Chapter Six.

Chapter Six.Alone on the Ocean.“All very fine for you, my lads,” grumbled the coxswain, “but see what a wetting I got.”“Vandean, my lad,” whispered the lieutenant, “that idea of yours saved us,” and he caught and pressed the lad’s cold hand. Then aloud: “Now, my lads, get the oars in under the thwarts, so that they don’t float out, and then you, Dance, and you, Tom Fillot, in over the side and begin baling.”The boat was floating with its gunwale level with the water, and the two men had only to press the side a bit and literally roll in, to squat down and begin baling; for, to the great delight of all, it was found that the locker in the bows was unopened, though full of water, and a couple of tin balers were fished out from amidst some tackle. Directly after, working with all their might, the men began to make the water fly out in showers.Meanwhile the oars were collected and thrust down into the boat beneath the thwarts, along with the hitcher, and the rest of the little crew held on by the gunwale outside.For a time this seemed to remain level with the surface, but the two balers toiled so hard that in a short time the lieutenant turned to Mark, and said shortly—“In with you.”The lad looked at him in wonder, but junior officers have to obey, and he crept in over the side, and getting right aft, began to scoop out the water with his joined hands.A quarter of an hour later a fresh order was given, and two more men got into the boat to seat themselves and take the balers, while the pair who had been acting prepared to get out again and hang on.But a short, sharp order checked them.“There is no need, my lads,” said the lieutenant. “You can begin scooping out water as soon as you are a bit rested. The boat will hold you now.”He was quite right, for, though the presence of four men weighed her down heavily, and sent her gunwale once more nearly level with the surface, it soon began to rise again as, pint by pint, the interior was relieved, until another man crept in, and soon after another, till the whole crew were back, and the lieutenant got in last.Ten minutes later two men forward were steadily baling, whilst two others seized their oars, under the lieutenant’s direction, and getting the boat’s head round as they sat there with the water still well up over their ankles, they began to pull steadily in the direction of theNautilus, now nearly invisible in the distant silvery haze.They were still so heavily water-logged that progress was very slow, but this was no discouragement, for their position improved minute by minute, and the men were so much cheered that they put plenty of spirit into their work.But before they had taken many strokes the lieutenant gave the order to stop, and Mark shuddered as he saw the reason. Mr Russell had turned to the rudder-lines, and there was a terrible burden towing astern.Those were solemn moments which followed. The lieutenant signed to the coxswain to come, and then helped him to draw the lifeless body of the poor fellow over the gunwale, and, as decently as was possible, laid the remains of what had once been a big, strong man in the bottom of the boat. A flag was then taken from the locker and covered over him, just as, by a strange coincidence, and very faintly heard, came the report of a gun.The coxswain then went forward and helped with the baling, while the men recommenced rowing in silence.“The lads will think all this unnecessary, Vandean,” said the lieutenant in a low voice, as Mark sat by his side; “but it would be horribly un-English to leave the poor wretch floating at the mercy of the waves. He was free enough, poor fellow, before we shaded him with the British flag. What would you have done?”“As you have, sir,” replied the lad. “I couldn’t have left him behind, though it seems very horrible to have taken him on board, and to have him here with us in the night.”“All fanciful sentiment, Van, my lad. What is there in that poor fellow now to excite our fear? Come, you must be more manly than that. Cold?”“Yes; very, now.”“So am I, my lad. These wet things are not comfortable. We’ll take to the oars and row for a bit to keep off the chill. Why, Vandean, you ought to be well praised for this night’s work. I feel quite ashamed of myself for letting you suggest a way out of our difficulty with the capsized boat.”“Oh, it was nothing, sir. It just occurred to me,” replied Mark.“I wish it had just occurred to me, my lad; and what is more, I wish we could see theNautiluscoming towards us with the slave schooner astern, but there is no such good fortune in store for us till morning.”By this time the water was getting very low in the bottom of the boat, and ordering the coxswain aft to steer, the lieutenant took the oar of Tom Fillot, who was rowing stroke, sent him forward, and then made Mark take the oar of the next man. They both pulled steadily together for the next half hour, Mr Russell telling the coxswain how to steer, so as to keep steadily in the wake of theNautilus, which had now for long enough been out of sight.The long row thoroughly circulated Mark’s blood, driving away all the feeling of chill, so that it was with a pleasant glowing sensation that the lad took his place once more in the stern-sheets to sit beside the lieutenant, and with him anxiously look-out ahead in the hope of seeing some sign of the ship.“She may send up a rocket, mayn’t she, Mr Russell?” said Mark, after a long silence, during which the boat had risen and fallen with the swell, and felt beating with a living pulsation as the men toiled steadily on at their oars.“Rocket? Well, yes, she may, but I doubt whether we could see it at this distance.”“Then she is very far-away?”“Very, my lad. You see that she is out of sight.”“And suppose we have lost sight of her altogether, sir—what then?”“What then? Oh, don’t let’s calculate upon things that are barely possible. Captains in Her Majesty’s service are too particular about their juniors and ship’s company to leave a boat’s crew in the lurch.”“Yes, but Captain Maitland might not be able to find us again, sir.”“Come, come, my lad, don’t croak like a raven. At your age you ought to be hopeful, and set me an example of high spirits. Don’t begin imagining the worst.”“Who’s going to be hopeful,” muttered Tom Fillot to the man behind him, “with the body o’ that poor nigger aboard? Strikes me that we’re in for a spell o’ bad luck, mates.”“What’s that?” cried the lieutenant.“Only having a bit of a grumble, your honour, about our luck,” said the man, respectfully. “We’re all feeling as if it was time our watch ended, and as though we’d like a bit o’ something to eat and drink. That’s all, sir.”The man’s oar dipped steadily as he spoke, and after that there was a dead silence on board. The last drop of water had been swabbed up and squeezed overboard, and the exercise had helped to dry the men’s saturated garments. A steady progress was kept up, and after fighting back a heavy, drowsy feeling, Mark sat watching the setting stars away straight before him in the direction in which theNautilushad disappeared. Twenty times over it had seemed to him as if the night would never end, and in spite of his officer’s cheering utterances, his spirits sank very low, as he wondered whether it would not have been better if the boat’s head had been turned, so that they might have rowed due east, to make the land from which they had sailed.Then the moon began to sink lower, and the sky to grow of a darker slaty colour, while the regular beat of the men’s oars sounded distant—then very softly—and then ceased altogether, or so it appeared to Mark Vandean, who suddenly opened his eyes with a start, and gazed wonderingly about him at the sunlit sea, now all orange and gold.“Have I been to sleep, sir?” he cried apologetically.“Yes, my lad; sound asleep for hours.”“And the ship, sir—can you see theNautilus?”“No, my lad,” said the lieutenant, in a voice which he tried to make cheerful, but whose tones spoke of the deep despondency in his breast. “She is not in sight yet.”The midshipman glanced sharply at the heavy, saddened countenances of the men, and read there a reflection of his own thoughts, that they were far-away on the wide ocean in an open boat without food or water, exhausted by a long night’s rowing, and in an hour the torrid sun would be beating down upon their heads.Hunger—thirst—heat—all three to fight; but there was a worse enemy still—despair, as a torrent of recollections flashed through the lad’s brain, and he felt that unless theNautilushove in sight, their position was less to be envied than that of the poor negro lying dead beneath the flat which hid his face from their sight.

“All very fine for you, my lads,” grumbled the coxswain, “but see what a wetting I got.”

“Vandean, my lad,” whispered the lieutenant, “that idea of yours saved us,” and he caught and pressed the lad’s cold hand. Then aloud: “Now, my lads, get the oars in under the thwarts, so that they don’t float out, and then you, Dance, and you, Tom Fillot, in over the side and begin baling.”

The boat was floating with its gunwale level with the water, and the two men had only to press the side a bit and literally roll in, to squat down and begin baling; for, to the great delight of all, it was found that the locker in the bows was unopened, though full of water, and a couple of tin balers were fished out from amidst some tackle. Directly after, working with all their might, the men began to make the water fly out in showers.

Meanwhile the oars were collected and thrust down into the boat beneath the thwarts, along with the hitcher, and the rest of the little crew held on by the gunwale outside.

For a time this seemed to remain level with the surface, but the two balers toiled so hard that in a short time the lieutenant turned to Mark, and said shortly—“In with you.”

The lad looked at him in wonder, but junior officers have to obey, and he crept in over the side, and getting right aft, began to scoop out the water with his joined hands.

A quarter of an hour later a fresh order was given, and two more men got into the boat to seat themselves and take the balers, while the pair who had been acting prepared to get out again and hang on.

But a short, sharp order checked them.

“There is no need, my lads,” said the lieutenant. “You can begin scooping out water as soon as you are a bit rested. The boat will hold you now.”

He was quite right, for, though the presence of four men weighed her down heavily, and sent her gunwale once more nearly level with the surface, it soon began to rise again as, pint by pint, the interior was relieved, until another man crept in, and soon after another, till the whole crew were back, and the lieutenant got in last.

Ten minutes later two men forward were steadily baling, whilst two others seized their oars, under the lieutenant’s direction, and getting the boat’s head round as they sat there with the water still well up over their ankles, they began to pull steadily in the direction of theNautilus, now nearly invisible in the distant silvery haze.

They were still so heavily water-logged that progress was very slow, but this was no discouragement, for their position improved minute by minute, and the men were so much cheered that they put plenty of spirit into their work.

But before they had taken many strokes the lieutenant gave the order to stop, and Mark shuddered as he saw the reason. Mr Russell had turned to the rudder-lines, and there was a terrible burden towing astern.

Those were solemn moments which followed. The lieutenant signed to the coxswain to come, and then helped him to draw the lifeless body of the poor fellow over the gunwale, and, as decently as was possible, laid the remains of what had once been a big, strong man in the bottom of the boat. A flag was then taken from the locker and covered over him, just as, by a strange coincidence, and very faintly heard, came the report of a gun.

The coxswain then went forward and helped with the baling, while the men recommenced rowing in silence.

“The lads will think all this unnecessary, Vandean,” said the lieutenant in a low voice, as Mark sat by his side; “but it would be horribly un-English to leave the poor wretch floating at the mercy of the waves. He was free enough, poor fellow, before we shaded him with the British flag. What would you have done?”

“As you have, sir,” replied the lad. “I couldn’t have left him behind, though it seems very horrible to have taken him on board, and to have him here with us in the night.”

“All fanciful sentiment, Van, my lad. What is there in that poor fellow now to excite our fear? Come, you must be more manly than that. Cold?”

“Yes; very, now.”

“So am I, my lad. These wet things are not comfortable. We’ll take to the oars and row for a bit to keep off the chill. Why, Vandean, you ought to be well praised for this night’s work. I feel quite ashamed of myself for letting you suggest a way out of our difficulty with the capsized boat.”

“Oh, it was nothing, sir. It just occurred to me,” replied Mark.

“I wish it had just occurred to me, my lad; and what is more, I wish we could see theNautiluscoming towards us with the slave schooner astern, but there is no such good fortune in store for us till morning.”

By this time the water was getting very low in the bottom of the boat, and ordering the coxswain aft to steer, the lieutenant took the oar of Tom Fillot, who was rowing stroke, sent him forward, and then made Mark take the oar of the next man. They both pulled steadily together for the next half hour, Mr Russell telling the coxswain how to steer, so as to keep steadily in the wake of theNautilus, which had now for long enough been out of sight.

The long row thoroughly circulated Mark’s blood, driving away all the feeling of chill, so that it was with a pleasant glowing sensation that the lad took his place once more in the stern-sheets to sit beside the lieutenant, and with him anxiously look-out ahead in the hope of seeing some sign of the ship.

“She may send up a rocket, mayn’t she, Mr Russell?” said Mark, after a long silence, during which the boat had risen and fallen with the swell, and felt beating with a living pulsation as the men toiled steadily on at their oars.

“Rocket? Well, yes, she may, but I doubt whether we could see it at this distance.”

“Then she is very far-away?”

“Very, my lad. You see that she is out of sight.”

“And suppose we have lost sight of her altogether, sir—what then?”

“What then? Oh, don’t let’s calculate upon things that are barely possible. Captains in Her Majesty’s service are too particular about their juniors and ship’s company to leave a boat’s crew in the lurch.”

“Yes, but Captain Maitland might not be able to find us again, sir.”

“Come, come, my lad, don’t croak like a raven. At your age you ought to be hopeful, and set me an example of high spirits. Don’t begin imagining the worst.”

“Who’s going to be hopeful,” muttered Tom Fillot to the man behind him, “with the body o’ that poor nigger aboard? Strikes me that we’re in for a spell o’ bad luck, mates.”

“What’s that?” cried the lieutenant.

“Only having a bit of a grumble, your honour, about our luck,” said the man, respectfully. “We’re all feeling as if it was time our watch ended, and as though we’d like a bit o’ something to eat and drink. That’s all, sir.”

The man’s oar dipped steadily as he spoke, and after that there was a dead silence on board. The last drop of water had been swabbed up and squeezed overboard, and the exercise had helped to dry the men’s saturated garments. A steady progress was kept up, and after fighting back a heavy, drowsy feeling, Mark sat watching the setting stars away straight before him in the direction in which theNautilushad disappeared. Twenty times over it had seemed to him as if the night would never end, and in spite of his officer’s cheering utterances, his spirits sank very low, as he wondered whether it would not have been better if the boat’s head had been turned, so that they might have rowed due east, to make the land from which they had sailed.

Then the moon began to sink lower, and the sky to grow of a darker slaty colour, while the regular beat of the men’s oars sounded distant—then very softly—and then ceased altogether, or so it appeared to Mark Vandean, who suddenly opened his eyes with a start, and gazed wonderingly about him at the sunlit sea, now all orange and gold.

“Have I been to sleep, sir?” he cried apologetically.

“Yes, my lad; sound asleep for hours.”

“And the ship, sir—can you see theNautilus?”

“No, my lad,” said the lieutenant, in a voice which he tried to make cheerful, but whose tones spoke of the deep despondency in his breast. “She is not in sight yet.”

The midshipman glanced sharply at the heavy, saddened countenances of the men, and read there a reflection of his own thoughts, that they were far-away on the wide ocean in an open boat without food or water, exhausted by a long night’s rowing, and in an hour the torrid sun would be beating down upon their heads.

Hunger—thirst—heat—all three to fight; but there was a worse enemy still—despair, as a torrent of recollections flashed through the lad’s brain, and he felt that unless theNautilushove in sight, their position was less to be envied than that of the poor negro lying dead beneath the flat which hid his face from their sight.

Chapter Seven.A Terrible Task.Hunger at first—a sharp, grinding sensation of hunger attacked Mark Vandean; but as the sun rose higher this was forgotten in the intense thirst. For the heat rapidly grew scorching, and then, as Mark thought, burning, and saving the flag in the stern-sheets there was not a scrap of anything that could be used for an awning.Every eye was strained westward in search of the returningNautilus, but in the clear morning light there was no sign of her; and as the sun rose higher, the distance became obscured by a hot haze, which grew more dense as the hours went on, till it was impossible to see a mile in any direction, while this thickening of the atmosphere had the effect of heightening the power of the rays of the sun.“We shall never be able to see the ship, Mr Russell,” said Mark towards mid-day, as they lay there parched beyond endurance, rising slowly and falling upon the smooth Atlantic swell. “Do you think they will fire again?”“Sure to, my lad,” was the reply. “There, I’m glad you have spoken. This silence was getting unbearable.”“I couldn’t talk before,” replied Mark; “it all seemed to be so horrible lying here in this scorching heat, and I was so thirsty and faint I felt as if I couldn’t keep up.”“We all felt the same, my lad, but we must bear it till help comes. There, you are my lieutenant now, and we must have a consultation as to what is best to be done.”For they had lain there all the fore part of the day watching the west for the return of their vessel. It was madness to order the men to go on rowing, weary and suffering as they were under that burning sun, farther away into the vast ocean in search of theNautilus; and on the other hand, Lieutenant Russell was unwilling to give up the chance of being picked up by turning their backs on help and making for the coast.But now the time had come for action. The men sat about in the boat looking wild-eyed with thirst and heat, and the chances of being seen by the returning ship were now growing small on account of the haze. So feeling that Captain Maitland would give him the credit of making for Port Goldby or one of the factories on the coast, Lieutenant Russell announced his determination of making for the east.“But will the men be able to row as far?” said Mark.“They must be able, with our help, Vandean. To be plain, my lad, it is our only chance.”“But through this heat?”“They will suffer less rowing than sitting still;” and giving his orders, the men, accustomed to move smartly at the slightest word, sprang into their places, but directly after there was a low whispering and muttering among them, and they appeared to be making a communication to Dance the coxswain.“What’s the matter, my lads?” cried the lieutenant sharply; and he forgot his own sufferings now that there was a sudden call made upon his energy.“Tell the lufftenant, Joe Dance,” said Fillot, who was nearest to where his officers sat, but who preferred to pass task on to the coxswain, who was farthest off.“Why couldn’t yer tell him yersen?” growled the coxswain.“Speak out, Dance. No nonsense, my lad. We are in difficulties, and we have to behave like British seamen till we get out of them.”The coxswain took off his well-dried straw hat and saluted. Then coughed, hesitated, and at last blurted out—“Well, sir, you see it’s like this. The lads says they’re willing enough, and they’ll pull till they drop, but they want to know if you don’t think it’s time something was done about him as we come to pick up.”“Leave that to me, my lads,” said the lieutenant, gravely. “I shall do my duty by you all, so please to do yours by me. Wait till nightfall and see.”“Ay, ay, sir,” came huskily, the oars dropped into the water, and to Mark there was quite a feeling of relief in the motion of the boat, and also in the knowledge that they were moving—slowly enough, but surely—toward help. Whether they would live to reach that aid was another thing.“Shall we take an oar each, Mr Russell?” said Mark after a time, during which he had sat watching the dispirited, weary looks of the men as they dragged more and more slowly at their rowing.“No, my lad; we can do nothing in this heat. The poor fellows can do very little good themselves; I am only letting them pull because it keeps them from sinking into a state of despair. They can leave off when they like, and row when they like.”The men heard his words and ceased pulling for a few minutes to gaze blankly round in search of help, but the shining, sunny haze shut them in, and Tom Fillot settled himself in his seat again.“Better pull, mates,” he said, in a harsh, strange voice; “the orficer’s right. We’re worse off doing nothing.” The oars dipped again, and the boat went on slowly eastward toward the distant coast, as the terrible sense of depression and exhaustion increased with Mark, mingled with a strange desire to scoop up some of the clear, glittering, tantalising water, and drink what he knew would be so horribly salt and bitter that his sufferings would be increased.Now and then a curious sensation of vertigo attacked him, which seemed as if by some means the shining haze had floated right into his brain, dimming his eyesight so that for a time he could not see. Then it lightened up, and he could see ships, and clear bubbling waters, and green trees.Then there were low, harsh voices speaking, and he was back again, wondering at the curious day-dream he had had, and listening to some remark made by Lieutenant Russell, who, in spite of his own sufferings, strove hard to cheer his companions in the boat.Now and then a man would start out of a half-drowsy state, and hold up his hand. Dance the coxswain was the first affected in that way, but after a few moments Mark felt that the poor fellow had been suffering in a similar way to himself.For the man suddenly exclaimed—“There! Did you hear that? A gun, lads. TheNaughtylassis coming down on us with every stitch o’ canvas on her.”Three of the men ceased rowing, and gazed through the haze in full belief that their messmate had heard a signal shot fired, for the man’s attitude and tone were so convincing that there could be no doubt.But there was no sound to break the utter silence till Tom Fillot growled forth—“Lie down and go to sleep, Joe Dance. You’re only teasing us, and making wuss of it.”“I tell you I heerd a gun,” cried the coxswain.“Ay, in your head, mate. I’ve been hearing the skipper giving it to Mr Russell here for keeping the cutter out all night, but it don’t mean nothing, only sort o’ dreams. How could theNaughtylasssail to us without a breath o’ wind?”Dance stared at him wildly, and his face grew convulsed with anger, but the next moment he let his head drop down upon his hands with a groan.Night seemed as if it would never come to bring a relief from that burning sun, which affected man after man with this curious delirium, the last touched being Mr Russell, who suddenly started up in the boat just about the hottest part of the afternoon; and, his mind still impressed by the coxswain’s words, he exclaimed in a peculiarly angry voice, as he stared straight before him—“I refuse to take the blame, Captain Maitland. I did my duty by you and toward the brave, patient fellows under my charge. If there is any one to blame it is yourself for leaving us behind. Quite right, Vandean. Now, my lad, for a good drink. The water’s deliciously cool and sweet, and what a beautiful river. Ahoy! What ship’s that?”He lurched forward as he suddenly ceased speaking, uttered a low groan, and but for Tom Fillot’s strong arm he would have gone overboard.The sailor lowered him down into the bottom of the boat, where he lay back, and Mark took his kerchief from his neck, soaked it in the sea-water, wrung it out, and then laid it over the poor fellow’s brow, ending by gazing inquiringly in the oarsman’s face, as if asking for help.“That’s all you can do, sir,” said the man, sadly.“Touch o’ sunstroke, and he’s got it worse than the rest on us.”“Shall I bathe his face with the water, Tom?”“No, sir, I don’t know as I would. It might make him thirstier and worse. Better wait for sundown. When the cool time comes he may work round.”The man ceased speaking, and his companions laid in their oars before sinking down in the bottom of the boat and resting their heavy heads against the sides.As for Mark, the rest of that afternoon passed as if he were in some fevered dream, during which he was back home at the Devon rectory, telling his father and mother of his adventures with the slaver. Then he was bathing in a beautiful river, whose water suddenly grew painfully hot and scalded him. After that there was a long blank time, and imagination grew busy again, his brain dwelling upon the chase of the slaver, and he saw through his glass the splash in the moonlit water, as one of the poor wretches was thrown overboard to stay the progress of theNautilus.Soon after some one touched him, and he started up to find that all was dark, and that the edge of a dense cloud was silvered by the moon, while a face was bent down close to his.“What’s the matter?” he cried, excitedly.“Things is getting wuss, sir. Mr Russell’s lying there talking like in his sleep, and t’others have got it bad. You and me’s the only two as have any sense left.”“I—I couldn’t understand for a bit, Tom,” said Mark, making an effort. “It all seemed puzzling, but I think I know now.”“That’s right, sir; and as your superior officer’s down, you’re in command, and have got to tell me what to do.”“What can I tell you to do?” cried Mark, in desperation. “You can’t row the boat back to the coast alone.”“That’s true enough, sir, but there’s one thing you ought to order me to do at once.”“Yes; what?”The sailor pointed to the flag spread out behind where the midshipman sat; and Mark shuddered as he grasped his meaning.“Do you think I ought to, Tom?” whispered the lad at last, in awe-stricken tones.“What do you think, sir, left in charge as you are?” returned the man. “Seems a terrible thing for a young gent like you to give orders about, but I can’t see no way out of it. We did our best to save him, and now it don’t seem as we can save ourselves. ’Tall events, we can do no good to him, and I think the skipper—beg pardon, sir, no offence meant, the captain—will say you did what was quite right in giving me my orders.”Mark was silent, and tried to think out the matter calmly and with reason, but his head throbbed and burned, and all kinds of thoughts of other things kept on coming to confuse him and stop the regular flow of his thought, till it was as if he could think of everything else but the subject of such great importance to those on board.At last, though, he leaned over the side, and bathed his throbbing temples with the comparatively cool water, when, by slow degrees, the beating ceased, and the power to think calmly came back.“Do you really feel it would be right, Tom Fillot?” he said.“I’m sure it would, sir.”“No, no, I couldn’t do it,” cried the boy, excitedly; “it seems too dreadful.”“More dreadful not to do it, sir, begging your pardon,” said the man, quietly; and Mark gazed at him wonderingly to see how calm, manly, and serious he, the wag of the ship, had grown to be now.“No, no, I dare not. Here, I’ll speak to Mr Russell.”“Do, sir; but I’m afraid you won’t make him understand. He’s too far gone for that.”Mark went down on his knees by his officer and took his hand. Then, placing his lips close to the stricken man’s ear, he asked him again and again to give him his advice what to do, but elicited nothing but a peevish muttering, as the lieutenant tossed his head from side to side.“What I told you, sir.”“Then I’ll ask Dance,” cried Mark. “He is over you men, and I cannot do this without some one to share the responsibility.”“Try him, sir; but he’s quite off his head, and if he says do, his advice ain’t worth having, for he’ll never know he said it.”All the same, in his terrible perplexity, Mark crawled over the thwarts and between the men to where the coxswain lay muttering incessantly right forward, with his head resting against the pole of his hitcher; but in spite of appeal after appeal the man lay with his eyes fixed, quite insensible to every word addressed to him, and the midshipman crept back to where Tom Fillot sat.“I’m nobody, sir, only a common man afore the mast, so it’s like impidence for me to offer to share the responsibility with a young gent like you. But being half as old again, I may say I know a little of what a man ought to do in a case like this; and I say that as you’re now in command, sir, it’s your duty to us, as well as to the dead.”“No, no,” groaned Mark. “We may be overtaken by the ship at any time.”“Look here; it’s of no use for you to shrink from it. Recollect where we are. You must.”But still Mark shook his head.“It ain’t as if we could do him any good, sir.”“But without Christian burial, Tom Fillot.”“He warn’t a Christian, sir,” said the sailor, slowly. “I’m only an ignorant man, but I’ve heerd say that you were a parson’s son, sir, and know what’s right to do at such a time. Mr Vandean, sir, you must.”Mark heaved a sigh, rose in the boat, and looked round him, trying to pierce the gloom in search of help out of his difficulty; but the moon was hidden by a black cloud, and look which way he would there was naught but the thick darkness hemming him in. With a piteous sigh he turned back to where the sailor sat waiting, made a sign, and then sank upon his knees in the bottom of the boat, feeling for the first few moments utterly alone.The next minute the feeling of loneliness had passed away, and firm and strong at heart, he raised his head, and made a fresh sign to his companion, who had followed his example, and who now rose and stepped over to the very stern of the boat, to stand with his back to his young officer. Then as he bent down it seemed to Mark as if the darkness had grown more profound, till there was a faint rustling noise, and a soft plunge in the black water, followed by a faint rippling whisper against the sides. Directly after the moon appeared from behind the thick mass of clouds and shed a path of silver over the sea, till it flooded the part where the cutter lay; and as Mark Vandean knelt there, he saw Tom Fillot standing before him with the Union Jack in his hand.

Hunger at first—a sharp, grinding sensation of hunger attacked Mark Vandean; but as the sun rose higher this was forgotten in the intense thirst. For the heat rapidly grew scorching, and then, as Mark thought, burning, and saving the flag in the stern-sheets there was not a scrap of anything that could be used for an awning.

Every eye was strained westward in search of the returningNautilus, but in the clear morning light there was no sign of her; and as the sun rose higher, the distance became obscured by a hot haze, which grew more dense as the hours went on, till it was impossible to see a mile in any direction, while this thickening of the atmosphere had the effect of heightening the power of the rays of the sun.

“We shall never be able to see the ship, Mr Russell,” said Mark towards mid-day, as they lay there parched beyond endurance, rising slowly and falling upon the smooth Atlantic swell. “Do you think they will fire again?”

“Sure to, my lad,” was the reply. “There, I’m glad you have spoken. This silence was getting unbearable.”

“I couldn’t talk before,” replied Mark; “it all seemed to be so horrible lying here in this scorching heat, and I was so thirsty and faint I felt as if I couldn’t keep up.”

“We all felt the same, my lad, but we must bear it till help comes. There, you are my lieutenant now, and we must have a consultation as to what is best to be done.”

For they had lain there all the fore part of the day watching the west for the return of their vessel. It was madness to order the men to go on rowing, weary and suffering as they were under that burning sun, farther away into the vast ocean in search of theNautilus; and on the other hand, Lieutenant Russell was unwilling to give up the chance of being picked up by turning their backs on help and making for the coast.

But now the time had come for action. The men sat about in the boat looking wild-eyed with thirst and heat, and the chances of being seen by the returning ship were now growing small on account of the haze. So feeling that Captain Maitland would give him the credit of making for Port Goldby or one of the factories on the coast, Lieutenant Russell announced his determination of making for the east.

“But will the men be able to row as far?” said Mark.

“They must be able, with our help, Vandean. To be plain, my lad, it is our only chance.”

“But through this heat?”

“They will suffer less rowing than sitting still;” and giving his orders, the men, accustomed to move smartly at the slightest word, sprang into their places, but directly after there was a low whispering and muttering among them, and they appeared to be making a communication to Dance the coxswain.

“What’s the matter, my lads?” cried the lieutenant sharply; and he forgot his own sufferings now that there was a sudden call made upon his energy.

“Tell the lufftenant, Joe Dance,” said Fillot, who was nearest to where his officers sat, but who preferred to pass task on to the coxswain, who was farthest off.

“Why couldn’t yer tell him yersen?” growled the coxswain.

“Speak out, Dance. No nonsense, my lad. We are in difficulties, and we have to behave like British seamen till we get out of them.”

The coxswain took off his well-dried straw hat and saluted. Then coughed, hesitated, and at last blurted out—“Well, sir, you see it’s like this. The lads says they’re willing enough, and they’ll pull till they drop, but they want to know if you don’t think it’s time something was done about him as we come to pick up.”

“Leave that to me, my lads,” said the lieutenant, gravely. “I shall do my duty by you all, so please to do yours by me. Wait till nightfall and see.”

“Ay, ay, sir,” came huskily, the oars dropped into the water, and to Mark there was quite a feeling of relief in the motion of the boat, and also in the knowledge that they were moving—slowly enough, but surely—toward help. Whether they would live to reach that aid was another thing.

“Shall we take an oar each, Mr Russell?” said Mark after a time, during which he had sat watching the dispirited, weary looks of the men as they dragged more and more slowly at their rowing.

“No, my lad; we can do nothing in this heat. The poor fellows can do very little good themselves; I am only letting them pull because it keeps them from sinking into a state of despair. They can leave off when they like, and row when they like.”

The men heard his words and ceased pulling for a few minutes to gaze blankly round in search of help, but the shining, sunny haze shut them in, and Tom Fillot settled himself in his seat again.

“Better pull, mates,” he said, in a harsh, strange voice; “the orficer’s right. We’re worse off doing nothing.” The oars dipped again, and the boat went on slowly eastward toward the distant coast, as the terrible sense of depression and exhaustion increased with Mark, mingled with a strange desire to scoop up some of the clear, glittering, tantalising water, and drink what he knew would be so horribly salt and bitter that his sufferings would be increased.

Now and then a curious sensation of vertigo attacked him, which seemed as if by some means the shining haze had floated right into his brain, dimming his eyesight so that for a time he could not see. Then it lightened up, and he could see ships, and clear bubbling waters, and green trees.

Then there were low, harsh voices speaking, and he was back again, wondering at the curious day-dream he had had, and listening to some remark made by Lieutenant Russell, who, in spite of his own sufferings, strove hard to cheer his companions in the boat.

Now and then a man would start out of a half-drowsy state, and hold up his hand. Dance the coxswain was the first affected in that way, but after a few moments Mark felt that the poor fellow had been suffering in a similar way to himself.

For the man suddenly exclaimed—“There! Did you hear that? A gun, lads. TheNaughtylassis coming down on us with every stitch o’ canvas on her.”

Three of the men ceased rowing, and gazed through the haze in full belief that their messmate had heard a signal shot fired, for the man’s attitude and tone were so convincing that there could be no doubt.

But there was no sound to break the utter silence till Tom Fillot growled forth—

“Lie down and go to sleep, Joe Dance. You’re only teasing us, and making wuss of it.”

“I tell you I heerd a gun,” cried the coxswain.

“Ay, in your head, mate. I’ve been hearing the skipper giving it to Mr Russell here for keeping the cutter out all night, but it don’t mean nothing, only sort o’ dreams. How could theNaughtylasssail to us without a breath o’ wind?”

Dance stared at him wildly, and his face grew convulsed with anger, but the next moment he let his head drop down upon his hands with a groan.

Night seemed as if it would never come to bring a relief from that burning sun, which affected man after man with this curious delirium, the last touched being Mr Russell, who suddenly started up in the boat just about the hottest part of the afternoon; and, his mind still impressed by the coxswain’s words, he exclaimed in a peculiarly angry voice, as he stared straight before him—“I refuse to take the blame, Captain Maitland. I did my duty by you and toward the brave, patient fellows under my charge. If there is any one to blame it is yourself for leaving us behind. Quite right, Vandean. Now, my lad, for a good drink. The water’s deliciously cool and sweet, and what a beautiful river. Ahoy! What ship’s that?”

He lurched forward as he suddenly ceased speaking, uttered a low groan, and but for Tom Fillot’s strong arm he would have gone overboard.

The sailor lowered him down into the bottom of the boat, where he lay back, and Mark took his kerchief from his neck, soaked it in the sea-water, wrung it out, and then laid it over the poor fellow’s brow, ending by gazing inquiringly in the oarsman’s face, as if asking for help.

“That’s all you can do, sir,” said the man, sadly.

“Touch o’ sunstroke, and he’s got it worse than the rest on us.”

“Shall I bathe his face with the water, Tom?”

“No, sir, I don’t know as I would. It might make him thirstier and worse. Better wait for sundown. When the cool time comes he may work round.”

The man ceased speaking, and his companions laid in their oars before sinking down in the bottom of the boat and resting their heavy heads against the sides.

As for Mark, the rest of that afternoon passed as if he were in some fevered dream, during which he was back home at the Devon rectory, telling his father and mother of his adventures with the slaver. Then he was bathing in a beautiful river, whose water suddenly grew painfully hot and scalded him. After that there was a long blank time, and imagination grew busy again, his brain dwelling upon the chase of the slaver, and he saw through his glass the splash in the moonlit water, as one of the poor wretches was thrown overboard to stay the progress of theNautilus.

Soon after some one touched him, and he started up to find that all was dark, and that the edge of a dense cloud was silvered by the moon, while a face was bent down close to his.

“What’s the matter?” he cried, excitedly.

“Things is getting wuss, sir. Mr Russell’s lying there talking like in his sleep, and t’others have got it bad. You and me’s the only two as have any sense left.”

“I—I couldn’t understand for a bit, Tom,” said Mark, making an effort. “It all seemed puzzling, but I think I know now.”

“That’s right, sir; and as your superior officer’s down, you’re in command, and have got to tell me what to do.”

“What can I tell you to do?” cried Mark, in desperation. “You can’t row the boat back to the coast alone.”

“That’s true enough, sir, but there’s one thing you ought to order me to do at once.”

“Yes; what?”

The sailor pointed to the flag spread out behind where the midshipman sat; and Mark shuddered as he grasped his meaning.

“Do you think I ought to, Tom?” whispered the lad at last, in awe-stricken tones.

“What do you think, sir, left in charge as you are?” returned the man. “Seems a terrible thing for a young gent like you to give orders about, but I can’t see no way out of it. We did our best to save him, and now it don’t seem as we can save ourselves. ’Tall events, we can do no good to him, and I think the skipper—beg pardon, sir, no offence meant, the captain—will say you did what was quite right in giving me my orders.”

Mark was silent, and tried to think out the matter calmly and with reason, but his head throbbed and burned, and all kinds of thoughts of other things kept on coming to confuse him and stop the regular flow of his thought, till it was as if he could think of everything else but the subject of such great importance to those on board.

At last, though, he leaned over the side, and bathed his throbbing temples with the comparatively cool water, when, by slow degrees, the beating ceased, and the power to think calmly came back.

“Do you really feel it would be right, Tom Fillot?” he said.

“I’m sure it would, sir.”

“No, no, I couldn’t do it,” cried the boy, excitedly; “it seems too dreadful.”

“More dreadful not to do it, sir, begging your pardon,” said the man, quietly; and Mark gazed at him wonderingly to see how calm, manly, and serious he, the wag of the ship, had grown to be now.

“No, no, I dare not. Here, I’ll speak to Mr Russell.”

“Do, sir; but I’m afraid you won’t make him understand. He’s too far gone for that.”

Mark went down on his knees by his officer and took his hand. Then, placing his lips close to the stricken man’s ear, he asked him again and again to give him his advice what to do, but elicited nothing but a peevish muttering, as the lieutenant tossed his head from side to side.

“What I told you, sir.”

“Then I’ll ask Dance,” cried Mark. “He is over you men, and I cannot do this without some one to share the responsibility.”

“Try him, sir; but he’s quite off his head, and if he says do, his advice ain’t worth having, for he’ll never know he said it.”

All the same, in his terrible perplexity, Mark crawled over the thwarts and between the men to where the coxswain lay muttering incessantly right forward, with his head resting against the pole of his hitcher; but in spite of appeal after appeal the man lay with his eyes fixed, quite insensible to every word addressed to him, and the midshipman crept back to where Tom Fillot sat.

“I’m nobody, sir, only a common man afore the mast, so it’s like impidence for me to offer to share the responsibility with a young gent like you. But being half as old again, I may say I know a little of what a man ought to do in a case like this; and I say that as you’re now in command, sir, it’s your duty to us, as well as to the dead.”

“No, no,” groaned Mark. “We may be overtaken by the ship at any time.”

“Look here; it’s of no use for you to shrink from it. Recollect where we are. You must.”

But still Mark shook his head.

“It ain’t as if we could do him any good, sir.”

“But without Christian burial, Tom Fillot.”

“He warn’t a Christian, sir,” said the sailor, slowly. “I’m only an ignorant man, but I’ve heerd say that you were a parson’s son, sir, and know what’s right to do at such a time. Mr Vandean, sir, you must.”

Mark heaved a sigh, rose in the boat, and looked round him, trying to pierce the gloom in search of help out of his difficulty; but the moon was hidden by a black cloud, and look which way he would there was naught but the thick darkness hemming him in. With a piteous sigh he turned back to where the sailor sat waiting, made a sign, and then sank upon his knees in the bottom of the boat, feeling for the first few moments utterly alone.

The next minute the feeling of loneliness had passed away, and firm and strong at heart, he raised his head, and made a fresh sign to his companion, who had followed his example, and who now rose and stepped over to the very stern of the boat, to stand with his back to his young officer. Then as he bent down it seemed to Mark as if the darkness had grown more profound, till there was a faint rustling noise, and a soft plunge in the black water, followed by a faint rippling whisper against the sides. Directly after the moon appeared from behind the thick mass of clouds and shed a path of silver over the sea, till it flooded the part where the cutter lay; and as Mark Vandean knelt there, he saw Tom Fillot standing before him with the Union Jack in his hand.

Chapter Eight.“Will Morning never come?”For the full space of an hour there was utter silence in the boat, where the lieutenant and his stricken crew lay as in a stupor. The black clouds had rolled away, and the calm sea was bathed in silvery light. The air was warm, but, by comparison with the scorching day, the temperature was delicious.Tom Fillot had folded up the flag and laid it back in the locker, after which he had seated himself to wait for orders. At last, after quite an effort, Mark roused himself from his musings, and turned to his companion in distress.“Tom,” he said, “what ought I to do?”“Nothing, sir,” said the man, promptly. “There ain’t nothing you can. Someone else must do whatever is to be done for us. We’ve got to wait.”“But could we row back to the port?”“Without biscuit or water, sir, and with that sun sure to come up to-morrow ready to ’most scorch out our brains. What do you think?”“I think it’s impossible, Tom.”“Don’t say think, sir. It’s what you say without the think, and so I tell you. Impossible, and I don’t say that because I ain’t willing to work. I’ll take an oar, and row till I drop if you like, but what good will one man do, or one man and a young gentleman? You needn’t say you think it’s impossible, sir, for you know it is, and that all we can do is to sit and wait. To-morrow morning, I’ll rig up the flag over an oar, so as to keep the sun off Mr Russell, sir.”“If the ship hasn’t come and picked us up, Tom.”The sailor was silent.“Don’t say you think she will not,” cried the lad.“Very well, sir, but I’ll say this she can’t sir, till there’s some wind, and that’s why it is. The captain has either took the schooner or give it up; and then, as he was coming back to pick us up, he’s been and got becalmed. When the crew has whistled enough and the wind come, he’ll make all sail, but whether he’ll find any of us left to pick up is more’n I can say.”The man ceased speaking, and resting his chin upon his hands, sat watching the glittering water stretching right away beneath the moon, a scene of beauty so grand that for the moment it thrilled Mark, but only for that moment; the next he was in utter despair, famished, his mouth dry, and above all, suffering from a terrible feeling of horror which made him shrink within himself, as he knew that he was face to face with a fearful lingering death.“Beg pardon, sir,” said Tom Fillot, suddenly, their companionship in misfortune having in no wise interfered with the sailor’s respect for his superior, “like to try a bit o’ ’bacco, sir?”Mark shook his head.“O’ course not. You ain’t used to it and don’t want it. Try and go to sleep, sir. I’ll keep the watch.”“Sleep?” cried Mark, bitterly; “what for? to wake up and find it morning with the sun up, ready to scorch us to death?”“That’s looking at the very worst side of things, sir,” replied the sailor, cheerfully. “There’s always a best side as well as a worst, and we’re as likely to see one side as the other.”“Don’t, don’t keep on talking,” cried Mark, passionately.“All right, sir,” said Tom Fillot. “I’ll be as dumb as a ship’s lead.”“I mean—I didn’t mean to speak roughly to you, Tom Fillot,” cried Mark, eagerly. “I didn’t want to wound you, but I know you were saying all that to try and cheer me.”“Well, sir, to be downright honest, p’raps it was.”“Then don’t please. I’m sick and faint, and ready to die.”“Nay, not you, sir. Too much pluck in you.”“Pluck!” cried Mark, bitterly. “I’m in despair.”“Nay, not you, sir. You’re in command here, and as an officer you’ve got to let yourself drift off nowhere, and think about taking care of us. That’s your duty, sir, and you know it. What’s to become o’ us if you cut yourself adrift? That won’t do at all. There, sir, let’s wait for day. We may have quite a breeze come with the sun, and soon after catch sight of theNaughtylassbowling down to us. For, trust me, they’ll see us fast enough. Young Mr Bob Howlett’ll be up at the masthead spying out with his glass, see if he ain’t. Better have a sleep, sir.”“No, man, no; I’m too ill and miserable to sleep.”“Then if you won’t mind, sir, and’ll give me leave, I will have a snooze. For I can’t do you no good, and it will rest me, so as I shall be able to do something in the morning.”“Sleep if you can,” said Mark, bitterly.“Nay, sir, I can’t sleep if you take it and speak like that. Dessay I shall be just as well awake.”“No, no, lie down and rest a bit,” cried Mark.“Mean it, sir?”“Mean it, man? yes.”“Then thank ye, sir; and if you want me, just give the word, and I’ll tumble up at once.”To the lad’s wonder, Tom Fillot lay down in the bottom of the boat, and five minutes after he was breathing deeply and as regularly as if nothing whatever were wrong.How that night passed Mark Vandean could hardly tell. He crept from place to place in the boat to see how the men were, and then crept back to his old seat close by Mr Russell. Then, with the boat gently rising and falling, he waited for the day, thinking of home, of the possibilities of escape, and above all, of the terrible hunger and fearful thirst which dried him up.“Will morning never come?” he cried, bitterly, and then prayed that it might not, as he recalled the sufferings of the past day; and now he was content to sit, thankful that the day did not break, for there was rest and less pain in the moonlight.It was like the delirium of a fever, in which one moment it was all calm, soft light in darkness, the next the sun had rolled above the horizon, and the boy strained his eyes in all directions for the coming ship, but looked in vain. Sea—smooth, slowly-heaving sea—everywhere, all ruddy gold and amber now, and heat once more burning into his brain, till a strange sense of weariness came over him, a feeling as of the beginning of sleep.He fought against this time after time, and strove to keep to his duty, but it was all-powerful, and at last, feeling that he was sinking into delirium or a deadly sleep, he stretched out his hand to awaken Tom Fillot, but paused so as to give one despairing glance round.The next instant he had glided down into the bottom of the boat, insensible to everything save his fevered dream, which was of green fields, sparkling waters, and home.For the cutter was alone on the sun-bright water; and as a great bird slowly floated over them, it looked down with cruel gaze, as if waiting and watching and wondering which would be the first of the insensible men on board to sink into a deeper sleep—one from which there would be no return.That was just as Mark was dreaming the brightest of his old Devon home, and the sun was turning the sea into paler gold, and then into silvery dazzling white.

For the full space of an hour there was utter silence in the boat, where the lieutenant and his stricken crew lay as in a stupor. The black clouds had rolled away, and the calm sea was bathed in silvery light. The air was warm, but, by comparison with the scorching day, the temperature was delicious.

Tom Fillot had folded up the flag and laid it back in the locker, after which he had seated himself to wait for orders. At last, after quite an effort, Mark roused himself from his musings, and turned to his companion in distress.

“Tom,” he said, “what ought I to do?”

“Nothing, sir,” said the man, promptly. “There ain’t nothing you can. Someone else must do whatever is to be done for us. We’ve got to wait.”

“But could we row back to the port?”

“Without biscuit or water, sir, and with that sun sure to come up to-morrow ready to ’most scorch out our brains. What do you think?”

“I think it’s impossible, Tom.”

“Don’t say think, sir. It’s what you say without the think, and so I tell you. Impossible, and I don’t say that because I ain’t willing to work. I’ll take an oar, and row till I drop if you like, but what good will one man do, or one man and a young gentleman? You needn’t say you think it’s impossible, sir, for you know it is, and that all we can do is to sit and wait. To-morrow morning, I’ll rig up the flag over an oar, so as to keep the sun off Mr Russell, sir.”

“If the ship hasn’t come and picked us up, Tom.”

The sailor was silent.

“Don’t say you think she will not,” cried the lad.

“Very well, sir, but I’ll say this she can’t sir, till there’s some wind, and that’s why it is. The captain has either took the schooner or give it up; and then, as he was coming back to pick us up, he’s been and got becalmed. When the crew has whistled enough and the wind come, he’ll make all sail, but whether he’ll find any of us left to pick up is more’n I can say.”

The man ceased speaking, and resting his chin upon his hands, sat watching the glittering water stretching right away beneath the moon, a scene of beauty so grand that for the moment it thrilled Mark, but only for that moment; the next he was in utter despair, famished, his mouth dry, and above all, suffering from a terrible feeling of horror which made him shrink within himself, as he knew that he was face to face with a fearful lingering death.

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Tom Fillot, suddenly, their companionship in misfortune having in no wise interfered with the sailor’s respect for his superior, “like to try a bit o’ ’bacco, sir?”

Mark shook his head.

“O’ course not. You ain’t used to it and don’t want it. Try and go to sleep, sir. I’ll keep the watch.”

“Sleep?” cried Mark, bitterly; “what for? to wake up and find it morning with the sun up, ready to scorch us to death?”

“That’s looking at the very worst side of things, sir,” replied the sailor, cheerfully. “There’s always a best side as well as a worst, and we’re as likely to see one side as the other.”

“Don’t, don’t keep on talking,” cried Mark, passionately.

“All right, sir,” said Tom Fillot. “I’ll be as dumb as a ship’s lead.”

“I mean—I didn’t mean to speak roughly to you, Tom Fillot,” cried Mark, eagerly. “I didn’t want to wound you, but I know you were saying all that to try and cheer me.”

“Well, sir, to be downright honest, p’raps it was.”

“Then don’t please. I’m sick and faint, and ready to die.”

“Nay, not you, sir. Too much pluck in you.”

“Pluck!” cried Mark, bitterly. “I’m in despair.”

“Nay, not you, sir. You’re in command here, and as an officer you’ve got to let yourself drift off nowhere, and think about taking care of us. That’s your duty, sir, and you know it. What’s to become o’ us if you cut yourself adrift? That won’t do at all. There, sir, let’s wait for day. We may have quite a breeze come with the sun, and soon after catch sight of theNaughtylassbowling down to us. For, trust me, they’ll see us fast enough. Young Mr Bob Howlett’ll be up at the masthead spying out with his glass, see if he ain’t. Better have a sleep, sir.”

“No, man, no; I’m too ill and miserable to sleep.”

“Then if you won’t mind, sir, and’ll give me leave, I will have a snooze. For I can’t do you no good, and it will rest me, so as I shall be able to do something in the morning.”

“Sleep if you can,” said Mark, bitterly.

“Nay, sir, I can’t sleep if you take it and speak like that. Dessay I shall be just as well awake.”

“No, no, lie down and rest a bit,” cried Mark.

“Mean it, sir?”

“Mean it, man? yes.”

“Then thank ye, sir; and if you want me, just give the word, and I’ll tumble up at once.”

To the lad’s wonder, Tom Fillot lay down in the bottom of the boat, and five minutes after he was breathing deeply and as regularly as if nothing whatever were wrong.

How that night passed Mark Vandean could hardly tell. He crept from place to place in the boat to see how the men were, and then crept back to his old seat close by Mr Russell. Then, with the boat gently rising and falling, he waited for the day, thinking of home, of the possibilities of escape, and above all, of the terrible hunger and fearful thirst which dried him up.

“Will morning never come?” he cried, bitterly, and then prayed that it might not, as he recalled the sufferings of the past day; and now he was content to sit, thankful that the day did not break, for there was rest and less pain in the moonlight.

It was like the delirium of a fever, in which one moment it was all calm, soft light in darkness, the next the sun had rolled above the horizon, and the boy strained his eyes in all directions for the coming ship, but looked in vain. Sea—smooth, slowly-heaving sea—everywhere, all ruddy gold and amber now, and heat once more burning into his brain, till a strange sense of weariness came over him, a feeling as of the beginning of sleep.

He fought against this time after time, and strove to keep to his duty, but it was all-powerful, and at last, feeling that he was sinking into delirium or a deadly sleep, he stretched out his hand to awaken Tom Fillot, but paused so as to give one despairing glance round.

The next instant he had glided down into the bottom of the boat, insensible to everything save his fevered dream, which was of green fields, sparkling waters, and home.

For the cutter was alone on the sun-bright water; and as a great bird slowly floated over them, it looked down with cruel gaze, as if waiting and watching and wondering which would be the first of the insensible men on board to sink into a deeper sleep—one from which there would be no return.

That was just as Mark was dreaming the brightest of his old Devon home, and the sun was turning the sea into paler gold, and then into silvery dazzling white.

Chapter Nine.Bob Howlett as Nurse.“Oh, Mr Whitney, sir, don’t say he’s dead.”“Wasn’t going to, my lad.”Mark heard those words spoken by familiar voices, but why or about whom he could not tell. All he knew was that he was aboard ship, with the warm air coming in through the port, and the water was splashing and slapping against the side.Then there was a good deal of buzzing conversation carried on, and the voices all sounded familiar still, but they grew more distant, and next all was dark and comfortable, and Mark felt as if he were very tired and thoroughly enjoying a good sleep.Then, unknown to him, time went on, and he opened his eyes again, and lay and listened to some one making a noise—that is to say, the person who made it believed that he was singing, but Mark Vandean did not believe anything of the kind, and lay quite still, and laughed gently as from close to his head there came in a low, harsh, croaking buzz, with the faintest suggestion of a tune—“And we jolly sailor boys were up, up aloft,And the landlubbers lying down below, below, below,And the landlubbers lying down below.”Then there was a pause, and the scratching of a pen as if some one were writing. The noise began again, and Mark, as he lay in his cot, chuckled; but though he did not know it, his silent laugh was in a feeble way.At last he spoke. “What’s the matter, young ’un?”There was a quick movement, and the light was shut out by Bob Howlett, who rushed to his side and caught him by the shoulders.“Matter? There’s nothing the matter now, old chap. Hip—hip—hip—hurray! You are getting better, then?”“Better? Have I been ill?”“Ill? Oh, I suppose you can’t call it being ill, because it wasn’t Humpty Dums, or Winkey Wanks, or Grim Fever; but I thought you were going to die, old chap, or do some other mean and shabby thing. I say, how do you feel?”“All right, only I thought you had something the matter with you.”“Me? Why?”“You were groaning so when I woke up.”“Groaning? Why, I was singing,” cried Bob, indignantly.“Oh, were you? I shouldn’t have known if you hadn’t told me. But, I say, I wouldn’t sing any more if I were you, Bob. It isn’t in your way.”“Get out! Sing as well as you can. There, don’t lie shamming being sick any more, because you are quite well thankye, or you wouldn’t begin chaffing.”“But have I been ill? Why, my voice sounds queer, doesn’t it?”“Queer? It sounds just like a penny whistle, while mine’s as solid as a big trombone.”“What?”“Oh, never mind about that, old chap. We’ll soon feed you up, old Whitney and I. Make you strong as a horse again. Van, old cockalorum, I am glad.”And to show his delight, Bob Howlett executed a kind of triumphal dance, ending with a stamp.“Don’t be an idiot, Bob,” said Mark, feebly. “Come close here. I want to know what’s been the matter. Has there been a fight, and was I wounded?”“No!” cried Bob. “Why, what an old stuffy head you are. Don’t you understand? Can’t you recollect?”“Recollect what?”“The going off in the first cutter with poor old Russell to pick up that nigger?”“No,” said Mark, dreamily. “I don’t recollect any—Yes I do, and we found him, and—I say, Bob, what’s wrong with my head? I can’t think properly.”“Won’t draw. Chimney wants sweeping, old chap. But don’t you fidget about that,” cried Bob, laying a hand upon his companion’s forehead, and then feeling his pulse with much professional correctness. “Temperature normal, sir; pulse down to one. We must exhibit tonics, sir; sulph quin pulv rhei; liquor diachylon. Great improvement, my dear sir. Allow me your tongue.”“Don’t be a fool, Bob. Tell me, there’s a good chap.”“Ah! I remember now,” cried Mark, excitedly. “Tom Fillot let the poor fellow slide overboard, and Mr Russell and the men were all down with the heat, and then—Yes, I recollect now; I went to sleep.”“Yes, you did, old chap,” said Bob Howlett, holding his messmate’s thin hand in his; “and it seemed such a sound sleep when we picked you up that I began to think you wouldn’t wake again.”“But do pray tell me,” cried Mark, excitedly. “How was it? We were all dying of hunger and thirst in the boat. Stop, how is Mr Russell?”“Bad. Can’t rustle a bit; but he’s coming round.”“And Dance, and Tom Fillot, and the others?”“Tom Fillot looks cranky, but there isn’t much the matter with him. Coxswain Dance couldn’t jig to save his life. T’others are blue mouldy, and old Whitney talks about ’em as if he was using bricks and mortar. He says he shall build ’em up.”“But do pray tell me all about it, Bob,” said Mark, querulously.“I say, don’t cry about it, or I won’t tell you anything.”“I won’t say a word, only I am so impatient to know.”“Want to know it all—from the very beginning?”“Of course. Don’t tease me, Bob, now I’m soweak.”“Oh, won’t I. Got you down flat, old chap. Can’t bounce and bully me now. Give me much of your nonsense, I’ll punch your old head. Now, then, where’ll you have it?”Bob struck an attitude, and began to square at his messmate playfully; but he sat down again directly.“Well, I’ll let you off this time, and take pity on you as you’re such a cripple. Ahem! All in to begin?”Mark looked at him piteously, and Bob laid his hand upon his arm.“All right, old chap,” he said, huskily; “I won’t tease you. I feel so jolly to see you open your eyes again, that it made me play the fool.”Bob choked a little, and said it was because he felt dry. A possible thing, but his eyes looked wet. Then he went on hastily—“Well, it was like this, old chap; as soon as we’d dropped you first cutters, we cracked on after the schooner again as hard as we could go, with Maitland and old Staples, one on each side of the deck, barking and snapping at the lads because we couldn’t get more out of the old girl. We went pretty fast, though; and knowing that the Yank would try it on again, old Ramsey had to pipe himself and the crew ready for the second cutter. Sure enough, there was the same game tried again, and the second cutter was dropped, with old Ram in command, and we left him, too, to pick up the black thrown overboard, while we raced on again, getting close enough to send shot after shot through the schooner’s rigging; but she seemed to be a Flying Dutchman sort of a craft, for we never once hit a spar.”“But you’ve taken her, Bob?”“You just lie still and hold your tongue, will you? If you can tell the story better than I can, you don’t want me to speak.”“I’ll be patient and not say a word,” said Mark, humbly.“Hit a spar,” continued Bob; “and there is no mistake about the way that Yankee skipper can sail his craft, for he dodged and turned, and kept throwing us off in the most cunning way, trying to show us a clean pair of heels, and over and over again he distanced us. But Maitland and old Staples grew madder and madder, trying all they knew to crowd on sail till once more we got near, and then down went another of the poor blacks. Old Staples regularly jumped off the deck in his rage, for we were obliged to drop the captain’s gig this time to pick up the poor wretch—leastwise, try to, for they didn’t get him, and as we couldn’t spare any more hands we had to wait for the gig to come aboard again.“That gave old Stars and Stripes a chance to get ever so far-away, and I tell you it wasn’t safe to go near the skipper. Ah! we may well call him that. He made some of ’em skip, I can tell you, that day.“‘I’ll sink her,’ I heard him say, ‘I’ll sink her,’ and I expected to hear him order the guns to be depressed next time we got near enough for a shot.”“But he didn’t do that,” said Mark excitedly.“Lie down, sir! Quiet, will you?” cried Bob fiercely. “How am I to flow on if you keep stopping me?”“Go on, please,” said Mark.“Of course I didn’t let him fire,” continued Bob, importantly. “How could I go plunging round-shot into the miserable schooner and kill no end of niggers? Wasn’t to be thought about. So we crowded on again till they dropped another black overboard, and we had to heave to and pick him up, and then another and another till we had got four. The other two were either hurt, I think, or so weak that they couldn’t swim, and the poor fellows went down before our lads could get to them.”“How horrible!”“Yes; it’ll be pretty horrible for Yankee Doodle if old Maitland ever gets his paw on him.”“If ever—” began Mark.“Will you lie down?” cried Bob.“Well, I am lying down,” replied Mark. “I don’t feel as if I could sit up.”“No, nor you won’t till Whitney and I have bricked and mortared you well.”“Pray, pray go on, and tell me about capturing the schooner.”“You won’t let me with your interruptions,” cried Bob. “It’s always the way with you fellows when you’re getting better. You are right down nasty.”“Go on, Bob.”“Well, on we went after my gentleman, getting close enough to make his sails ragged, and then being dodged about in every direction as he went through all sorts of manoeuvres to escape. Now we were hove to, to pick up some of his cargo, now in full chase again, till I got sick of it by daylight, and every one else too, and the men so savage that they would have liked to pour in a broadside if it hadn’t been for the poor fellows under hatches. At last it was morning, and the sun up, with the schooner a good mile away, and then came the worst of it.”“The worst of it?”“Ay, ay, sir! as we say at sea. No sooner was the sun well up than the sails began to shiver.“‘Wind’s failing, sir,’ says old Staples.“‘Bah! nonsense!’ says the skipper, and there came a hot puff and filled the sails again, making us careen over. ‘There, Mr Staples,’ says the skipper, ‘what do you think of that?’“‘Last puff, sir, for the day,’ says Staples.“‘Nonsense we shall have her now,’ says the skipper; and then he crossed just in front of me and gave a big stamp, for the sails flopped down all at once, and there we were gliding slowly on for a bit, and then settling on an even keel, while a mile away there was the schooner with a light breeze, going along as easily as could be, and if the Yankee captain didn’t have the cheek directly after to load a little swivel gun he had on board, and fire at us over the stern, as if he were laughing at us.“Then I saw Maitland give old Staples such a savage look, and go down into his cabin.”“Well?” said Mark.“Oh no, it wasn’t, old chap; it was ill. There we were regularly becalmed, and if the wind didn’t keep along astern of the schooner and carry her right away, till she was hull down, and then by degrees we lost sight of her sails, and the game was up.”“Then you didn’t take her?” cried Mark.“Take her? How could we take her when we were becalmed?”“And the Yankee skipper got right away?”“Right away, a robber; and took the prize-money we had so honestly earned along with him. All that trouble for nothing; and what was worse, we couldn’t come in search of you, for it fell about the deadest calm I ever saw in all my experience at sea, and that isn’t saying much, is it, Van?”“Oh!” ejaculated Mark, “how horrible! You ought to have caught her, Bob.”“That’s right jump on me just as if I didn’t do my best.”“Go on now, and tell me the rest,” said Mark sadly. “Not that it is of much consequence. I know you picked us up.”“Oh, well, I may as well tell you, though, as you say, it was of no consequence whatever. Government could have afforded a new first and second cutter and tackle; men are plentiful; and as to officers, there’s any number in stock.”“Don’t chaff, Bob. Tell me, there’s a good chap. You came on then in search of us as soon as you knew that you couldn’t catch the schooner.”“No, we didn’t. How could we without a breath of wind? All we did was to lie there and roast and roll on the big swell, with Maitland savage at losing the schooner, and fidgeting to death about the two absent boats. I heard him talking to Staples.“‘A great error, Staples,’ he said. ‘I had no business to leave the poor fellows behind without any provisions in case of accident, and I ought to have known better.’“All that day we had the horizon swept with glasses in the hope of seeing you fellows come rowing after us, but it was getting close to night before the man at the masthead shouted that a boat was in sight, and I went up aloft to make out if it was you. But it wasn’t, old chap. It was Ramsey with the second cutter, and the poor chaps’ faces were awful as they were hauled up to the davits. They were so hoarse that they couldn’t speak, and I felt queer to see their wild-eyed look and the rush they made for the water that was put ready for them.“Of course they had seen nothing of you, and that night everybody began to look blank and talk in whispers, while I had something for supper, Van, which didn’t agree with me, and I never got a wink of sleep all night.“Next day was calm as ever, and we were slowly rolling on the swell; the hammock rails were as hot as the bell, and the pitch was oozing out everywhere. I quite spoilt a pair of hind leg sleeves with the tar, going up to the masthead. My word, they were gummy.”“What had you been doing? Who mast-headed you?” asked Mark.“Doing? Nothing. Nobody mast-headed me, only myself.”“What for?”“Well, you are a lively sort of a chap to have for a messmate, Van. That’s gratitude, that is, for going up to look after you with the glass. Now if it had been my case I should have said:— ‘Mark Vandean, my most attached friend, I regret extremely that in your anxiety to gain tidings of me and my boat, you should have brought the cloth of your sit-downs into contact with the inspissated juice of the Norwegian fir, to their destruction and conversion into sticking-plaister. My tailors are Burns and Screw, Cork Street, Bond Street, London. Pray allow me to present you with a new pair.’”“Oh, Bob, what a tongue you have!”“Lovely. But I say—inspissated juice is good, isn’t it?”“Do go on telling me, Bob. I’m too weak to stand banter. So you went up to the masthead to look for me, old chap?”“I did, my son, and pretty well lived up there—I mean died—it was so hot. But there was nothing to see eastward but the dim hazy sea and sky, though I watched for days and days.”“Days and days?” said Mark, wonderingly.“Well, I’m not quite sure about how long it was, for the sun made me so giddy. I had to lash myself to the mast, or I should have taken a dive overboard; and my head grew muddly. But it was an awful long time. My eye! how the men whistled!”“For wind?”“Yes; and the more they whistled the more it didn’t come. Old Maitland was in a taking, and it wasn’t safe to speak to Staples. I say, Van, old chap, he came right up to the cross-trees himself and told me I didn’t know how to use a spy-glass. He said the boat with you fellows in lay just due east, and that he could make it out directly.”“And did he?”“No; he just didn’t; and then, after trying for half an hour, he said mine was a wretchedly poor weak glass, and came down again. You see, the skipper and old Staples were mad about losing the schooner, and just wild about leaving the boat behind and going on so far before coming back to pick you up.“Of course, they couldn’t tell that the wind would drop so suddenly,” said Mark. “Well, you caught sight of us at last?”“Look here, friend of my boyhood, do you want to finish this authentic narrative?”“No, I don’t. Go on.”“Then hold your tongue. I do like that, you saying what a tongue I’ve got. Spikes and spun yarn! It’s about nothing to yours. There, I won’t keep you longer in suspense, as my old aunt used to say. After the crew had whistled the air quite full, it all condensed and turned into a breeze—on the third evening, I think it was, and I mast-headed myself again, and there was another man sent up to the fore-masthead.”“I beg your pardon,” said Mark, with a feeble smile upon his thin face.“I said another man was sent up to look-out. I’m afraid that the exposure and fasting have affected your hearing a little, my son. But to go back to our muttons, as the French say. The breeze came on just right from the south-east, and we soon had plenty of sail on, and made some good big tacks; but it came on dark without our having got a squint of you; and that night once more my supper spoilt my rest, and every one else’s disagreed with him. For the crew were on deck all night, walking about uncomfortable, and the worst of it was old Whitney’s prescriptions didn’t do any one a bit of good.”“Of course,” said Mark, thoughtfully. “It must have been a terrible time of anxiety for the officers.”“Oh, I don’t know,” said Bob, coolly. “It was a nuisance, for that first cutter was always considered our fastest boat. Well, to proceed. Next day, when the sun was hot enough to fry salt junk, someone caught sight of the boat lying like a speck on the glittering water.”“Who did?” cried Mark, eagerly.“Who did?” replied Bob, thoughtfully. “Let me see. I half— Dear me now, who— How strange! It must have been somebody, because the ship’s head was altered, and— Now how curious it is that I can’t think who it was sighted the boat!”“I know,” said Mark. “You did, Bob.”“Oh, I say, doctor!”“Did I?” said that young gentleman, scratching his head. “Well, now you say so, I think it was Robert Howlett, Esquire, with the spy-glass old Staples abused so, and a pretty row there was went on below on deck. The chaps were half mad, and were dancing about the planks, and all bubbling over with excitement, as they tried to get a peep at you. And when—oh, my!—we did at last come up to you, a nice pretty respectable lot you looked, lying about in the boat, with no more discipline than you’d see in a shoal of seals on a rock. You looked as if you had all been pitched in anyhow, and—gug!”“Why, Bob! what’s the matter, old chap?”Mark turned to gaze on the convulsed face, and just obtained one glance before it was turned away. For Bob’s voice had suddenly changed from its light, half-cynical, playful tone. There was a sudden choking as if something had come in his throat; and as Mark read his feelings thoroughly stole a thin, feeble hand into his, and whispered softly, “Oh, Bob, old chap!” the face was turned sharply back at him, and its owner burst out in a half-whimpering, half-angry way:“Well, so would you if you’d seen it. Even iron Staples pretty nearly broke down. It was just horrid. Didn’t seem to be a bit of life in any one of you but Tom Fillot, and he couldn’t have cut a joke to save his life. As for you, I wouldn’t have given a penny more for you than the worth of your uniform, and that was all shrunk. You looked—”“How will he look to-morrow, Mr Howlett?” cried a sharp voice, that of the doctor. “So this is the way you keep watch over a patient, is it, sir? He was getting better, and now my work’s all undone again. I expect you’ve killed him.”“Silence!” cried that gentleman, feeling Mark’s pulse. “Yes, of course. Fever greatly increased. Hush, not a word, Vandean. Lie perfectly still. I ought to have been told that you had fully recovered your consciousness. Now, Mr Howlett, you had better be off.”“No, sir; don’t send me away. I’ll be so careful in future.”“I can’t trust you, my lad.”“You may indeed now, sir. It was all with being so glad that poor Vandean’s better.”“Glad! Why, you looked sorry. There, then, if you promise to be very quiet, you may stay. Vandean, he must not talk to you, and you must hardly say a word. I’ll go and get you a little draught.”The doctor left the midshipman’s quarters, and as he departed Bob made a gesture suggestive of kicking him before returning to his seat beside his messmate.“Tell me, Bob,” whispered Mark.“No; mustn’t speak.”“Only this. Did everyone—was everyone—”Mark stopped short.“You’re not to talk while you’re so weak. Now then, what do you want to know? Did any one die?”“Yes.”Bob nodded his head, and a pang shot through Mark as he thought of the handsome young lieutenant, and the frank, manly fellows who had formed their crew.He closed his eyes, and a feeling of weak misery choked his utterance. He would have given anything for the power to question his companion, and learn for certain who were living of the party; for the idea had in his weakness become now a certainty, that though he had seemed to hear that Mr Russell was recovering, he it was who had died.At last the power to think returned, and he turned his wan, pain-drawn face to Bob.“Tell me,” he whispered.“No, sir, nothing,” cried the doctor. “Here, I have brought you the little draught myself, so as to see that it is taken properly. I don’t know why I should have so much trouble over a pack of lads who are more worry than they are worth. Why, bless my heart, Mr Vandean, you are going backward. Here, Mr Howlett, go to my quarters and send my fellow here.”

“Oh, Mr Whitney, sir, don’t say he’s dead.”

“Wasn’t going to, my lad.”

Mark heard those words spoken by familiar voices, but why or about whom he could not tell. All he knew was that he was aboard ship, with the warm air coming in through the port, and the water was splashing and slapping against the side.

Then there was a good deal of buzzing conversation carried on, and the voices all sounded familiar still, but they grew more distant, and next all was dark and comfortable, and Mark felt as if he were very tired and thoroughly enjoying a good sleep.

Then, unknown to him, time went on, and he opened his eyes again, and lay and listened to some one making a noise—that is to say, the person who made it believed that he was singing, but Mark Vandean did not believe anything of the kind, and lay quite still, and laughed gently as from close to his head there came in a low, harsh, croaking buzz, with the faintest suggestion of a tune—

“And we jolly sailor boys were up, up aloft,And the landlubbers lying down below, below, below,And the landlubbers lying down below.”

“And we jolly sailor boys were up, up aloft,And the landlubbers lying down below, below, below,And the landlubbers lying down below.”

Then there was a pause, and the scratching of a pen as if some one were writing. The noise began again, and Mark, as he lay in his cot, chuckled; but though he did not know it, his silent laugh was in a feeble way.

At last he spoke. “What’s the matter, young ’un?”

There was a quick movement, and the light was shut out by Bob Howlett, who rushed to his side and caught him by the shoulders.

“Matter? There’s nothing the matter now, old chap. Hip—hip—hip—hurray! You are getting better, then?”

“Better? Have I been ill?”

“Ill? Oh, I suppose you can’t call it being ill, because it wasn’t Humpty Dums, or Winkey Wanks, or Grim Fever; but I thought you were going to die, old chap, or do some other mean and shabby thing. I say, how do you feel?”

“All right, only I thought you had something the matter with you.”

“Me? Why?”

“You were groaning so when I woke up.”

“Groaning? Why, I was singing,” cried Bob, indignantly.

“Oh, were you? I shouldn’t have known if you hadn’t told me. But, I say, I wouldn’t sing any more if I were you, Bob. It isn’t in your way.”

“Get out! Sing as well as you can. There, don’t lie shamming being sick any more, because you are quite well thankye, or you wouldn’t begin chaffing.”

“But have I been ill? Why, my voice sounds queer, doesn’t it?”

“Queer? It sounds just like a penny whistle, while mine’s as solid as a big trombone.”

“What?”

“Oh, never mind about that, old chap. We’ll soon feed you up, old Whitney and I. Make you strong as a horse again. Van, old cockalorum, I am glad.”

And to show his delight, Bob Howlett executed a kind of triumphal dance, ending with a stamp.

“Don’t be an idiot, Bob,” said Mark, feebly. “Come close here. I want to know what’s been the matter. Has there been a fight, and was I wounded?”

“No!” cried Bob. “Why, what an old stuffy head you are. Don’t you understand? Can’t you recollect?”

“Recollect what?”

“The going off in the first cutter with poor old Russell to pick up that nigger?”

“No,” said Mark, dreamily. “I don’t recollect any—Yes I do, and we found him, and—I say, Bob, what’s wrong with my head? I can’t think properly.”

“Won’t draw. Chimney wants sweeping, old chap. But don’t you fidget about that,” cried Bob, laying a hand upon his companion’s forehead, and then feeling his pulse with much professional correctness. “Temperature normal, sir; pulse down to one. We must exhibit tonics, sir; sulph quin pulv rhei; liquor diachylon. Great improvement, my dear sir. Allow me your tongue.”

“Don’t be a fool, Bob. Tell me, there’s a good chap.”

“Ah! I remember now,” cried Mark, excitedly. “Tom Fillot let the poor fellow slide overboard, and Mr Russell and the men were all down with the heat, and then—Yes, I recollect now; I went to sleep.”

“Yes, you did, old chap,” said Bob Howlett, holding his messmate’s thin hand in his; “and it seemed such a sound sleep when we picked you up that I began to think you wouldn’t wake again.”

“But do pray tell me,” cried Mark, excitedly. “How was it? We were all dying of hunger and thirst in the boat. Stop, how is Mr Russell?”

“Bad. Can’t rustle a bit; but he’s coming round.”

“And Dance, and Tom Fillot, and the others?”

“Tom Fillot looks cranky, but there isn’t much the matter with him. Coxswain Dance couldn’t jig to save his life. T’others are blue mouldy, and old Whitney talks about ’em as if he was using bricks and mortar. He says he shall build ’em up.”

“But do pray tell me all about it, Bob,” said Mark, querulously.

“I say, don’t cry about it, or I won’t tell you anything.”

“I won’t say a word, only I am so impatient to know.”

“Want to know it all—from the very beginning?”

“Of course. Don’t tease me, Bob, now I’m soweak.”

“Oh, won’t I. Got you down flat, old chap. Can’t bounce and bully me now. Give me much of your nonsense, I’ll punch your old head. Now, then, where’ll you have it?”

Bob struck an attitude, and began to square at his messmate playfully; but he sat down again directly.

“Well, I’ll let you off this time, and take pity on you as you’re such a cripple. Ahem! All in to begin?”

Mark looked at him piteously, and Bob laid his hand upon his arm.

“All right, old chap,” he said, huskily; “I won’t tease you. I feel so jolly to see you open your eyes again, that it made me play the fool.”

Bob choked a little, and said it was because he felt dry. A possible thing, but his eyes looked wet. Then he went on hastily—“Well, it was like this, old chap; as soon as we’d dropped you first cutters, we cracked on after the schooner again as hard as we could go, with Maitland and old Staples, one on each side of the deck, barking and snapping at the lads because we couldn’t get more out of the old girl. We went pretty fast, though; and knowing that the Yank would try it on again, old Ramsey had to pipe himself and the crew ready for the second cutter. Sure enough, there was the same game tried again, and the second cutter was dropped, with old Ram in command, and we left him, too, to pick up the black thrown overboard, while we raced on again, getting close enough to send shot after shot through the schooner’s rigging; but she seemed to be a Flying Dutchman sort of a craft, for we never once hit a spar.”

“But you’ve taken her, Bob?”

“You just lie still and hold your tongue, will you? If you can tell the story better than I can, you don’t want me to speak.”

“I’ll be patient and not say a word,” said Mark, humbly.

“Hit a spar,” continued Bob; “and there is no mistake about the way that Yankee skipper can sail his craft, for he dodged and turned, and kept throwing us off in the most cunning way, trying to show us a clean pair of heels, and over and over again he distanced us. But Maitland and old Staples grew madder and madder, trying all they knew to crowd on sail till once more we got near, and then down went another of the poor blacks. Old Staples regularly jumped off the deck in his rage, for we were obliged to drop the captain’s gig this time to pick up the poor wretch—leastwise, try to, for they didn’t get him, and as we couldn’t spare any more hands we had to wait for the gig to come aboard again.

“That gave old Stars and Stripes a chance to get ever so far-away, and I tell you it wasn’t safe to go near the skipper. Ah! we may well call him that. He made some of ’em skip, I can tell you, that day.

“‘I’ll sink her,’ I heard him say, ‘I’ll sink her,’ and I expected to hear him order the guns to be depressed next time we got near enough for a shot.”

“But he didn’t do that,” said Mark excitedly.

“Lie down, sir! Quiet, will you?” cried Bob fiercely. “How am I to flow on if you keep stopping me?”

“Go on, please,” said Mark.

“Of course I didn’t let him fire,” continued Bob, importantly. “How could I go plunging round-shot into the miserable schooner and kill no end of niggers? Wasn’t to be thought about. So we crowded on again till they dropped another black overboard, and we had to heave to and pick him up, and then another and another till we had got four. The other two were either hurt, I think, or so weak that they couldn’t swim, and the poor fellows went down before our lads could get to them.”

“How horrible!”

“Yes; it’ll be pretty horrible for Yankee Doodle if old Maitland ever gets his paw on him.”

“If ever—” began Mark.

“Will you lie down?” cried Bob.

“Well, I am lying down,” replied Mark. “I don’t feel as if I could sit up.”

“No, nor you won’t till Whitney and I have bricked and mortared you well.”

“Pray, pray go on, and tell me about capturing the schooner.”

“You won’t let me with your interruptions,” cried Bob. “It’s always the way with you fellows when you’re getting better. You are right down nasty.”

“Go on, Bob.”

“Well, on we went after my gentleman, getting close enough to make his sails ragged, and then being dodged about in every direction as he went through all sorts of manoeuvres to escape. Now we were hove to, to pick up some of his cargo, now in full chase again, till I got sick of it by daylight, and every one else too, and the men so savage that they would have liked to pour in a broadside if it hadn’t been for the poor fellows under hatches. At last it was morning, and the sun up, with the schooner a good mile away, and then came the worst of it.”

“The worst of it?”

“Ay, ay, sir! as we say at sea. No sooner was the sun well up than the sails began to shiver.

“‘Wind’s failing, sir,’ says old Staples.

“‘Bah! nonsense!’ says the skipper, and there came a hot puff and filled the sails again, making us careen over. ‘There, Mr Staples,’ says the skipper, ‘what do you think of that?’

“‘Last puff, sir, for the day,’ says Staples.

“‘Nonsense we shall have her now,’ says the skipper; and then he crossed just in front of me and gave a big stamp, for the sails flopped down all at once, and there we were gliding slowly on for a bit, and then settling on an even keel, while a mile away there was the schooner with a light breeze, going along as easily as could be, and if the Yankee captain didn’t have the cheek directly after to load a little swivel gun he had on board, and fire at us over the stern, as if he were laughing at us.

“Then I saw Maitland give old Staples such a savage look, and go down into his cabin.”

“Well?” said Mark.

“Oh no, it wasn’t, old chap; it was ill. There we were regularly becalmed, and if the wind didn’t keep along astern of the schooner and carry her right away, till she was hull down, and then by degrees we lost sight of her sails, and the game was up.”

“Then you didn’t take her?” cried Mark.

“Take her? How could we take her when we were becalmed?”

“And the Yankee skipper got right away?”

“Right away, a robber; and took the prize-money we had so honestly earned along with him. All that trouble for nothing; and what was worse, we couldn’t come in search of you, for it fell about the deadest calm I ever saw in all my experience at sea, and that isn’t saying much, is it, Van?”

“Oh!” ejaculated Mark, “how horrible! You ought to have caught her, Bob.”

“That’s right jump on me just as if I didn’t do my best.”

“Go on now, and tell me the rest,” said Mark sadly. “Not that it is of much consequence. I know you picked us up.”

“Oh, well, I may as well tell you, though, as you say, it was of no consequence whatever. Government could have afforded a new first and second cutter and tackle; men are plentiful; and as to officers, there’s any number in stock.”

“Don’t chaff, Bob. Tell me, there’s a good chap. You came on then in search of us as soon as you knew that you couldn’t catch the schooner.”

“No, we didn’t. How could we without a breath of wind? All we did was to lie there and roast and roll on the big swell, with Maitland savage at losing the schooner, and fidgeting to death about the two absent boats. I heard him talking to Staples.

“‘A great error, Staples,’ he said. ‘I had no business to leave the poor fellows behind without any provisions in case of accident, and I ought to have known better.’

“All that day we had the horizon swept with glasses in the hope of seeing you fellows come rowing after us, but it was getting close to night before the man at the masthead shouted that a boat was in sight, and I went up aloft to make out if it was you. But it wasn’t, old chap. It was Ramsey with the second cutter, and the poor chaps’ faces were awful as they were hauled up to the davits. They were so hoarse that they couldn’t speak, and I felt queer to see their wild-eyed look and the rush they made for the water that was put ready for them.

“Of course they had seen nothing of you, and that night everybody began to look blank and talk in whispers, while I had something for supper, Van, which didn’t agree with me, and I never got a wink of sleep all night.

“Next day was calm as ever, and we were slowly rolling on the swell; the hammock rails were as hot as the bell, and the pitch was oozing out everywhere. I quite spoilt a pair of hind leg sleeves with the tar, going up to the masthead. My word, they were gummy.”

“What had you been doing? Who mast-headed you?” asked Mark.

“Doing? Nothing. Nobody mast-headed me, only myself.”

“What for?”

“Well, you are a lively sort of a chap to have for a messmate, Van. That’s gratitude, that is, for going up to look after you with the glass. Now if it had been my case I should have said:— ‘Mark Vandean, my most attached friend, I regret extremely that in your anxiety to gain tidings of me and my boat, you should have brought the cloth of your sit-downs into contact with the inspissated juice of the Norwegian fir, to their destruction and conversion into sticking-plaister. My tailors are Burns and Screw, Cork Street, Bond Street, London. Pray allow me to present you with a new pair.’”

“Oh, Bob, what a tongue you have!”

“Lovely. But I say—inspissated juice is good, isn’t it?”

“Do go on telling me, Bob. I’m too weak to stand banter. So you went up to the masthead to look for me, old chap?”

“I did, my son, and pretty well lived up there—I mean died—it was so hot. But there was nothing to see eastward but the dim hazy sea and sky, though I watched for days and days.”

“Days and days?” said Mark, wonderingly.

“Well, I’m not quite sure about how long it was, for the sun made me so giddy. I had to lash myself to the mast, or I should have taken a dive overboard; and my head grew muddly. But it was an awful long time. My eye! how the men whistled!”

“For wind?”

“Yes; and the more they whistled the more it didn’t come. Old Maitland was in a taking, and it wasn’t safe to speak to Staples. I say, Van, old chap, he came right up to the cross-trees himself and told me I didn’t know how to use a spy-glass. He said the boat with you fellows in lay just due east, and that he could make it out directly.”

“And did he?”

“No; he just didn’t; and then, after trying for half an hour, he said mine was a wretchedly poor weak glass, and came down again. You see, the skipper and old Staples were mad about losing the schooner, and just wild about leaving the boat behind and going on so far before coming back to pick you up.

“Of course, they couldn’t tell that the wind would drop so suddenly,” said Mark. “Well, you caught sight of us at last?”

“Look here, friend of my boyhood, do you want to finish this authentic narrative?”

“No, I don’t. Go on.”

“Then hold your tongue. I do like that, you saying what a tongue I’ve got. Spikes and spun yarn! It’s about nothing to yours. There, I won’t keep you longer in suspense, as my old aunt used to say. After the crew had whistled the air quite full, it all condensed and turned into a breeze—on the third evening, I think it was, and I mast-headed myself again, and there was another man sent up to the fore-masthead.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Mark, with a feeble smile upon his thin face.

“I said another man was sent up to look-out. I’m afraid that the exposure and fasting have affected your hearing a little, my son. But to go back to our muttons, as the French say. The breeze came on just right from the south-east, and we soon had plenty of sail on, and made some good big tacks; but it came on dark without our having got a squint of you; and that night once more my supper spoilt my rest, and every one else’s disagreed with him. For the crew were on deck all night, walking about uncomfortable, and the worst of it was old Whitney’s prescriptions didn’t do any one a bit of good.”

“Of course,” said Mark, thoughtfully. “It must have been a terrible time of anxiety for the officers.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Bob, coolly. “It was a nuisance, for that first cutter was always considered our fastest boat. Well, to proceed. Next day, when the sun was hot enough to fry salt junk, someone caught sight of the boat lying like a speck on the glittering water.”

“Who did?” cried Mark, eagerly.

“Who did?” replied Bob, thoughtfully. “Let me see. I half— Dear me now, who— How strange! It must have been somebody, because the ship’s head was altered, and— Now how curious it is that I can’t think who it was sighted the boat!”

“I know,” said Mark. “You did, Bob.”

“Oh, I say, doctor!”

“Did I?” said that young gentleman, scratching his head. “Well, now you say so, I think it was Robert Howlett, Esquire, with the spy-glass old Staples abused so, and a pretty row there was went on below on deck. The chaps were half mad, and were dancing about the planks, and all bubbling over with excitement, as they tried to get a peep at you. And when—oh, my!—we did at last come up to you, a nice pretty respectable lot you looked, lying about in the boat, with no more discipline than you’d see in a shoal of seals on a rock. You looked as if you had all been pitched in anyhow, and—gug!”

“Why, Bob! what’s the matter, old chap?”

Mark turned to gaze on the convulsed face, and just obtained one glance before it was turned away. For Bob’s voice had suddenly changed from its light, half-cynical, playful tone. There was a sudden choking as if something had come in his throat; and as Mark read his feelings thoroughly stole a thin, feeble hand into his, and whispered softly, “Oh, Bob, old chap!” the face was turned sharply back at him, and its owner burst out in a half-whimpering, half-angry way:

“Well, so would you if you’d seen it. Even iron Staples pretty nearly broke down. It was just horrid. Didn’t seem to be a bit of life in any one of you but Tom Fillot, and he couldn’t have cut a joke to save his life. As for you, I wouldn’t have given a penny more for you than the worth of your uniform, and that was all shrunk. You looked—”

“How will he look to-morrow, Mr Howlett?” cried a sharp voice, that of the doctor. “So this is the way you keep watch over a patient, is it, sir? He was getting better, and now my work’s all undone again. I expect you’ve killed him.”

“Silence!” cried that gentleman, feeling Mark’s pulse. “Yes, of course. Fever greatly increased. Hush, not a word, Vandean. Lie perfectly still. I ought to have been told that you had fully recovered your consciousness. Now, Mr Howlett, you had better be off.”

“No, sir; don’t send me away. I’ll be so careful in future.”

“I can’t trust you, my lad.”

“You may indeed now, sir. It was all with being so glad that poor Vandean’s better.”

“Glad! Why, you looked sorry. There, then, if you promise to be very quiet, you may stay. Vandean, he must not talk to you, and you must hardly say a word. I’ll go and get you a little draught.”

The doctor left the midshipman’s quarters, and as he departed Bob made a gesture suggestive of kicking him before returning to his seat beside his messmate.

“Tell me, Bob,” whispered Mark.

“No; mustn’t speak.”

“Only this. Did everyone—was everyone—”

Mark stopped short.

“You’re not to talk while you’re so weak. Now then, what do you want to know? Did any one die?”

“Yes.”

Bob nodded his head, and a pang shot through Mark as he thought of the handsome young lieutenant, and the frank, manly fellows who had formed their crew.

He closed his eyes, and a feeling of weak misery choked his utterance. He would have given anything for the power to question his companion, and learn for certain who were living of the party; for the idea had in his weakness become now a certainty, that though he had seemed to hear that Mr Russell was recovering, he it was who had died.

At last the power to think returned, and he turned his wan, pain-drawn face to Bob.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“No, sir, nothing,” cried the doctor. “Here, I have brought you the little draught myself, so as to see that it is taken properly. I don’t know why I should have so much trouble over a pack of lads who are more worry than they are worth. Why, bless my heart, Mr Vandean, you are going backward. Here, Mr Howlett, go to my quarters and send my fellow here.”

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