"No, sir," he said, despondently. "Too high up, and that chap's waiting to give me one on the head."

"Yes; that will not do," cried Mark, as the splash of the schooner's boat in the water was heard, and the voice of the skipper shouting some directions.

Mark stood hesitating for a few moments, and then, acting upon a sudden thought, he placed his hands to his mouth, reached out of the cabin window, and shouted with all his might:

"Schooner ahoy! c.o.xswain!"

"Ay, ay, sir," cried Dance from the bows of the towed vessel, just as the boat with five men in glided into sight close to her right.

"Danger! Prisoners!"

"Hi! yew stop that!" cried a voice from the boat, and a man stood up and pointed a pistol at the midshipman.

"Ay, ay, sir," cried Dance.

"Keep the schooner off, and follow at a distance," roared Mark.

_Bang_!

There was a puff of smoke, the dull thud of a bullet striking the side of the cabin window, and, directly following, the sharp report.

"Loose the schooner," yelled Mark, between his hands.

"Go in, yew," roared the man in the boat, presenting his pistol again; but at that moment Tom Fillot took aim with an empty bottle he had kicked from out of a locker, and hurled it over Mark's head with all his might.

So true was Tom's aim, and so swiftly was the bottle sent, that the American had not time to avoid it, and received a heavy blow in the chest, sufficient to disorder his aim as he fired again.

"Ay, ay, sir," cried Dance, who seemed quite clear again in his head.

"Quick, then," cried Mark, excitedly. "Cut the tow-rope and stand off."

"Yah!" came in a roar from the boat, as the man suddenly sat down, "give way--pull, boys--pull like steam!"

The men began to send the boat through the water, making it foam, and they had but a cable's length to go, but the moments were lengthened out by excitement, and it seemed to Mark as if Joe Dance would never get the cable cut in time.

For while the oars splashed and the men pulled, the c.o.xswain tried to get out his knife, and as Mark and the others watched him, he was evidently nervous, and fumbled. Then he tried to open it with his teeth, but the spring was strong, and he had to alter his tactics and begin to open it with his forefinger and thumb nail, and still it seemed as if he could not get it open; and all the time the boat was rapidly setting nearer. In another few seconds it would be alongside, and the Americans would be on board, five against two, unless Taters made a brave defence. There were a couple of dozen blacks on deck, but they were only staring stupidly at the approaching boat, and Joe Dance was still fumbling with his knife, while Grote had disappeared.

"Oh, if I was only there!" cried Tom Fillot.

"They might have saved that schooner," groaned Mark. "Oh, Tom, Tom, is there nothing we can do?"

"No, sir; only look on. Hah! at last."

"Yes, he's sawing at the cable with his knife."

"And it's blunt as hoop iron," groaned Tom.

"They're alongside. It's all over. Was there ever such luck?"

"Cut, you beggar, cut!" yelled Tom Fillot.

"Too late--too late!" said Mark bitterly, as he saw Dance still hacking at the cable, and the boat pulled alongside, while the bow man threw in his oar, and seized a boathook as he rose in his place.

In another minute the Americans would have been on deck, and the schooner taken; but, just as Mark Vandean's heart sank heavy as lead, Grote suddenly appeared with an axe in his hand, while his words of warning came clearly to where they stood looking on.

"Stand aside!"

Then--_Chop_!

One dull, heavy blow, and the hawser, cut closely through where it pa.s.sed over the bows, dropped with a splash into the water and disappeared.

The little party at the cabin window sent out a cheer and then a groan, for the bow man had hooked on, and the Americans began to climb up, their leader having his hands on the bulwarks, and sprang aboard, when something black, which proved to be Taters' fist, struck him in the face, and he fell back.

Another's head appeared above the side, and there was another blow and a splash.

Almost simultaneously Grote struck at another man with a capstan bar, and to avoid the blow, the man ducked his head, lost his hold, and, less fortunate than Mark had been, was hurled with a tremendous splash into the water, in company with the second man, while another got his head up in time to receive a crack which sent him also backward into the sea.

The man holding on loosed his hold to save his companions, who were swimming; and as the Nautiluses at the cabin window breathlessly watched and saw them picked up, they became as much interested in the fate of one of the party as if he had been a friend.

"Get an oar over," cried Mark. "Scull your boat to that man; he's going down."

"The muddle-head!" cried Tom Fillot. "Can't he scull?"

No doubt they were hard upon the man, who was doing his best. He had helped two men into the boat--no easy task when they are half-stunned, and by consequence comparatively helpless--and he had been doing his best to get to the others, who had paddled feebly and then thrown up their hands to grasp wildly at vacancy, so that the case began to look hopeless indeed.

For, failing in his efforts to scull the boat along with one oar, and evidently getting confused in his excitement, the uninjured man now sat down on a thwart and got two oars over the side to begin to row to where a drowning man lay, fully a dozen yards from him.

"Gone!" cried Tom Fillot, excitedly, as the boat was pulled to the place where the man had made a last feeble struggle and then sunk.

Mark drew a deep breath, and uttered a faint groan, as the sailor stood up in the boat, hitcher in hand, looking wildly about.

A volley of cries now came from the p.o.o.p, just over where the prisoners were watching. Words of advice, orders, abuse, were hurled at the man's head, and Mark, as he watched, thought of his efforts in the cutter to save the blacks' lives, and it seemed to him like a natural form of retaliation coming upon the slavers' heads, as history almost repeated itself, with a difference.

He was, he felt, spectator of a tragedy, and a cold sensation of horror almost paralysed him, but pa.s.sed away instantly as he saw the man standing in the boat suddenly make a dash with the hook and draw something toward him.

There was a cheer from the cabin window, as the boat careened over, and the nearly drowned man was dragged in.

"Say, messmates," said Tom Fillot, rubbing one ear, "that can't be right."

"What, Tom?" cried Mark, excitedly.

"Why, sir, our cheering at an enemy being saved. We ought to be glad to see him drown, oughtn't we?"

"It was the man, not the enemy, Tom," said Mark.

"Course, sir. I see now; I couldn't make out why we cheered."

And now the little party noted for the first time that the vessel they were in had been gliding steadily on, trailing the divided tow-rope, and being lightened of her burden, was now far-away from the boat, while the second schooner, having one sail set, had also glided away. Then a second sail was hoisted a little, and the helm being seized, her course was altered so as to send her to the west.