round picking up the pieces. Sure enough they was, sir, and they pitched all the bits of us overboard into a boat alongside; and I knowed we hadn’t half kept our watch, and the Yankee skipper had come back and took his schooner.”“Oh, Tom Fillot!” groaned Mark. “And was that all?”“No, sir; for I heered the skipper say, ‘Anyone been in the cabin?’ And when no one spoke he began to cuss ’em for a set o’ idgits, and they all went below with the lanthorn, and come up again along o’ you. My word, Mr Vandean, sir, how you must have slep’!”“Oh, Tom Fillot!” cried Mark again.“Yes, and it is ‘Oh, Tom Fillot,’ sir,” groaned the poor fellow. “My skull’s cracked in three or four places sure as a gun.”“And the others. Oh! the others. Are they killed?”“I dunno, sir. I ain’t—not quite. Sims to me that they’d got bats, and they hit us with ’em like they do the pigs in the north country, or the cod-fish aboard the fishing smacks. My poor head feels as if it’s opening and shutting like a fish’s gills every time I moves my mouth.”“Are all the men here, Tom?”“Yes, sir; I think so. If they’re not, it’s ’cause they’re dead.”“This is Mr Russell; I can feel his uniform,” whispered Mark; “and he’s dead—no, I can feel his heart beating. Come here, Tom, and help me.”“I’ll come, sir; but I can’t help you, and it don’t seem no use for me to be waggling this ’ere oar about. Just as well let the tide send us along.”There was the sound of the oar being laid along the thwart, and then of someone stumbling.“That was most nigh overboard, sir. Wish it warn’t so dark. Why, it’s black. What’s that?”There was a creaking sound from a little distance, and the man whispered,—“They’re making sail, sir, and they’ll creep out afore morning, and get right away.”“With those poor creatures on board.”“Just as we’d made ’em clean and comf’able, sir. Oh, my poor head!”“Let’s see to Mr Russell first, and then I’ll bind up your head as well as I can.”“How’s one to see to Mr Russell, sir? Why, plagues o’ Egypt’s nothing to darkness like this.”Mark bent over his brother officer, and passed his hand over his face and head.“He’s not bleeding,” he whispered, impressed as he was by the darkness and their terrible position.“More am I, sir, but I’m precious bad all the same. Don’t s’pose any one’s bleeding, but they got it hard same as I did. Wood out here ain’t like wood at home. Oak’s hard enough, but iron-wood’s like what they call it.”“Who is this?” said Mark, as, after gently letting Mr Russell’s head sink back, his hands encountered another face.“I dunno, sir. It was every man for hisself, and I was thinking about Tom Fillot, AB, and no one else. What’s he feel like?”“Like one of our men.”“But is it a hugly one with very stiff whiskers? If so be it is, you may take your davy it’s Joe Dance.”“How am I to know whether he’s ugly?” cried Mark, petulantly.“By the feel, sir. Try his nose. Joe Dance’s nose hangs a bit over to starboard, and there’s a dent in it just about the end where he chipped it agin a shot case.”“Oh, I can’t tell all that,” cried Mark—“Yes, his nose has a little dent in it, and his whiskers are stiff.”“Then that’s Joe Dance, sir.”“Avast there! Let my head alone, will yer?” came in a low, deep growl.“That’s Joe, sir, safe enough. Harkee there! Hear ’em?”Sundry creaking sounds came out of the darkness some distance away now, and Tom Fillot continued in a whisper,—“They’re hysting all the sail they can, sir. Look! you can see the water briming as she sails. They’re going same way as we. Tide’s taking us.”“Oh, Tom Fillot, I oughtn’t to have gone to sleep. I ought to have stopped on deck.”“No yer oughtn’t, sir. Your orders was to take your watch below, and that was enough for you. Dooty is dooty, sir, be it never so dootiful, as the proverb says.”“But if I had been on deck I might have heard them coming, Tom.”“And got a rap o’ the head like the pore fellows did, sir.”“Well, perhaps so, Tom. I wonder why they didn’t strike me as they did you.”“’Cause you’re a boy, sir, though you are a young gentleman, and a orficer. Fine thing to be a boy, sir. I was one once upon a time. Wish I was a boy at home now, instead o’ having a head like this here.”“I’m thinking of what the captain will say,” muttered Mark, despondently, as he ignored the man’s remark.“Say, sir? Why, what such a British officer as Cap’n Maitland’s sure to say, sir, as he won’t rest till he’s blown that there schooner right out of the water.”“And those poor blacks,” sighed Mark.“Ah, it’s hard lines for them poor chaps, and the women and bairns too, even if they are niggers. Oh, if I’d only got that there skipper by the scruff of his neck and the waistband of his breeches! Sharks might have him for all I should care. In he’d go. Hookey Walker, how my head do ache all round!”“I’m very sorry, Tom Fillot.”“Which I knows you are, sir; and it ain’t the first trouble as we two’s been in together, so cheer up, sir. Daylight’ll come some time, and then we’ll heave to and repair damages.”Just then there was a low groan from forward.“That’s one of our blacky-toppers, sir. ’Tarn’t a English groan. You feel; you’ll know him by his woolly head, and nose. If he’s got a nose hooked one way, it’s Soup. If it’s hooked t’other way—cocks up—it’s Taters.”“The hair is curly,” said Mark, who was investigating.“P’raps it’s Dick Bannock, sir. There, I said it warn’t an English groan.”By this time some of the men were recovering from the stunning effect of the blows they had all received, and there were sounds of rustling and scuffles.“Steady there, mate,” growled one man. “What yer doing on?”“Well, get off o’ me, then,” said another.“Here, hi! What are you doing in my bunk? Hullo! Ahoy there! where are we now?”“Steady there, and don’t shout, my lads.”“All right, sir,” growled a voice. “I was a bit confoosed like! Oh, my head!”“Ay, mate,” said Tom Fillot, “and it’s oh, my, all our heads. Beg pardon, sir, for the liberty, but if you’d do it for me, I should know the worst, and I could get on then. I’m all nohow just now, and it worries me.”“Do what, Tom?” said Mark.“Just pass your finger round my head, and tell me for sartin whether it’s broke or no. It feels all opening and shutting like. Go it, sir; don’t you be feared. I won’t holler.”Mark leaned forward and felt the man’s head.“It’s not fractured, Tom,” he said. “If it had been it would have made you feel very different from this. You would have been insensible.”“Well, that what’s I am, sir, and always have been. I never was a sensible chap. But are you sure as it ain’t broke, sir?”“Certain, Tom.”“Then who cares? I don’t mind a bit o’ aching, and I’m ready for any game you like. What do you say, sir, to trying to captivate the schooner again?”“You and I, Tom?”“Well, it ain’t a very strong force, sir, be it?”“We must wait for daylight, Tom, and I hope by then some of the lads will be able to pull an oar.”“Ay, ay, sir, o’ course.”“I’m ready now,” said Dick Bannock, with his voice sounding husky out of the darkness; and there was silence, broken only by a groan or two for a few minutes, during which Mark, feeling the terrible responsibility of his position, tried to make some plan as to his future proceedings, but only to be compelled to come back to the conclusion that there was nothing to be done but wait for morning.At one moment insane ideas as to the recapture of the schooner came to trouble him, and this brought to mind what ought to have been his first duty as the officer upon whom the command had suddenly fallen.“Tom Fillot,” he cried, excitedly, “go round the boat as carefully as you can, and count the men, ourselves included. We ought to be eleven, ought we not?”“Let’s see, sir. Two orficers is two; six AB’s and coxswain seven, and seven and two’s nine; and the two nig— blacks, sir; nine and two’s ’leven. That’s right, sir ’leven.”“Go round then, and count.”“I think they could all answer to their names, sir, now, if I might be so bold.”“Call them over, then.”“Ay, ay, sir. Here goes, then, lads. First orficer, Mr Russell, sir, and you, sir’s, two as we needn’t count. Joe Dance, answer to your name.”“Ay, ay,” came in a growl.“Dick Bannock.”“Here.”“Bill Billings.”“What’s left on me, mate.”“Sam Grote.”“Here, but ain’t got no head.”“Bob Stepney.”“Here; and wish I warn’t,” came surlily out of the darkness.“Don’t you be sarcy ’fore your orficers, Bob, or there may be a row,” said Tom Fillot, sharply.“I can’t see no orficers, messmate,” said the same voice.“That’ll do, Bob Stepney. That’s cheek. Tim Dunning.”“That’s me.”“All here, sir, and able to use their tongues. Fisties, too, I dessay.”“The two blacks!” said Mark, quickly, and with a feeling of thankfulness to find matters so far well.“Ay, ay, sir. Thought I’d give the white uns a chance first,” said Tom Fillot. “Now, you two, try and understand plain English. Answer to your names. Soup.”There was no reply.“Taters.”Still no reply.“Not here?” said Mark, anxiously.“Don’t sabbee, p’raps, sir. I’ll try again.”“Taters.”No answer.“Soup.”No reply.“Soup and Taters.”“Aren’t aboard,” growled several voices in chorus. “I’m ’fraid the Soup and Taters is done, sir,” said Tom Fillot in a low voice.“Oh, man, man, how can you try to joke at a time like this!” cried Mark, angrily.“’Tarn’t no joke, sir,” cried Tom Fillot. “I’m sorry as you are, for they were getting to be two good messmates. They’d on’y got minds like a couple o’ boys, but the way in which they took to their chew o’ ’baccy was wonderful to behold.”“The men must have overlooked them,” cried Mark. “They were below asleep.”“Nay, sir, they didn’t care to go below. They was both asleep curled up forrard under the bulwarks. They’d had so much being below, that they shied at going down a hatchway.”“Then what do you think about them, Tom?” cried Mark, excitedly.There was no reply.“Why don’t you answer, man?”“Didn’t like to tell you, sir,” said Tom Fillot, quietly.“Tell me what you are thinking at once.”“Well, sir, I thinks same as my mates do here. Them piratical sharks o’ slavers didn’t dare to be too hard on us because they knowed if they was ketched arterwards it meant a bit o’ hemp round the neck, and a dance on nothing at all in the air; but when it comes to blacks, they’re no more account to them than blackberries as grows on brambles. Strikes me they give them poor chaps a crack o’ the head apiece, and knocked ’em down, same as they did we, but they wouldn’t take the trouble to carry them and pitch them into a boat. They just chucked them overboard at once.”“Oh, impossible!” cried Mark, excitedly. “They could not be such brutes.”“What! not them, sir?” cried Tom Fillot, indignantly. “Harkye here, messmates; I says as chaps as’d half kill such a orficer as Mr Russell, who’s as fine a gen’leman as ever stepped, ’d murder a King as soon as look at him.”“Ay, ay,” came in a low growl.“And if any o’ you thinks different to my sentiments, let him speak out like a man.”“That’s what we all think, messmet,” came in another growl.“And there you are, sir, and them’s fax. They chucked them two pore chaps overboard, and, speaking up for my messmates and self, I says we don’t hold with killing nobody ’cept in the name of dooty; but here’s a set o’ miserable beggars as goes about buying and selling the pore niggers, and treating ’em worse than they would a box o’ worms to go fishing with. Why, it’s murder, sir, wholesale, retail, and for exportation, as the man said over his shop door in our town o’ Bristol, and if we can only get at ’em—well, I won’t say what we’ll do, but if there ain’t some fatal accidents that day, my name ain’t Tom.”“That’s so, messmet—that’s so,” came in another deep growl.“It’s horrible, horrible,” groaned Mark; and he bent over Mr Russell’s face, and tried to make out whether there was any sign of returning consciousness.“At a time like this, messmets,” whispered Tom Fillot to those nearest to him, “I’d be quiet. Mr Vandean’s in a deal of trouble about the lufftenant.”“Hi! all on you,” came sharply from the forward part of the boat, which rocked a little from some one changing his position; and as it rocked tiny waves of light like liquid moonbeams flowed away to starboard and port, while dull sparks of light appeared in the water down below.“What’s the matter there?” said Mark, rousing himself up to speak. “Be silent, and keep the boat still.”“Ay, ay,” growled Tom Fillot, but the boat still swayed.“Do you hear there?” cried Mark, sharply. “Who’s that?”“Hi! all on you!” came again.“Did you hear my order, Dance?” cried Mark. “Sit down, man. Do you want to capsize the boat?”“I want my hitcher,” said the man, sharply. “Who’s been a-meddling with my boathook? it ain’t in its place.”“Sit down, man. This is not the first cutter, but one of the schooner’s boats. Your boathook is not here.”“Do you hear, all on you? I want my hitcher. Some on you’s been and hidden it for a lark. Give it here.”“Are you deaf, Dance?” cried Mark, angrily. “How dare you, sir! Sit down.”“I know,” continued the man, who was tumbling about forward. “Some on you’s took it for a game, and Lufftenant Staples ain’t the man to stand no larks. ‘Where’s that there boathook, Joe Dance?’ he says. ‘Produce it ’twonce, sir, or—’ ‘Ay, ay, sir. Starn all it is. Where are you coming? Pull. Starboard there—On Portsmouth hard in Portsmouth town. Three cheers, my merry lads—Now then, pull—pull hard—Ay, ay, sir—Now all together, my lads!’”As the coxswain was speaking from out of the darkness, to the wonderment of all, Tom Fillot whispered quickly to his young officer,—“It’s the crack he got, sir. He’ll be overboard if we don’t mind. Poor chap, he has gone right off his nut.”Creeping forward past the men, Tom made for where Joe Dance was speaking loudly, evidently under the belief that he was talking to a number of people around. Then, stamping about in the boat, his words came forth more rapidly, but in quite a confused gabble, of which hardly a single word was comprehensible. Invisible though he was, it was evident that he was growing more and more excited, for his words flowed strangely, swiftly, and then became a mere babble, as, with a shout, he rushed aft at the touch of Tom Fillot.“Stop him, some on you; he’s mad!” roared Tom Fillot; and as instinctively Mark started up, it was to be seized by the poor wretch in his delirium, and held back, in spite of his struggles, more and more over the side of the boat toward the sea.

“Now then, out you come.”

Mark Vandean did come out of the bunk in remarkably quick time, but he was still confused, and his brain refused to solve the puzzle before him, so he, to use a familiar expression, pulled himself together. The young officer resented being spoken to in this rough manner and threatened by a stranger with an American accent, and in as haughty a tone as he could assume he cried,—

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“Come, I like that. Hear him. Oh, all right,” cried the man, as there was a hoarse chorus of laughter. “Who’m I, eh, my bantam cock? Waal, I’m Cap’n Ephrum Bynes, o’ Charleston, South Car’lina. That’s who I am. And what am I doing here? I’m kicking a set o’ sarcy Britishers out o’ my ship. Now you know that.”

“Where’s Lieutenant Russell?”

“Down in the boat, my sarcy Tom chicken; and that’s all you’ve got to know. Say another word, and I’ll have you pitched into the sea among the sharks instead of into the boat. So mind that. Bring him on deck.”

Rough hands seized Mark on the instant, and as a man carrying the lanthorn stepped back, Mark saw the legs of the Yankee skipper ascending the companion ladder, and a minute later he was rudely dragged on deck, his heart beating wildly as he tried to pierce the darkness around in search of his companions. But all was pitchy black, and though his eyes wandered in search of the bright star-like lamp of theNautilus, it was not to be seen. The next moment he knew why; a pleasant breeze was blowing off shore, hot but powerful enough to be acted upon, and in those brief moments he knew that the vessel must have sailed.

He had little time for thought. He was suddenly lifted from the deck, and he began to struggle wildly, striking out with his fists, but all in vain.

“Over with him!” cried the Yankee skipper, and a cry escaped from Mark’s lips as he felt himself swung out over the side of the schooner, to fall, he expected, splash into the sea. He had time to think all this, for thought flies fast in emergencies, but his fall was partly upon someone below, partly upon the thwart of a boat, and a deep groan came from close to his ear as he looked up and saw the lanthorn resting on the schooner’s bulwark, and several faces staring down.

“My compliments to your skipper,” said a mocking voice, “if you ever ketch him, and tell him he’s welkim to my boat. I’ll take a glass o’ liquor with him if ever he comes our way.—Now then, shove off, you there forward. If you stop another minute, I’ll send a pig o’ ballast through your bottom.”

This was said with a savage snarl, and as Mark struggled up into a sitting position, he felt the boat begin to move.

“Here, ahoy, below there! You’d best lay your head to the north,” came the voice again, as the light was suddenly hidden or put out. “Your skipper made signals when the wind rose, and we answered ’em for you. Get your oars out sharp, or you won’t overtake them this year.”

Then all was silence and darkness save where the movement of an oar sculling over the stern made the water flash and gleam with phosphorescence, and raised up ripples of pale lambent, golden light.

“Who’s that?” said Mark, in a whisper.

“On’y me, sir,” replied a familiar voice, in company with a smothered groan.

“Tom Fillot?”

“Ay, ay, sir,” came back dismally. “I’ve got us out o’ reach o’ that pig o’ ballast.”

“But, Tom,” cried Mark, excitedly, “what does it mean? Where’s Mr Russell?”

“Somewheres underneath you, sir. I think you’re a-sitting on him.”

“There’s someone lying here,” cried Mark.

“Yes, sir, several someuns,” said Tom Fillot. “Oh, my poor head!”

“But you don’t tell me what it all means,” cried Mark, angrily.

“Didn’t know as it wanted no telling on, sir. Thought you knowed.”

“But I know nothing. I was roused up, dragged out of the cabin, and thrown down into the boat.”

“Yes, sir; so was we, and not very gently, nayther.”

“Then the—” began Mark, but he did not finish. “That’s it, sir. You’ve hit it. The Yankee captain come back from up the river somewhere in his boat as quiet as you please, and the first I knowed on it was that it was dark as pitch as I leaned my back against the bulwarks, and stood whistling softly, when—bang, I got it on the head, and as I went down three or four of ’em climbed aboard. ‘What’s that? You there, Fillot?’ I heered in a dull sort o’ way, and then the poor lufftenant went down with a groan, and same moment I hears a scrufflin’ forrard and aft, cracks o’ the head, and falls. Minute arter there was a row going on in the fo’c’s’le. I heered that plain, sir, and wanted to go and help my mates, but when I was half up, seemed as if my head begun to spin like a top, and down I went again, and lay listening to the row below. There was some fighting, and I heered Joe Dance letting go awful. My, he did swear for a minute, and then he was quiet, and there was a bit o’ rustling, and I hears a voice say, ‘Guess that’s all. Show the light.’ Then there seemed to me to be a light walking about the deck with a lot o’ legs, and I knowed that they were coming round picking up the pieces. Sure enough they was, sir, and they pitched all the bits of us overboard into a boat alongside; and I knowed we hadn’t half kept our watch, and the Yankee skipper had come back and took his schooner.”

“Oh, Tom Fillot!” groaned Mark. “And was that all?”

“No, sir; for I heered the skipper say, ‘Anyone been in the cabin?’ And when no one spoke he began to cuss ’em for a set o’ idgits, and they all went below with the lanthorn, and come up again along o’ you. My word, Mr Vandean, sir, how you must have slep’!”

“Oh, Tom Fillot!” cried Mark again.

“Yes, and it is ‘Oh, Tom Fillot,’ sir,” groaned the poor fellow. “My skull’s cracked in three or four places sure as a gun.”

“And the others. Oh! the others. Are they killed?”

“I dunno, sir. I ain’t—not quite. Sims to me that they’d got bats, and they hit us with ’em like they do the pigs in the north country, or the cod-fish aboard the fishing smacks. My poor head feels as if it’s opening and shutting like a fish’s gills every time I moves my mouth.”

“Are all the men here, Tom?”

“Yes, sir; I think so. If they’re not, it’s ’cause they’re dead.”

“This is Mr Russell; I can feel his uniform,” whispered Mark; “and he’s dead—no, I can feel his heart beating. Come here, Tom, and help me.”

“I’ll come, sir; but I can’t help you, and it don’t seem no use for me to be waggling this ’ere oar about. Just as well let the tide send us along.”

There was the sound of the oar being laid along the thwart, and then of someone stumbling.

“That was most nigh overboard, sir. Wish it warn’t so dark. Why, it’s black. What’s that?”

There was a creaking sound from a little distance, and the man whispered,—

“They’re making sail, sir, and they’ll creep out afore morning, and get right away.”

“With those poor creatures on board.”

“Just as we’d made ’em clean and comf’able, sir. Oh, my poor head!”

“Let’s see to Mr Russell first, and then I’ll bind up your head as well as I can.”

“How’s one to see to Mr Russell, sir? Why, plagues o’ Egypt’s nothing to darkness like this.”

Mark bent over his brother officer, and passed his hand over his face and head.

“He’s not bleeding,” he whispered, impressed as he was by the darkness and their terrible position.

“More am I, sir, but I’m precious bad all the same. Don’t s’pose any one’s bleeding, but they got it hard same as I did. Wood out here ain’t like wood at home. Oak’s hard enough, but iron-wood’s like what they call it.”

“Who is this?” said Mark, as, after gently letting Mr Russell’s head sink back, his hands encountered another face.

“I dunno, sir. It was every man for hisself, and I was thinking about Tom Fillot, AB, and no one else. What’s he feel like?”

“Like one of our men.”

“But is it a hugly one with very stiff whiskers? If so be it is, you may take your davy it’s Joe Dance.”

“How am I to know whether he’s ugly?” cried Mark, petulantly.

“By the feel, sir. Try his nose. Joe Dance’s nose hangs a bit over to starboard, and there’s a dent in it just about the end where he chipped it agin a shot case.”

“Oh, I can’t tell all that,” cried Mark—“Yes, his nose has a little dent in it, and his whiskers are stiff.”

“Then that’s Joe Dance, sir.”

“Avast there! Let my head alone, will yer?” came in a low, deep growl.

“That’s Joe, sir, safe enough. Harkee there! Hear ’em?”

Sundry creaking sounds came out of the darkness some distance away now, and Tom Fillot continued in a whisper,—

“They’re hysting all the sail they can, sir. Look! you can see the water briming as she sails. They’re going same way as we. Tide’s taking us.”

“Oh, Tom Fillot, I oughtn’t to have gone to sleep. I ought to have stopped on deck.”

“No yer oughtn’t, sir. Your orders was to take your watch below, and that was enough for you. Dooty is dooty, sir, be it never so dootiful, as the proverb says.”

“But if I had been on deck I might have heard them coming, Tom.”

“And got a rap o’ the head like the pore fellows did, sir.”

“Well, perhaps so, Tom. I wonder why they didn’t strike me as they did you.”

“’Cause you’re a boy, sir, though you are a young gentleman, and a orficer. Fine thing to be a boy, sir. I was one once upon a time. Wish I was a boy at home now, instead o’ having a head like this here.”

“I’m thinking of what the captain will say,” muttered Mark, despondently, as he ignored the man’s remark.

“Say, sir? Why, what such a British officer as Cap’n Maitland’s sure to say, sir, as he won’t rest till he’s blown that there schooner right out of the water.”

“And those poor blacks,” sighed Mark.

“Ah, it’s hard lines for them poor chaps, and the women and bairns too, even if they are niggers. Oh, if I’d only got that there skipper by the scruff of his neck and the waistband of his breeches! Sharks might have him for all I should care. In he’d go. Hookey Walker, how my head do ache all round!”

“I’m very sorry, Tom Fillot.”

“Which I knows you are, sir; and it ain’t the first trouble as we two’s been in together, so cheer up, sir. Daylight’ll come some time, and then we’ll heave to and repair damages.”

Just then there was a low groan from forward.

“That’s one of our blacky-toppers, sir. ’Tarn’t a English groan. You feel; you’ll know him by his woolly head, and nose. If he’s got a nose hooked one way, it’s Soup. If it’s hooked t’other way—cocks up—it’s Taters.”

“The hair is curly,” said Mark, who was investigating.

“P’raps it’s Dick Bannock, sir. There, I said it warn’t an English groan.”

By this time some of the men were recovering from the stunning effect of the blows they had all received, and there were sounds of rustling and scuffles.

“Steady there, mate,” growled one man. “What yer doing on?”

“Well, get off o’ me, then,” said another.

“Here, hi! What are you doing in my bunk? Hullo! Ahoy there! where are we now?”

“Steady there, and don’t shout, my lads.”

“All right, sir,” growled a voice. “I was a bit confoosed like! Oh, my head!”

“Ay, mate,” said Tom Fillot, “and it’s oh, my, all our heads. Beg pardon, sir, for the liberty, but if you’d do it for me, I should know the worst, and I could get on then. I’m all nohow just now, and it worries me.”

“Do what, Tom?” said Mark.

“Just pass your finger round my head, and tell me for sartin whether it’s broke or no. It feels all opening and shutting like. Go it, sir; don’t you be feared. I won’t holler.”

Mark leaned forward and felt the man’s head.

“It’s not fractured, Tom,” he said. “If it had been it would have made you feel very different from this. You would have been insensible.”

“Well, that what’s I am, sir, and always have been. I never was a sensible chap. But are you sure as it ain’t broke, sir?”

“Certain, Tom.”

“Then who cares? I don’t mind a bit o’ aching, and I’m ready for any game you like. What do you say, sir, to trying to captivate the schooner again?”

“You and I, Tom?”

“Well, it ain’t a very strong force, sir, be it?”

“We must wait for daylight, Tom, and I hope by then some of the lads will be able to pull an oar.”

“Ay, ay, sir, o’ course.”

“I’m ready now,” said Dick Bannock, with his voice sounding husky out of the darkness; and there was silence, broken only by a groan or two for a few minutes, during which Mark, feeling the terrible responsibility of his position, tried to make some plan as to his future proceedings, but only to be compelled to come back to the conclusion that there was nothing to be done but wait for morning.

At one moment insane ideas as to the recapture of the schooner came to trouble him, and this brought to mind what ought to have been his first duty as the officer upon whom the command had suddenly fallen.

“Tom Fillot,” he cried, excitedly, “go round the boat as carefully as you can, and count the men, ourselves included. We ought to be eleven, ought we not?”

“Let’s see, sir. Two orficers is two; six AB’s and coxswain seven, and seven and two’s nine; and the two nig— blacks, sir; nine and two’s ’leven. That’s right, sir ’leven.”

“Go round then, and count.”

“I think they could all answer to their names, sir, now, if I might be so bold.”

“Call them over, then.”

“Ay, ay, sir. Here goes, then, lads. First orficer, Mr Russell, sir, and you, sir’s, two as we needn’t count. Joe Dance, answer to your name.”

“Ay, ay,” came in a growl.

“Dick Bannock.”

“Here.”

“Bill Billings.”

“What’s left on me, mate.”

“Sam Grote.”

“Here, but ain’t got no head.”

“Bob Stepney.”

“Here; and wish I warn’t,” came surlily out of the darkness.

“Don’t you be sarcy ’fore your orficers, Bob, or there may be a row,” said Tom Fillot, sharply.

“I can’t see no orficers, messmate,” said the same voice.

“That’ll do, Bob Stepney. That’s cheek. Tim Dunning.”

“That’s me.”

“All here, sir, and able to use their tongues. Fisties, too, I dessay.”

“The two blacks!” said Mark, quickly, and with a feeling of thankfulness to find matters so far well.

“Ay, ay, sir. Thought I’d give the white uns a chance first,” said Tom Fillot. “Now, you two, try and understand plain English. Answer to your names. Soup.”

There was no reply.

“Taters.”

Still no reply.

“Not here?” said Mark, anxiously.

“Don’t sabbee, p’raps, sir. I’ll try again.”

“Taters.”

No answer.

“Soup.”

No reply.

“Soup and Taters.”

“Aren’t aboard,” growled several voices in chorus. “I’m ’fraid the Soup and Taters is done, sir,” said Tom Fillot in a low voice.

“Oh, man, man, how can you try to joke at a time like this!” cried Mark, angrily.

“’Tarn’t no joke, sir,” cried Tom Fillot. “I’m sorry as you are, for they were getting to be two good messmates. They’d on’y got minds like a couple o’ boys, but the way in which they took to their chew o’ ’baccy was wonderful to behold.”

“The men must have overlooked them,” cried Mark. “They were below asleep.”

“Nay, sir, they didn’t care to go below. They was both asleep curled up forrard under the bulwarks. They’d had so much being below, that they shied at going down a hatchway.”

“Then what do you think about them, Tom?” cried Mark, excitedly.

There was no reply.

“Why don’t you answer, man?”

“Didn’t like to tell you, sir,” said Tom Fillot, quietly.

“Tell me what you are thinking at once.”

“Well, sir, I thinks same as my mates do here. Them piratical sharks o’ slavers didn’t dare to be too hard on us because they knowed if they was ketched arterwards it meant a bit o’ hemp round the neck, and a dance on nothing at all in the air; but when it comes to blacks, they’re no more account to them than blackberries as grows on brambles. Strikes me they give them poor chaps a crack o’ the head apiece, and knocked ’em down, same as they did we, but they wouldn’t take the trouble to carry them and pitch them into a boat. They just chucked them overboard at once.”

“Oh, impossible!” cried Mark, excitedly. “They could not be such brutes.”

“What! not them, sir?” cried Tom Fillot, indignantly. “Harkye here, messmates; I says as chaps as’d half kill such a orficer as Mr Russell, who’s as fine a gen’leman as ever stepped, ’d murder a King as soon as look at him.”

“Ay, ay,” came in a low growl.

“And if any o’ you thinks different to my sentiments, let him speak out like a man.”

“That’s what we all think, messmet,” came in another growl.

“And there you are, sir, and them’s fax. They chucked them two pore chaps overboard, and, speaking up for my messmates and self, I says we don’t hold with killing nobody ’cept in the name of dooty; but here’s a set o’ miserable beggars as goes about buying and selling the pore niggers, and treating ’em worse than they would a box o’ worms to go fishing with. Why, it’s murder, sir, wholesale, retail, and for exportation, as the man said over his shop door in our town o’ Bristol, and if we can only get at ’em—well, I won’t say what we’ll do, but if there ain’t some fatal accidents that day, my name ain’t Tom.”

“That’s so, messmet—that’s so,” came in another deep growl.

“It’s horrible, horrible,” groaned Mark; and he bent over Mr Russell’s face, and tried to make out whether there was any sign of returning consciousness.

“At a time like this, messmets,” whispered Tom Fillot to those nearest to him, “I’d be quiet. Mr Vandean’s in a deal of trouble about the lufftenant.”

“Hi! all on you,” came sharply from the forward part of the boat, which rocked a little from some one changing his position; and as it rocked tiny waves of light like liquid moonbeams flowed away to starboard and port, while dull sparks of light appeared in the water down below.

“What’s the matter there?” said Mark, rousing himself up to speak. “Be silent, and keep the boat still.”

“Ay, ay,” growled Tom Fillot, but the boat still swayed.

“Do you hear there?” cried Mark, sharply. “Who’s that?”

“Hi! all on you!” came again.

“Did you hear my order, Dance?” cried Mark. “Sit down, man. Do you want to capsize the boat?”

“I want my hitcher,” said the man, sharply. “Who’s been a-meddling with my boathook? it ain’t in its place.”

“Sit down, man. This is not the first cutter, but one of the schooner’s boats. Your boathook is not here.”

“Do you hear, all on you? I want my hitcher. Some on you’s been and hidden it for a lark. Give it here.”

“Are you deaf, Dance?” cried Mark, angrily. “How dare you, sir! Sit down.”

“I know,” continued the man, who was tumbling about forward. “Some on you’s took it for a game, and Lufftenant Staples ain’t the man to stand no larks. ‘Where’s that there boathook, Joe Dance?’ he says. ‘Produce it ’twonce, sir, or—’ ‘Ay, ay, sir. Starn all it is. Where are you coming? Pull. Starboard there—On Portsmouth hard in Portsmouth town. Three cheers, my merry lads—Now then, pull—pull hard—Ay, ay, sir—Now all together, my lads!’”

As the coxswain was speaking from out of the darkness, to the wonderment of all, Tom Fillot whispered quickly to his young officer,—

“It’s the crack he got, sir. He’ll be overboard if we don’t mind. Poor chap, he has gone right off his nut.”

Creeping forward past the men, Tom made for where Joe Dance was speaking loudly, evidently under the belief that he was talking to a number of people around. Then, stamping about in the boat, his words came forth more rapidly, but in quite a confused gabble, of which hardly a single word was comprehensible. Invisible though he was, it was evident that he was growing more and more excited, for his words flowed strangely, swiftly, and then became a mere babble, as, with a shout, he rushed aft at the touch of Tom Fillot.

“Stop him, some on you; he’s mad!” roared Tom Fillot; and as instinctively Mark started up, it was to be seized by the poor wretch in his delirium, and held back, in spite of his struggles, more and more over the side of the boat toward the sea.

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