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

"Ay, ay," came in a low growl.

"And if any o' you thinks different to my sentiments, let him speak out like a man."

"That's what we all think, messmet," came in another growl.

"And there you are, sir, and them's fax. They chucked them two pore chaps overboard, and, speaking up for my messmates and self, I says we don't hold with killing n.o.body 'cept in the name of dooty; but here's a set o' miserable beggars as goes about buying and selling the pore n.i.g.g.e.rs, and treating 'em worse than they would a box o' worms to go fishing with. Why, it's murder, sir, wholesale, retail, and for exportation, as the man said over his shop door in our town o' Bristol, and if we can only get at 'em--well, I won't say what we'll do, but if there ain't some fatal accidents that day, my name ain't Tom."

"That's so, messmet--that's so," came in another deep growl.

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you hear there?" cried Mark, sharply. "Who's that?"

"Hi! all on you!" came again.

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

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

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

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

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

"I know," continued the man, who was tumbling about forward. "Some on you's took it for a game, and Lufftenant Staples ain't the man to stand no larks. 'Where's that there boathook, Joe Dance?' he says. 'Produce it 'twonce, sir, or--' 'Ay, ay, sir. Starn all it is. Where are you coming? Pull. Starboard there--On Portsmouth hard in Portsmouth town.

Three cheers, my merry lads--Now then, pull--pull hard--Ay, ay, sir--Now all together, my lads!'"

As the c.o.xswain was speaking from out of the darkness, to the wonderment of all, Tom Fillot whispered quickly to his young officer,--

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

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

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

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A DISABLED CREW.

"I thought it was all over with you, sir," said Tom Fillot, who, regardless of those over whom he had pa.s.sed, had plunged aft and thrown himself upon the c.o.xswain, bearing him and the young midshipman down into the stern-sheets of the boat, and holding the former till he was dragged away, laid in the bottom, and held down forward, in spite of his struggles and cries.

"I thought so, too, Tom. Ugh! how horrible! As if our position was not bad enough before; it is too hard to have a madman on board."

"'Tis, sir; but I wonder we ain't all mad. My head's bad enough for me to be. Are you much hurt, sir?"

"More frightened than hurt. I thought we should have been over into the black water."

"And it you had been, he'd ha' drowned you, as sure as sure, sir, for we couldn't ha' found you in the darkness."

"And the worst of it is, I don't know what to do," said Mark. "If Dr Whitney were only here."

"No use to wish, sir. If it was, I'd wish the _Naughtyla.s.s_ was here to try and catch the schooner and her crew. There is one thing to wish for, though, and that's for to-morrow morning to come instead of to-night, sir."

"Yes, and I'm afraid it's a long way off yet," said Mark, with a sigh, as he looked round at the veil of black darkness which shut them in, and then sat listening to the struggles and cries of the unfortunate c.o.xswain, till by degrees they grew weaker and weaker, and the men who had been holding him relaxed their efforts, for their prisoner sank into a heavy stupor.

Startling and painful as this episode in their night's adventures had been, it had had one advantage, that of making the time pa.s.s more swiftly; and in consequence it was with a feeling of wonder that the young officer turned sharply round as Tom Fillot said drily,--

"Good morning, sir."

"What! What do you mean?"

"First signs of it, sir. Listen! you can hear the birds beginning to pipe."

"Yes; that's a bird's whistle," said Mark. "Then we can't be so very far from the sh.o.r.e."

"That's right, sir, and what I hope is that we're not very far from the _Naughtyla.s.s_, and that they'll be at work with the spy-gla.s.ses to see where we are."

"And I've got to face the captain," thought Mark, "and give him an account of our night's work. How shall I do it? It's horrible to go back like this."

As the time glided on, the sounds grew more frequent from the sh.o.r.e, and by degrees there was a lightening around them, and they made out that they were slowly gliding along over the calm sea beneath a thick canopy of mist, some eight or ten feet above their head; and this was gradually growing opalescent, and shot with bright tints, till all beneath was fairly light, and the midshipman looked round for the _Nautilus_ and the schooner.

But there were no signs of either, perhaps because the mist prevented them from seeing fifty yards in any direction.

There was plenty to see, however, inboard, and at the first glance round, before his gaze was concentrated upon his officer, Mark Vandean's heart sank within him at the sight of the wretched, dilapidated men, whom he had seen on the previous evening looking so smart and active.

To a man they were battered, bruised, and bore traces of the terrible struggle through which they had pa.s.sed. The c.o.xswain lay asleep, and, upon examining him, he seemed cool, and with the hope that he might wake up calm and collected, Mark gave one look at Tom Fillot--who was the most disfigured of all, the blows he had received having caused his face to swell up till he was hardly recognisable--and then devoted his attention to Mr Russell, who lay senseless.

It seemed terrible to have him once more lying helpless in the bottom of the boat, and as the lad gazed at his companion, he began to think it would be wise to study surgery, ready for acting in an emergency like this.

Mark did what he could with Tom Fillot's help, doubling up a jacket for a pillow, and laying the lieutenant at his ease, before taking advantage of the mist beginning to disappear beneath the powerful rays of the morning sun to try and make out their position.

This was soon done. They were about a couple of miles from the sh.o.r.e, and the tide was carrying them southward right away from the river at whose mouth the schooner had been ash.o.r.e, for the water was perfectly clear here, while there it had been muddy and discoloured.

Getting a clear view northward as the sun rose higher, both Mark and Tom Fillot carefully scanned the horizon in search of the _Nautilus_, but she was not in view. There was a possibility of her being round a headland which stretched out some ten miles away, but that was all.

The next search was for the schooner; and, as she was nowhere in sight seaward, they had to content themselves with the possibility of her having taken refuge in some river or creek, such as were plentiful enough on the low-lying sh.o.r.e.