Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England

The Black Bar, by George Manville Fenn.

_______________________________________________________________________

HMS Nautilus is on patrol off the west coast of Africa, intercepting
the American slave ships that were trying at that time to purchase
cargoes of slaves from the dealers, and then to take them across the
Atlantic in loathsome conditions.  Slavery had been abolished in
British territories in 1772, many years before, and the British were
actively policing African waters in the hope of deterring the Americans
and the Portuguese from retaining the slave trade.

Nautilus has two midshipmen aboard, and one of these, Mark Vandean, is
the hero of the story.  The book is in the usual Manville Fenn style,
with a succession of dreadful situations in which the hero finds
himself.  "How ever does he extricate himself from this?" the reader is
continually asking.  Of course he does, but it is often by means of
something quite unexpected.

A Black Bar is a device in heraldry, indicating that there is something
shameful in the wearer's ancestry.  NH

THE BLACK BAR, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.

CHAPTER ONE.

TWO MIDDIES AND A MONKEY.

"We've done wrong, Van.  There'll be a jolly row about it."

"Get out!  What's the good of talking now?  You were as ready to have
him as I was.  Lie still, will you? or I'll pitch you overboard."

Two middies talking in the stern-sheets of the cutter belonging to Her
Majesty's fast little cruiser _Nautilus_, stationed on the west coast of
Africa "blackberrying," so the men called their duty, Tom Fillot, one of
their jokers, giving as the reason that the job was "black and berry
nasty."  The sun shone as it can shine in the neighbourhood of the
equator, and the sea looked like so much glistening oil, as it slowly
heaved up and sank with the long ground swell, the light flashing from
the surface attacking the eyes with blinding power, bronzing the faces
of some, peeling the noses of others.

Setting aside the smart crew of the cutter in their white duck shirts
and trousers and straw hats, with faces, necks, and hands of a mahogany
brown, the two speakers may be taken as fair samples of what the sun
could do with a fresh-coloured English lad of sixteen or seventeen.
Mark Vandean, who leaned back and had wrenched himself round to sharply
adjure something behind him in the bottom of the boat, was burned of a
good warm Russian leather brown, while his companion, Bob Howlett, who
held the rudder-lines, displayed in addition to ruddy brown cheeks a
nose in a most disreputable state of rag.

The boat went swiftly through the water, as the men bent with regular
stroke, and made the tough ash blades of their oars curve ere they rose
and scattered the flashing drops, which seemed to brighten the scene
where all was flat and monotonous, and the view contracted by a dead
silvery haze of heat.  Behind them was the low flat shore with a few
scattered white houses and factories behind a rough landing-stage.
There were palms of different kinds in a straggling line, and on either
side of the opening out of a muddy river, a bordering of dingy green
mangroves--tree cripples, Mark Vandean called them, because they all
looked as if standing up on crutches.  A few boats lay in the mouth of
the river, a dissolute-looking brig with its yards unsquared was at
anchor higher up, and a sharp eye could detect a figure or two about the
beach.  On either side, as far as eye could reach, there was a line of
surf.

That was all shoreward, while out to sea, a couple of miles or so away,
smart and business-like, with her tall spars and carefully squared yards
and rigging, cobweb-like in texture at that distance, lay at anchor in
the open road-stead HMS _Nautilus_ waiting to gather "blackberries" at
the first opportunity, and toward which smart little vessel the cutter
was being steadily propelled.

The object ordered to lie still under pain of being pitched overboard
did not lie, but crouched a little lower, and increased the wrinkles in
its deeply lined forehead, above which was a thin fringe of hair,
blinked its wondering eyes, and looked piteously at the speaker.

It was the face of an old man with enormous mouth pinched together, and
devoid of lips, but giving the idea that it was about to smile; nose
there was none, save a little puckering in its place, but as if to make
up for the want, the ears were largely developed, rounded, and stood out
on either side in a pronounced fashion.  For it was the most human of
all the apes, being a chimpanzee about as big as a sturdy two-year-old
boy.

All at once the stroke oarsman ceased rowing, and began to wipe the
perspiration from his open, good-humoured face.

"Hullo!" shouted one of the middies, "what's that mean?  Why are you not
pulling?"

"Beg pardon, sir; won't be none of me left to," said the man, "I'm
trickling all away.  Like to put the new hand in my place?"

"New hand?" said the other middy; "what do you mean?"

"Gent as you have behind you there."

Mark Vandean frowned, and drew himself up, tried to look severe as an
officer, but he was confronted by five grinning faces, and the mirth was
contagious; he smiled at the idea, and the men roared.

"There, pull away, my lads, and let's get on board.  This is no time for
skylarking."

The men bent to their oars again, and the boat answered to its name,
cutting swiftly through the water towards the little man-o'-war.

"But there will be a row about it, old fellow," whispered Bob Howlett.

"Oh, very well then, they must row," said Mark Vandean pettishly.
"There's no harm in having a monkey onboard--if we can get it there."

"Don't you be uneasy about that, Mr Vandean, sir," said the stroke
oarsman; "me and my mates'll smuggle the young nigger gent aboard
somehow, even if I has to lend him my duds."

"You leave off cutting jokes, Tom Fillot, and pull hard."

"Ay, ay, sir," cried the man, chuckling, and he and his fellows made the
boat skim through the glowing water.

"Perhaps the letter is important," said the first middy, "and may mean
business at last."

"I hope not," said the other.  "I'm sick of it.  Nothing but wild-goose
chases after phantom ships.  I don't believe there are any slavers on
the coast."

"Oh, aren't there, Bob?"

"Don't seem like it.  Where are they, then; and why don't we catch 'em?"

"I dunno."

"Fancy going off again to-night sneaking down to another of these rivers
all among the mosquitoes and fever mists.  Ugh!  If I'd known, you
wouldn't have caught me coming to sea."

"Oh, we shall catch one of 'em yet.  A big Yankee schooner full of
slaves; and then look at the prize-money."

"No catchee, no havee, Van.  Oh, I say, I am hot.  Why, I believe you
could fry eggs in the sun."

"Dare say you might if you could get there, Bob."

"Oh, my! aren't we witty this morning!  I say, I wonder what old Staples
will say to the monkey, Van."

"So do I," said the first middy, uneasily.  "I half wish we hadn't
bought it.  But it seemed such a chance."

"Well, we're in for it now.  Staples will give it us pretty sharply, and
then forget all about it."

"But then there's the skipper."

"Ah," said the second middy, thoughtfully; "I forgot about him.  Bother
the monkey!  Phew!  I am hot.  I say, they may well call this Oily
Bight.  The sea looks just as if it had been greased.  Oh, don't I wish
I were in a good wet fog in the Channel.  This is a scorcher."

The lads ceased speaking, and sat back watching the anchored vessel and
relieving the tedium of the long row by scratching the monkey's head and
pulling its ears, the animal complacently accepting both operations, and
turning its head about so that every portion should receive its share of
the scratching, till all at once the boat was run alongside, the
coxswain took hold with his boathook, and while the falls were hooked
on, an order was given above, and they were run up to the davits.

Directly after, Mark Vandean stepped on deck, touched his cap to a
severe-looking officer, and presented a letter.

"Take it in to the captain," he said; and Mark marched off to the cabin,
while the first lieutenant, who had turned toward the boat, out of which
the men had sprung, suddenly raised one hand, and pointed at the boat's
side, above which a head had been raised, and its owner was gazing round
with wrinkled forehead as if wondering what was going to happen next.

Bob Howlett saw the first lieutenant's fixed stare and pointing hand,
and glancing round, he caught sight of the head with its chin on the
gunwale.

"Who's that?" cried the first lieutenant, sharply; and the men screwed
up their faces and looked comically solemn on the instant, but no one
spoke.

"Mr Howlett," cried the officer again, "I asked you who that was in the
boat!"

"Beg pardon, sir; didn't know you were speaking to me.  Which, sir?"

The lieutenant's lips were compressed as he took a couple of strides and
brought himself alongside of the middy.

"If you are not careful, sir," he said severely, "trouble will follow
this.  You did know I spoke to you, sir.  I said, `Who is that young
black?'  Why, it's an ape."

"Yes, sir; chimpanzee, sir."

"How dare you bring a monkey on board, sir?"

"Only a natural history specimen, sir; and I thought--"

"Oh, there you are, Staples," said the captain, coming up.  "Look, I
think this is right at last;" and he handed the letter to his second in
command.

"Looks correct, sir," said the lieutenant, after reading the letter.
"Shall you act upon it?"

"Act upon it, man!  Of course."

The monkey was forgotten.  The boatswain's pipe rang out, the men came
tumbling up, and as fast as it could be achieved, the anchor was raised,
sail after sail hoisted, and an hour after, with every scrap of canvas
that could be set, the _Nautilus_ was slowly gliding along right out to
sea, with the palm and mangrove-lined shore slowly fading into the haze,
while the men collected together in knots and discussed the possibility
of catching a slaver that night.

"What's it to be, Van," said Bob Howlett, "fun or flam?"

"Tell you to-morrow morning," was the reply.  "I say, I've fed the
chim', and he's asleep."

"Wish I was too," said Bob Howlett, "Oh, I say, ain't it hot?"

CHAPTER TWO.

BLACKBERRYING AT SEA.

That night the _Nautilus_ was pretty close inshore, as soon as she could
approach without being seen.  Every light was out, the sail had been
reduced, and they were gliding slowly along, watching the mouth of a
river about twenty miles south of Port Goldby.  They had been lying off
here for days, waiting for the news the British agent had been trying
hard to obtain for them, so as to enable the officer in command of her
Majesty's cruiser to strike a severe blow at the horrible traffic being
carried on by swift-sailing schooners and barques trading between the
West Coast of Africa and the southern ports of the United States.

The _Nautilus_ had been for weeks upon the station, and so far all her
efforts had proved vain.  But now very definite information of the
sailing of a large schooner from Palm River had been obtained, and
everyone on board was in a most profound state of excitement.  The
night-glasses were being used, and as the vessel cruised to and fro off
the mouth of the river, it did not seem possible for a fishing-boat to
get away, leave alone a large schooner.  This would be sure not to leave
the river till the turn of the tide, two hours after dark, when she was
expected to drop down with her cargo of unfortunates, collected at a
kind of stockade by a black chief, who was supposed to be working in
collusion with a merchant, whose store up the river had been ostensibly
started for dealing in palm oil, ivory and gold dust with the above
chief, a gentleman rejoicing in the name of Quoshay Dooni.

Captain Maitland's plan had been well carried out, for the haze had
helped him; and after sailing right away, the vessel had crept close in
at dark; and as night fell with all the suddenness of the tropics, she
had reached the mouth of the river as aforesaid unseen.

After listening impatiently for some time, orders were given, and a
couple of boats were lowered, each furnished with lanterns for
signalling, of course kept hidden; and the monkey episode being for the
time forgotten, Mark Vandean obtained permission to go in the first
cutter, Bob Howlett being sent in the second.

"Whether we catch them or no," thought Mark, as the boat kissed the
water, "it will be a bit of a change."  Then, after a few whispered
orders given to the second lieutenant, who was in charge, the two boats
pushed off, the men dipping their muffled oars gently, and after
separating for a couple of hundred yards, both cutters made their way
silently through what appeared to be a wall of blackness, while each ear
was alert to catch the slightest sound--the object being to make sure
that the slaver did not slip down the river in the darkness, and pass
the _Nautilus_ unseen.

"Keep that sail well over the lanterns, Dance," whispered the lieutenant
to the coxswain; "don't show a glimmer, but mind that they are kept
burning."

"Ah, ay, sir."

"Shall I take them in charge, Mr Russell?" whispered Mark.

"No, my lad; I want you for company.  Keep your eyes well skinned, as
the Yankees say.  If you sight the vessel first I'll give you a ring."

"Thankye, sir," said Mark, and then to himself, "No such luck!"

The next moment he was peering over the heads of the men, and to right
and left, straight into the black darkness, as the boat was steered, as
nearly as they could guess, right up the river, the only guide they had
being the steady rush of the muddy water which they had to stem.

"Seems a Blindman's Buff sort of game, doesn't it, Mr Russell?"
whispered Mark, at the end of a couple of hours.

"Yes, my lad, it's all chance work.  I only wish, though, that we could
blunder on to the abominable craft.  They'll be too sharp for us I'm
afraid."

Another hour passed, and they were still completely shut up in the
darkness, with a thick haze overhead; and at last the lieutenant
whispered,--"Lucky if we don't some of us catch fever to-night."

"Look here, Vandean, if we don't soon see something I shall signal the
ship for a recall.  We shall do nothing to-night.  Eh? what?"

"I heard voices off to the left," Mark whispered.  "Then it's the
schooner," said the lieutenant, in a suppressed voice.  "Give way, my
lads! steady!  I shall lay the boat alongside, and you must board her
somehow.  Coxswain only stay in the boat."

The men received their orders in silence, but a suppressed sigh told of
their eagerness and readiness to act.

A minute later there was a sharp rattling sound, a savage growl, and a
loud burst of laughter.

The first cutter had come in contact with the second, and directly after
there was a whirring, brushing sound of branches sweeping over the
boats, one of which bumped against a root and nearly capsized.

"Tut, tut, tut!" ejaculated the lieutenant; "back water, my lads!  We
are doing no good here.  It is impossible to see where we are going."

There was a slight splashing, and the boats began to descend the stream,
swept along by the tide for a time, till they lay on their oars again.

"What's that, Mr Russell?" whispered Mark, all at once.

"What?  I heard nothing but one of the oars badly muffled."

"I didn't near anything.  I meant what's that I can smell?"

The lieutenant started, and just then there was a peculiarly offensive,
sickening odour perceptible.

"No mistaking that," whispered the lieutenant; and, giving orders, a
lantern was taken from beneath the sail, and shown above the gunwale of
the boat.

Almost immediately a faint star-like light shone out at a distance on
their left, and the lantern was hidden and the star disappeared.

"Why's that?" whispered Mark.

"Let the other boat know the slaver's dropping down," was whispered
back.

"But is she?" said Mark, excitedly.

"No doubt about that, my lad.  Pull steady."

The men obeyed, and the boat was steered in a zigzag fashion down the
river, but there was no sign of the slaver.  If she was dropping down it
was so silently that her presence was not detected, and at last a
fresher feeling in the air warned the occupants of the first cutter that
they must be nearing the mouth of the river.

"Light," whispered Mark, pointing off to his right, where, faintly seen,
there was a feeble ray.

"Signal," whispered the lieutenant.  The lantern was shown, and there
was an answering light from behind them, proving that the one forward
must be at sea.

"It's a recall," said the lieutenant, with a sigh of relief; "give way,
my lads."  Then to Mark: "The captain must be uneasy about us, or he
would never show that light.  It's like letting the slaver know.  Bah!
what an idiot I am.  That's not our light.  Pull, my lads, pull!  That
must have been shown by the ship we are after."

As he spoke the light disappeared, and a fresh one appeared from astern.

They showed their own lantern, and their signal was answered, the second
cutter running up close to them a few minutes later, while the
lieutenant was boiling over with impatience, for he had been compelled
to check his own boat's way.

"What is it?" he said to his second in command.

"See that light ashore, sir?"

"No; I saw one out at sea; it's the slaver.  Follow us at once."

"But that light was ashore, sir."

"Mr Ramsay, do you think I'm blind?  Mr Howlett, are you there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Didn't you see a light off to sea?"

"No, sir; ashore."

"I tell you it was at sea, and it is the craft we are after.  Now, my
lads, give way."

_Crash_.

"Why, we're among the trees again."

"Yes, sir; shore's this way," said the coxswain.

"Then where in the name of wonder is the sea?" said the lieutenant, in
an angry whisper, as the tide bore them along, with the men's oars
rattling among the mangrove stems.

"I think we've got into a side channel," said Mark.

"Rubbish!  How could we?"

"Beg pardon, Mr Russell, sir," came from the boat astern; "we've got
into a sort of canal place with the tide running like a mill stream.
Hadn't we better lie to till daybreak?"

"Better sink ourselves," growled the lieutenant.  "Here are we regularly
caught in a maze, and that schooner getting comfortably away to sea."

"'Fraid so, sir," said the boatswain.  "That there was a light showed
ashore to warn 'em that we were in the river; some of 'em must have
heard."

The lieutenant made no answer, but ordered the men to back water, and
for the next four hours they were fighting the swift river, trying to
extricate themselves from the muddy system of branches into which they
had been carried in the darkness, but in vain; and at last, in despair,
they made fast to the mangroves, and waited for day.

Light came at last, piercing the white fog in which they lay; and in a
short time they were back in the wide river, close to the sea, dejected,
weary, and wondering that they could have been so confused in the
darkness.

"Nice wigging we shall have, Vandean," said the lieutenant; "the skipper
will sarcastically tell me he had better have sent one of the ship's
boys in command.  But there, I did my best.  Ugh! how chilly it feels!"

An hour later they were alongside the _Nautilus_, which lay at the edge
of a bank of mist which covered the sea, while shoreward all was now
growing clear from a gentle breeze springing up.

The lieutenant was a true prophet, for the captain almost used his
officer's words.

"Then you haven't seen a sign of the schooner?"

"No, sir; but we smelt it."

"What!" cried the captain.

"Sail ho!" shouted the man at the look-out, and in a moment all was
excitement, for, about a mile away, down what looked like a clear lane
through the white fog, was a two-masted vessel, crowded with sail; and
as rapidly as possible the boats were hoisted up, and the _Nautilus_ was
in pursuit.

But hardly had she careened over under the press of sail than the fog
shut the vessel from their sight, and for the next two hours she was
invisible, while the captain of the _Nautilus_ had to lie to, for fear
of some slippery trick on the part of what was undoubtedly the slaver,
since she was more likely to make for the shelter of a creek than to
risk safety in flight.

But the wind was not favourable for this manoeuvre, and toward mid-day
the sea grew clear, and there was the slaver plainly visible miles away,
sailing out west, while the _Nautilus_ crowded on every stitch of canvas
in pursuit.

A stern chase is a long one, says the proverb, and night came with the
craft still miles away, but the sky was brilliantly clear, and the moon
shone forth, showing the white-sailed schooner in a strangely weird
fashion far across the flashing sea.

"We're gaining on her," said Bob Howlett, who was as full of excitement
as the men, while Mark felt a strange suffocating sensation at the chest
as he strained his eyes and watched the swift schooner, whose captain
tried every manoeuvre to escape the dogged pursuit of the Queen's
cruiser.

"Hang it all! he's a plucky one," said Bob, as the chase went on.  "He
must be taken, but he won't own to it."

"Thought a ship was a she," said Mark.

"Well, I was talking about the skipper, wasn't I?"

"A man doesn't want to lose his ship, of course."

"Nor his cargo," cried Bob.  "There, give it up, old fellow; we're
overhauling you fast."

It was a fact: the _Nautilus_, with all her studding sails set, was
creeping nearer and nearer, till at last, amid no little excitement on
the part of the two midshipmen, a gun was shotted, run out, and a turn
or two given to the wheel.  Then, as the _Nautilus_ swerved a little
from her course, the word was given, and a shot went skipping across the
moonlit sea, splashing up the water in a thousand scintillations, and
taking its final plunge far ahead of the schooner.

Every eye and every glass was fixed upon the slaver, for such she was
without a doubt, since she kept on, paying no heed to the shot and its
summons to heave to; and after a second had been sent in chase, the
captain gave the word, and a steady fire was kept up at the spars and
rigging.

"I can't fire at her hull, Staples," the captain said.

"No, it would be slaughtering the poor wretches down below; never mind,
sir, we'll capture her directly.  She's ours, safe."

"Then the sooner the better," said Bob to his companion.

The firing continued, and the crews of the two guns which sent their
shot in chase vied with each other in their efforts to hit a spar and
bring down the sails of the schooner; but they tried in vain.  Sails
were pierced, but no other harm was done, and the slaver kept gallantly
on.

But all her efforts were in vain.  The _Nautilus_ crept on and on,
nearer and nearer, till she was only about a quarter of a mile away, and
then the slaver altered her course, and gained a little by her quick
handling.  But the _Nautilus_ was after again, and after two or three of
these manoeuvres Captain Maitland was able to anticipate her next
attempt to escape, and all seemed over.

"I wonder how many poor wretches she has on board?" tried Mark,
excitedly, as the word was passed for one of the boat's crews to be
ready for boarding as soon as the slaver captain struck the flag he had
run up in defiance.

"Hundreds perhaps," said Bob, coolly; "but we haven't got her yet."

"No; but they're going to give in now.  I can see the captain quite
plainly," said Mark, who was using a glass.  "What are they doing?  Oh,
Bob, look!"

For through the glass he saw what seemed to be a struggle on the moonlit
deck, and directly after there was a splash.

"Great heavens!" cried Captain Maitland.  "Staples!  Look!  They're
throwing the poor fellows overboard."

"No," said the first lieutenant, with his glass to his eye; "only one."

A mist came for a moment over Mark Vandean's sight, but it passed away;
and, with the feeling of suffocation at his throat increasing now, he
kept his glass upon the black head in the midst of the quivering water,
where a man was swimming hard for life.  Brought almost close to him by
his powerful glass, Mark could nearly make out the agonised look upon
the swimmer's face, as, at every stroke, he made the water shimmer in
the moonlight; and every moment as his forehead grew wet and his hands
clammy, the midship, man expected to see the waves close over the poor
wretch's head.

Just then his attention was taken up by the voices of the Captain and
lieutenant.

"The scoundrel! the fiend!" cried the former, with a stamp of rage upon
the deck; "if it were not for those on board I'd sink him."

"I wish we could, sir," replied the first lieutenant; "we shall lose
him."

"No," cried the captain.  "He has thrown that poor wretch overboard,
believing that we shall heave to and pick him up sooner than let him
drown."

"While he gets a mile away," said the first lieutenant; "and as soon as
we overhaul him again, he'll throw over another--that is, sir, if we
stop to pick the poor creatures up."

"Help! boat! help!" cried Mark, unable to contain his feelings longer;
and lowering his glass, he turned to the captain.  "Look, sir, look!" he
cried, pointing in the direction of the drowning black; "the poor
fellow's going down."

CHAPTER THREE.

SAVING A BROTHER'S LIFE.

There was a moment's dead silence after Mark had, in his excitement,
cried for help.  Then the word "Fire!" was uttered sharply, and there
was the deafening report of a gun, whose shot again passed between the
schooner's masts, but without doing the slightest harm.  Then, almost
mingled with the bass roar of the cannon, the captain's orders rang out;
the boatswain's pipe sounded shrilly, and as the _Nautilus_ was thrown
up into the wind, and her sails began to shiver, down went the boat with
its crew, Mark, at a sign from the captain, who gave him a friendly
smile, having sprung in.  Then there was a quick thrust off by the
coxswain, the oars fell on either side with a splash, and the young
midshipman stood up, balancing himself on the thwart in the
stern-sheets, directing the officer who held the rudder-lines how to
steer, for far-away on the moonlit water, when the swell rose high, he
could still see the dark head and the rippling made by the swimmer
struggling for his life.

"Starboard!" shouted Mark.  "Pull, my lads, pull.  Starboard a little
more."

"Starboard it is," cried the officer.  "See him still?"

"Yes," cried Mark.  "Oh, pull, my lads, pull, or he'll go down before we
get to him.  Now port a little: they're pulling stronger on one side
than on the other--not too much.  That's right.  Yes, I can--no, he is
down in the hollow.  There he is again.  Pull your hardest," he cried,
excitedly; and the men jerked at their oars as they cheered.

"Hold on; we're coming," cried Mark to the drowning man, thoughtless of
the fact that the negro would not understand his words, even if he heard
them, which was doubtful in the wild agony of his struggle, as with
breath growing short, weak as he was from confinement, he struck out
more quickly, and fought hard with the waves for his unhappy life.

"See him still?" cried Mark's companion, as the boat made the water
foam.

"Yes--no--no," said Mark, hoarsely; "he's down in the hollow again.
Straight on.  We're going right for him, and--"

"Don't say he has gone down," cried the officer.

"No; I shall see him directly.  We must be close to him now.  Ready
there with the boathook."

"Ay, ay, sir," cried the man in the bows, as he stood up ready to make a
snatch at the drowning man.  "See him, sir?"

Mark was silent as he strained his eyes over the surface of the sea,
looking vainly for the struggling figure which had been making so brave
a fight for life.  There was a terrible feeling of dread oppressing him,
as for the first time he was face to face with death; and in those awful
moments he was unconscious of the regular reports of the guns as the
_Nautilus_ kept up her fire at the flying schooner.  He heard nothing,
saw nothing but the sea shimmering in the moonbeams.  For after a long
and desperate fight, with the water rising higher about his lips, the
unfortunate black had grown weaker and weaker, and at last had given one
tremendous plunge, which raised him high, so that he could glare wildly
round for help; then he had ceased his struggle and gone slowly down,
the water closing over his staring eyes and glistening teeth; there were
a few bubbles, and the sea heaved and fell gently over the spot where he
sank.

"I have been close here, sir," cried the coxswain.

"Easy, my lads," cried the young lieutenant in command.  "Can't you see
him, Van?  Oh, hang it, lad, look!  We mustn't let the poor beggar
drown, even if he is a nigger."

Mark uttered a groan.  He had come to save a human being--a
fellow-creature cast to destruction by the brutal captain of the
slaver--and he had failed.

"Got him?" came faintly from the distant ship.

"No, sir," shouted the second lieutenant, through his hands.

"Oh, look! look!" cried Mark, wildly.  "Pull, my lads.  Starboard men,
back water.  He must be somewhere here.  He is sure to come up again."

The men obeyed, and in those terrible moments the silence was appalling.
Then came the deafening roar of a gun--the last fired then at the now
distant schooner--and Mark sank down from the thwart and was turning
away from the men to hide his drawn face, when he uttered a wild cry,
flung himself half over the side of the boat, and made a desperate
clutch at something which just rose above the water.  Then hand grasped
hand, the white holding the black in a desperate clutch, as the
lieutenant dropped the rudder-lines, and saved Mark from going overboard
by seizing him round the waist.

Then came a little hauling, followed by a cheer, as the nude figure of a
stalwart black was dragged in, to sink helpless, perfectly insensible,
in the bottom of the boat.

"Now pull, my lads!" shouted the lieutenant; "pull all you know, and
let's get aboard.  We've got to take that schooner before we've done."

The men cheered, and pulled for the ship, from which came an answering
cheer; but as Mark knelt down by the black he felt they had been a
little too late, for the man lay there, in the moonlight, apparently
quite dead.  He had not stirred, neither did there seem to be the
slightest pulsation as the boat was pulled alongside the _Nautilus_ and
run up to the davits, the graceful vessel beginning to glide once more
rapidly in pursuit of the schooner, which had by the cruel manoeuvre
placed a considerable distance between her and her pursuer.

"The black-hearted scoundrel!" cried the captain, as he stood looking
down at the slave.  "I'll follow him to America but what I'll have him.
Well, doctor, all over with the poor fellow?"

"Oh no," said the gentleman addressed; "he's coming round."

Almost as he spoke there was a faint quiver of the black's eyelid, and a
few minutes after he was staring wildly round at the white faces about
him.  The men set up a cheer, while a feeling of exultation such as he
had never before experienced caused a strange thrill in the midshipman's
breast.

"He may thank you for his life, Vandean," said the second lieutenant,
"for we should never have seen him.  Now I wonder whether that scoundrel
will try the same game over again."

"Safe to, Russell," said the first lieutenant, gruffly.  "Here, my lads,
get the black below; give him a place to lie down.  He'll be all right
in the morning, and a free man at any rate."

"I say, Van," said Bob Howlett, "aren't we all making a precious lot of
fuss about a nigger?  Wonder whether you'd all make as much about me."

"Go overboard and try," said Mark.

"Eh?  Thankye.  Well, not to-night.  I say, can't that schooner sail?"

"So can we--and faster.  What a rate we're going at.  Shan't capsize,
shall we?"

"Hope not, because if we did that schooner would escape.  Why don't they
fire?"

"Waste of powder and shot, my boy," said a voice behind them; and,
looking sharply round, there stood the first lieutenant with his glass
to his eyes, watching the flying boat.  "Ha! we're moving now.  Better
get on a lifebelt, Mr Vandean, if you feel afraid."

He walked away, leaving the lad flushed and indignant.  "Needn't catch a
fellow up like that," he muttered.  "Who said anything about being
afraid?"

Bob Howlett laughed, and then turned his eyes in the direction of the
schooner.

CHAPTER FOUR.

IN GREAT JEOPARDY.

Meanwhile everything possible was being tried to get another half knot
of speed out of the _Nautilus_, which glided along under her cloud of
sail, sending the water foaming in an ever-widening double line of
sparkling water on either side.  The hose was got to work, and the sails
wetted, sheets were hauled more tightly home, and the captain and
officers walked the decks burning with impatience as they scanned the
distant schooner.

"If I was the skipper I'd be ready for him this time," said Mark to his
companion.

"How?  What would you do?"

"Have the boat's crew ready to drop down the moment the slaver captain
pitched another poor fellow overboard.  No, no," he added, quickly;
"he'll never be such a wretch as to do that again."

"Oh, won't he just?" cried Bob, nodding his head, a great many times;
"he'll go on chucking the whole cargo out one by one, just like the man
did his gloves and things to the bear, for it to stop and smell them
while he escaped.  Here, I mean to go and save the next black chap, and
then perhaps I shall look as cocky as you do.  Oh, what a wonderful chap
you are, Van!"

Mark made a quick gesture, as if to hit out at his messmate, and then
looked on in wonder as the captain ordered the cutter's crew back into
the boat, and the men to the falls, ready in case the slaver captain
should repeat his manoeuvre, while the guns were double-shotted and laid
for the moment when the schooner would be once more within range.

"I say," whispered Bob, "don't the skipper look savage?  I believe he'd
send a broadside into the schooner if it wasn't for the slaves on
board."

"Of course he would; he said so," replied Mark, and he went forward and
then down below to where, by the dim light of a swinging lantern, he
could see the wild eyes of the black as he lay in a bunk, ready to start
up in dread as the lad approached.

"All right; be still," said the midshipman, laying his hand upon the
man's shoulder, and pressing him back; "how are you?"

The man glared at him in silence, but made no sound.

"It's of no use to talk to you, I s'pose," continued Mark.  "There, go
to sleep.  Perhaps we shall have some companions for you in the morning.
Hullo! begun again!"

For at that moment there was a dull roar and the jarring sensation of a
gun being fired overhead, making the black start and look wonderingly
about him.

"I say, that startled him," said Bob Howlett, who had stolen down behind
his messmate, and had stood in the semi-darkness laughing at the black's
astonishment.  "What do you think of that, old chap?  That's some of our
private thunder.  Large supply kept on the premises.  There goes
another!  Here, Van, we mustn't stop below."

For a second report shook the deck, and the black tried to rise, but
sank back from sheer weakness.

"Tell him it's all right, Van, and that he'd better go to sleep."

"How?" replied Mark.

"Ah, 'tis how!  I say, what a shame for us to be sent on the west coast
in such a state of ignorance.  Here, all right, Massa Sambo.  Go to
sleep.  I say, do come on, Van, or there'll be a row."

The next minute the two lads were on deck, to find that they were
rapidly overhauling the schooner, and they were just in time to hear the
orders given as the boat was ready to be lowered.

"Come, Mr Howlett, where have you been?"

This from the first lieutenant.

Bob murmured some excuse, and sprang into the boat, which dropped out of
sight directly, and then darted in again as the men bent to their stout
ashen oars, and sent her rapidly in the schooner's wake, where Mark made
out by the troubled water seen through his glass that another poor
fellow had been tossed overboard by the slaver captain, for he rightly
judged that no English officer would leave the black to drown.

He was quite correct in his judgment, for though Captain Maitland had
fumed and declared that he would not give up the chance of capture for
the sake of a black, when he felt that he might seize the schooner and
put an end to the mischief she was doing probably year after year, he
had his vessel's course stayed, and waited patiently for the return of
the boat he had lowered.

The mission of this cutter was almost an exact repetition of the one in
which Mark took part, Bob Howlett having the luck to seize the second
drowning man, over whose body the boathook had slipped.

"And no wonder," growled the coxswain afterwards.  "He'd got on no duds,
and I didn't want to stick the hook into his flesh."

While this was going on, the captain stamped above on one side of the
quarter-deck, the first lieutenant on the other.  For they kept as far
apart as they could, and it was an understood thing amongst the junior
officers that it would be to come in for the full force of an explosion
to speak to either of them now.

"Pull, men, pull!" roared the first lieutenant through his speaking
trumpet.  "Mr Russell, do you want to keep us here all night?"

"Ay, ay, sir," came back from the boat.

"What?"

"No, no, sir; I beg your pardon.  We've got the man."

"Got the man!" cried the captain, angrily; "do you think we have no
glasses on board?  Make haste, sir."

"Oh!"

"What's that?" cried the captain, sharply, for there had been the sound
of a sharp crack, and Mark had uttered the cry.

"What's that, sir?" cried the lieutenant in a rage; "why it's Mr
Vandean, sir, getting under my feet like a spaniel dog, and the moment I
move he yelps out, sir."

"It wasn't your foot, sir," cried Mark sharply, for his head was
stinging with pain.  "You swung round your speaking trumpet, sir, and
hit me."

"Silence, sir! how dare you, sir?  You should get out of the way, sir,"
roared the first lieutenant.

"That will do, Staples," said the captain, calming down now.  "Now, men,
up with that boat."

The cutter was already swinging from the davits, while at a turn of the
wheel the _Nautilus_ began to forge through the water again, and the men
stood ready for another shot at the flying schooner.

Just then the cutter's crew lifted out the black they had rescued, and
he too sank down helpless on the deck, half dead from exhaustion.

"That's one to me, Van," whispered Bob.  "I saved that chap."

"Then you only half did it, Mr Howlett," said the doctor, who overheard
him.  "Let me finish."

"I say," whispered Bob, "what a nuisance it's getting, you can't say a
word on board without somebody hearing.  Hullo! what's the matter with
your head?"

"Old Staples was in a passion because you were so long, and hit me over
the head with his speaking trumpet."

"Get out--and we weren't so long as you were first time.  Russell said
so.  What was it?  He wouldn't dare to hit you."

"But he did; swung round just when I was behind him."

"Serve you right for being behind him."

"What?" cried Mark, furiously.

"No, no, I mean serve him right for being before you."

"Less talking, young gentlemen," cried the officer of whom they were
speaking, and he looked round at them so sternly that they separated,
each hurrying to his post, and, glass in hand, watching the distant
schooner.

"Look here, Mr Russell," said the captain, walking up to that officer,
as, once more, they began to near the white-sailed vessel gliding along
in the brilliant moonlight.  "If that scoundrel tries his cowardly
scheme again, I shall drop you to pick up the poor wretch, and keep on
as hard as we can, or we shall lose her.  Save the poor fellow, and then
pull steadily after us.  I think I can overhaul her in less than
half-an-hour, and then I shall heave to, and wait for you to come
aboard."

The second lieutenant saluted, and the captain went forward to watch the
schooner.

"Are you coming with me this time, Vandean?" said the lieutenant.

"Yes, I hope so, sir," said the lad.

"Hope, eh?  Humph.  You don't know what you are talking about, my lad."

"Please don't speak," said Mark, excitedly.  "I've got it just right
now.  Look sir, look, there's a regular fight going on aboard.  They're
getting ready to pitch another man overboard."

The lieutenant raised the glass to his eyes, and immediately gave orders
to the crew to stand ready.  Then, following the midshipman's example,
he fixed his glass upon the schooner, and watched her moonlit deck with
its busy dark figures, in the full expectation of seeing another heavy
splash.

But nothing more disturbed the surface of the water but the rush of the
swift schooner, in whose wake lay what looked like an arrow-head of
foam, as the lines diverged from each side of her sharp prow; and as
they neared her the captain grew excited.

"She's going to heave to," he cried.

Just then a shot went skipping along the water, making the sea flash
into silver at every dip, and sped right on in front of the schooner's
bows, a messenger sufficiently faithful to warn the Yankee skipper of
what would be the fate of his vessel if he did not strike his colours,
for the man who aimed that shot could as easily have hulled the swift
craft.

At the captain's words every eye was directed to the American flag which
the skipper was disgracing, but it remained in its place as both vessels
sped on, and a couple more shots were fired and sent through the main
and foresails, which showed, with the aid of the glasses, a couple of
black spots.

That was all.

"He's laughing at us," growled Mr Staples.  "Oh, if we could send a few
shots through his wretched craft!"

"And I dare not," cried the captain.

Just then Mark again caught sight of something which was taking place on
the schooner's deck, not five hundred yards from where they pressed on
in pursuit.  It was hard to see at that distance, but he made out that a
sturdy black was evidently renewing the struggle which had taken place
before; but in spite of his efforts, he was being dragged to the side;
then, to Mark's horror, a hand was raised and a blow struck, followed by
a splash in the water, which was scattered far and wide, as the young
midshipman closed his glass with his wet hands, feeling as if it had
revealed horrors which he could not bear.

"First cutters!" rang out, and the lad ran to the boat; the captain
repeated his orders to the second lieutenant as the _Nautilus_ was run
on, so as to get as near as possible to the drowning slave before her
speed was checked and her boat lowered.  There, all ready in their
seats, the boat's crew waited.  The expected moment came as the sails
shivered, the boat kissed the water, the falls were unhooked, and in an
extremely short space of time the _Nautilus_ was gliding on in full
chase, and the cutter's oars were dipping in a quick, regular stroke
which took them wide of the vessel's course, as she literally darted
away.

And now, as he stood up once more on the thwart, to try and make out the
head of the black cast overboard, it struck Mark for the first time that
they were alone upon the wide sea, and that the _Nautilus_ was very
rapidly increasing her distance, while the schooner, to his excited
fancy, already began to look small.

But he had very little time for thinking.

"Be ready with that boathook," shouted the second lieutenant.

"Ay, ay, sir.  Mustn't miss this one," muttered the speaker to himself.

"See him, Mr Vandean?"

"No, not yet, sir."

"You ought to, by now.  Watch for the rippled water where he is
swimming."

"That's what I am doing, sir," replied Mark, "but I can't see anything."

"He's floating, perhaps.  Pull away, my lads.  Steady; we don't want to
pass him."

There was a few minutes' silence.

"See him now, Mr Vandean?" said the lieutenant again, and Mark was
silent for a few moments, as he scanned the surface round from beneath
his hand.

"No, sir, no sign of him."

"Oh, don't say that, my lad.  Look, look.  We mustn't miss the poor
fellow.  Strikes me that we're going to pick up the whole cargo this
way.  Now then, wasn't that a splash yonder?"

"No, sir, I can't see anything," said Mark sadly; and as he still
eagerly scanned the surface amidst a breathless silence, only broken by
the flapping of the water against the bows of the boat, it again struck
Mark with a chill of awe that they were being left alone there; and he
asked himself what would happen if the _Nautilus_ could not find them
again.

This was momentary, for his attention was taken up by his search, and
the officer said again, in angry impatience now,--"Come, Mr Vandean,
where's this poor fellow?  Here, lie to, my lads."

The men ceased rowing, and sat with their oars balanced, looking out on
either side for some sign of the man overboard but there was none, and
Mark heaved a deep sigh.

"Yes," said the lieutenant, as if that sigh were in words; "it's a bad
case, my lad.  I am afraid he's gone, poor fellow."

"Someone struck him before he went overboard," said Mark.

"You saw that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then he has gone.  We never saw him swimming.  I'm afraid we must begin
to row for the ship if we do not see him in a few minutes.  She's
leaving us a long way behind."

"I see him, sir," cried the coxswain.  "Here he is!"

He made a dash with his boathook, but the object he sought to reach was
so far out, that he overbalanced himself and went in with a heavy
plunge.

"You clumsy dog!" roared the lieutenant.  "Back water port, pull
starboard.  That's it.  Now then, in oars there, and lay hold of him."

The men on the port side obeyed, and in their excitement, three started
up and reached out to seize their struggling comrade, who had hold of a
black arm with one hand, and swam with the other.

"Now then, lay hold quick," roared the lieutenant.

"Mind!  Take care!" shouted Mark.

The words were necessary, but useless, for as the men reached over and
raised the coxswain and his burden, the gunwale of the boat sank too
low, there was a rush of water, and in what seemed like one beat of time
the crew were all thrown out, and as they rose to the surface after an
unexpected dive, it was to find the oars floating about, with straw hats
here and there, and a couple of yards away the cutter lying bottom
upwards.

Mark's first instinct as he caught sight of the glistening keel was to
strike out and seize it, his next to look wildly round for help; and now
he fully realised the fact that they were alone and in deadly peril,
with the help that should have been at hand gliding rapidly away.

"Hi! help! your hand!" cried a choking voice close by; and instinctively
Mark stretched out the asked-for help, to feel one hand seized and the
other glide from the slippery keel.  The next moment the water was
thundering over his head.

CHAPTER FIVE.

A FIGHT WITH A BOAT.

Were you ever nearly drowned?  Did you ever feel the sensation of the
waves rushing and roaring over you, as if full of triumph at having
captured a human being to drag down into their depths and devour?

It is to be hoped not, and that you never will be in such jeopardy as
that in which Mark Vandean found himself as the pale, soft moonlight was
suddenly shut out from sight, and he went down into the black darkness,
too much startled and confused to grasp his position and make a calm,
matter-of-fact attempt to save his life.  He was conscious of receiving
a kick, which sent him lower, and then of rising and striking his head
against something hard.

This blow roused him into action, and, realising in a flash that he had
knocked his head against some portion of the boat, he struck out
strongly, and the next moment was gazing around at the agitated water,
and then made out, close at hand, what looked like the glistening back
of some sea monster.

It was only the imagination of the moment.  Directly after he was
swimming for it, seeing that it was the bottom of the capsized boat,
about which the crew were clustering.

Then a strong hand was stretched out to him, and he was drawn to the
keel, Tom Fillot, who had rowed stroke oar, helping him to a good
position.

"Hold on a bit, sir, and we'll try and right her."

"Yes," panted Mark.  "Where's Mr Russell?"

"Here," came rather faintly from the other side of the boat, accompanied
by a fit of gasping and coughing.  "All right now; I got under the boat.
All here, my lads?"

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Then you one and all deserve a flogging," cried the second lieutenant,
angrily.  "What were you about to capsize the boat?"

"Dunno, sir," said Tom Fillot, gruffly.  "She went over all of her own
sen."

"Don't be an idiot, man."

"Where's the black?" panted Mark, who had not yet got back to his
regular breathing.

"I have him, sir," said the coxswain, "but I don't think he's--"

"Oh, don't say he's dead!" cried Mark.

"Course not, sir, if you says I'm not," muttered the man; "but it
strikes me as he was dead before he reached the sea.  Some one seems to
have hit him on the head."

The lieutenant changed his position, so as to place himself alongside
the coxswain, and then moved away again.

"Dead?" whispered Mark, as he drew himself a little more on the bottom
of the boat, and craned his neck towards his brother officer.

Russell did not answer for the moment, but gravely bent his head.

"The brutes!" he then said, softly; "and all this risk for nothing."

Then aloud--"Now, my lads, quick.  Swimmers.  The oars."

These words roused the little crew, which had been clinging to the keel,
half lying on either side of the boat, as if there was nothing more to
be done but wait for help but now three of the men at once quitted their
hold, and began to swim about in search of the oars and other objects
floating about in the glistening moonlight.

"Never mind the hats, man," shouted the lieutenant.  "The oars--the
oars."

This was to one of the sailors who had reached a straw hat and clapped
it upon his head as he swam, but the same man recovered one of the oars
and brought it alongside.

"Any one seen my hitcher?" shouted the coxswain from where he hung on,
supporting the black.

"No."

"Yes," came from Mark, who pointed; "there it is, standing up like a
great quill float.  See it?"

"Yes, sir, I see it," cried a sailor; and he swam off towards the
white-looking pole, while others sought for and recovered the whole of
the oars, which floated a short distance away, the men having gained a
little more confidence, and freely quitting their hold of the boat, as
it slowly rose and fell in the midst of the smooth, heaving sea.

Mark had done nothing but hold on to the keel and try to direct the men,
as they swam here and there, giving a longing glance, though, from time
to time at the distant _Nautilus_, whose white sails gleamed in the
moonlight.  Now, as the crew resumed their places, and tried to keep the
oars and boathook alongside the keel, he turned to the lieutenant.

"What are you going to do about--about that?" he whispered.

"Get the poor creature on board--if we can," was the reply; and the
young midshipman could not help shuddering.  "It is what we were sent to
do, Vandean," continued the officer, "and we must do our duty.  Now, my
lads," he cried, "all of you over here, and let's right the boat."

The men opposite swam round, and, the oars being left floating, an
effort was made to drag the boat over, all hanging on the keel.  But, in
spite of effort after effort, she refused to right, and Mr Russell gave
the word to rest for a few minutes, and collect the floating oars, which
were getting scattered once more.

This being done, Mark turned to his officer, and said in a low
voice,--"You want the coxswain to help?"

"I do, my lad," replied the lieutenant, but he stopped short and looked
at his young companion.

"I will not mind," said Mark.  "I'll try and hold the poor fellow up,
and set Joe Dance free."

Without waiting to be ordered, Mark drew a deep breath, edged himself
right astern to where the coxswain held on to the keel with one hand and
grasped the black's wrist with the other.

"Go and take my place," he said; and making an effort over self, he
searched for and found one of the little fenders suspended from the
boat's side, took a firm hold, and then stretched out his right hand to
grasp the black's wrist.

"Mean it, sir?" said the man.

"Yes," replied Mark, huskily.  "Go and help."

The next minute the lad hung there in the water, with his face kept
toward the boat, and his hand retaining that which he could not muster
up sufficient courage to turn and gaze at, as it lay calm and stern,
looking upward toward the peaceful moonlit skies.

Then began a sturdy effort to right the boat, and Mark's position grew
irksome in the extreme, for at every struggle to drag the keel down
toward them, the midshipman was drawn lower, and he felt that if his
companions in misfortune succeeded in righting the boat, he would have
to let go and try to keep himself afloat for a time.

But in spite of try after try, the boat remained stubbornly bottom
upward, and at last, worn out by their exertions, all ceased their
efforts, and rested half on the keel which offered a tempting halting
place for those who liked to climb upon it, and sit astride.

Just then Dance the coxswain made his way to Mark, and without a word
seized the wrist of the black, and in a low growl bade the young officer
rest.

"Soon as you can, my lad," he whispered, "reach down and get hold of one
of the rudder-lines.  I'll make him fast to that."

"But his head--it must be kept above water," whispered back Mark in a
choking voice, for he felt hysterical and strange.

"What for, my lad?" said the coxswain.  "It can do no good.  Half a
million o' doctors couldn't save his life.  He was done for when they
pitched him in, and I should like to have my will o' them as done it.
Precious little marcy they'd get out o' me."

"Come along here, Mr Vandean," cried the lieutenant from the bow end of
the boat; and Mark shudderingly left the coxswain making fast the wrist
of the dead black to one of the rudder-lines, and joined his brother
officer, easily passing from one to the other of the men as they half
lay on the bottom, resting and clinging by one hand to the keel.

"Cheer up, my lad!" said the lieutenant.  "There's nothing to mind.  The
sea couldn't be smoother, and we can hold on like this for any length of
time.  The captain is sure to come back soon to pick us up."

Mark made no answer, but crept into as secure a place as he could beside
his officer, gazed away at the dimly-seen vessels, and listened to the
dull report of gun after gun.

"Well, you are very quiet," said the lieutenant after a long pause.
"Why don't you speak?"

"I have only one thing to say," replied Mark, "and I did not like to say
that."

"Why not?  What is it?"

"I wanted to know whether they would ever find us again."

"Find us?  Yes, of course," cried the lieutenant.  "They must find us.
There, it's all right.  Never despair.  No fear of our being washed off,
and we've nothing else to mind."

"Sharks?" said Mark, involuntarily.

"Hush!" whispered the lieutenant, fiercely.  And then with his lips to
the lad's ear he said, "Never utter a word likely to damp your men's
courage at a time like this.  Do your duty and hope for the best.  Trust
in God for the help to come, my lad.  That's how a sailor should act."

"I'll try, Mr Russell," whispered back Mark, with a curious choking
feeling at his breast as he thought of home in far-away old England, and
of the slight chance he had of ever seeing it again.

"Of course you will try, black as it all looks.  Now then, we're a bit
rested, and going to have another start."

But he gave no orders then, for with his wet hand shading his eyes, he
tried to make out what was going on between the _Nautilus_ and the
schooner, the firing having now ceased.

"I'm afraid the Yankee skipper's carrying on the same manoeuvre," he
said at last; "and perhaps we shall have to wait for morning.  Now then,
I want this boat righted and baled out, but we shall be colder sitting
in our wet clothes than we are now.  Ready, my lads?"

"Ay, ay, sir."

Still he did not give orders for the men to renew their efforts, but
hung there watching the distant vessels, while alone in the great ocean
the capsized boat softly heaved and fell on the long smooth rollers.

"Yes," said the lieutenant at last, "he will be obliged to let her
escape."

"Not take her?" cried Mark, rousing himself a little at this.

"No, not take her.  He must heave to and pick us up.  As soon as it is
day glasses will be at work in the maintop; and directly they see our
plight the _Nautilus_ will come down to us with every stitch of canvas
set."

"Hooray!" shouted the men as they heard the lieutenant's words; and when
he gave his orders, they set to with a will to drag the keel down toward
them.  Discipline, training, all was in their favour; but the boat was
heavy, and seemed to fight against them.  Turning their bodies into
weights, they drew it more and more over, till it was so low that the
lieutenant bade one man climb up and reach over to get hold of the side.

This was done again and again, but only for the weight to disturb the
equilibrium, and send it back, the man in each case going right over
with it, to be plunged in, head-first, on the other side.

Sailors are light-hearted fellows, and even in times of peril they soon
forget their troubles, and are ready to join in a grin.

It was so here.  A roar of laughter saluted each man who went down as
soon as he rose again and swam round, taking it all good-humouredly
enough, as he resumed his place to renew the struggle, till at last the
lieutenant was ready to give up in despair.

"Let me try this time," said Mark at last.  "I'm lighter, and I think I
could get hold of the side with the boathook as soon as I am on the
keel."

"Hear that, my lads?" shouted Dance, "and me to have handled a hitcher
all these years, and never to have thought of it.  Boat's righted,
messmates, now; only, by your leave, sir, if you'd let me try, I think I
could do it easier than you."

"Try then, my lad," said the lieutenant; and, getting hold of the hook,
the coxswain moved into the centre on one side as the crew seized the
keel and dragged it down, while the man, boathook in hand, climbed up,
finding good foothold on the clinker-built boat, steadying himself with
his pole as he worked.  At last he stood upright on the side of the
keel, reached over and fixed his hook upon one of the rowlocks; then
holding on firmly by the pole and pressing his feet against the keel, he
hung right away, his body now forming so heavy a balance-weight that
upon the men making a simultaneous effort to draw the boat over, she
came down more and more.  Then with a sudden lurch the resistance
against them was overcome, and she came right over to an even keel,
plunging Dance into the water, from which he rose spitting and
sputtering, to begin swimming back amidst a hearty burst of cheers.

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 the
_Nautilus_, 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 the _Nautilus_ coming 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 the _Nautilus_, 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 the _Nautilus_ had
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 the _Nautilus_?"

"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 the _Nautilus_ hove 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 returning _Nautilus_,
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 the _Nautilus_; 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.  The _Naughtylass_ is 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 the _Naughtylass_ sail 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
the _Nautilus_.

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 the _Naughtylass_ bowling 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 so _weak_."

"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."

CHAPTER TEN.

IN THE DOCTOR'S CLUTCHES.

It was the next day, and, in spite of wind-sails and open ports, hotter
than ever.  The _Nautilus_ was back off the Palm River, lying at anchor,
waiting as usual for news which might end in a more successful
expedition than the last, for the nefarious traffic was still being
carried on just under the nose of Her Majesty's little cruiser, in spite
of every effort to catch the cunning skippers who set the officers at
defiance.

Mark opened his eyes after a long, refreshing sleep, for Bob Howlett had
contrived to keep the cabin comparatively cool; and as soon as the lads'
eyes met, the sick middy's thoughts went back to the last conversation
they had held.

"Bob," he whispered.

That young gentleman held up his hand.

"Only a word or two and I'll be quiet."

"Yes, you'd better.  If you say much I'll fetch old Whitney to give you
an awful dose."

"Tell me this: is the captain much cut up, and Mr Staples, too?"

"Of course they are, both of them, horribly."

Mark sighed, and was silent for some moments.

"Tell me about Tom Fillot," he said at last.  "How is he?"

"Pretty well all right again."

There was another pause, which lasted some minutes, before the sick lad
spoke again.

"Couldn't the doctor save them?"

"No; only the two," replied Bob, coolly.  "You see, the starving and
heat were too much for them.  Whitney did everything he could for them,
but, as he said, they died off like flies."

Mark looked at him in horror.

"How can you be so brutally cynical?" he said, with a shudder.

"Who's brutally cynical?" cried Bob, indignantly, and forgetting all the
doctor's orders.  "I'm very sorry, of course.  We did all we could to
save the poor fellows, but they died, and there's an end of them.  I
don't feel bound to be miserable because the doctor couldn't save them."

Mark's brow contracted a little.  He felt that he did not like Bob
Howlett half so well as of old, but that perhaps he had been too hard in
calling him brutally cynical, and he spoke more gently now.

"Who were the two that recovered?"

"Eh?  I dunno."

Mark stared.

"Well, how should I know what their names are?  Hashy and Quashy, or
something of the kind.  They're out and outers to eat, and don't seem a
bit the worse.  I called 'em Soup and Taters yesterday after seeing 'em
at their feeding."

"What are you talking about?"

"I was answering your questions about the black fellows."

"I didn't ask you about the blacks."

"Yes, you did."

"I didn't, stupid," said Mark, angrily.

"Huh!  Ha, ha!" cried Bob.  "He's getting better.  Go it, old chap!
Call me something else."

"I asked you about the boat's crew."

"No, you didn't.  What about 'em?"

"I asked you about their being saved, and you said all were dead but
two."

"Oh, I say, what a cracker!  You are getting better, and no mistake.
You asked me about how many of the black fellows the doctor saved, and I
told you those two first fellows that we got on board, and the others
died."

"Then Mr Russell and the lads?"

"Oh, they're all right," cried Bob; "leastways, not all right, but ever
so much better.  You've been by a long way the worst."

"Then Mr Russell isn't dead?" gasped Mark.

"Here, steady, my lad.  What's the matter?"

"Oh, tell me--tell me!" cried Mark, excitedly.

"Why, of course he isn't.  Now, don't go on like that.  Here, I'll run
for old Whitney."

"No, no," whispered Mark, clinging to his messmate's arm.  "I'm better
now.  I thought you told me that he was dead.  It has worried me
dreadfully."

"Oh, but you shouldn't get all sorts of fancies in your head now it's a
bit weak.  I don't know about saying _now_ it's a bit weak," said Bob,
with a comical smile, "because you always were a soft-headed sort of
fellow.  That's better.  Now you've cooled down."

"Yes," said Mark, with a smile, "and I shall soon be better now."

"That's your style.  All my doing.  I say, Van, old chap, I'll take to
doctoring you now; so kick old Whitney over, and leave it to me.
Russell says he shall come and see you soon--"

"I wish he would," cried Mark.

"If you don't soon come and see him."

"I only wish I could," said Mark, and he made an effort to rise, but
sank back with a piteous look of misery in his face, which made Bob
seize his hand.

"Here, I say," he cried cheerily.  "Oh!  Don't look like that.  You're
only a bit weak, messmate.  Avast there! take a good grip o' the health
tack; haul in your slack, and ahoy! you'll be full sail again in a week.
I say, what do you think of that?  I'm getting on with my nautical
lingo, ain't I?"

Mark smiled feebly--just a wan, sickly smile, like a bit of sunshine on
a wintry day.

"Avast there! none of your grinning," cried Bob.  "Better than you could
do it, old chap.  That's your sort.  Cheer up.  I must be off now.  I'll
come back and talk to you as soon as I can, and if you behave yourself
I'll sing you a song."

There was a genuine smile on Mark Vandean's face now, as he heard these
words delivered with utmost seriousness.

"No, no, don't, Bob," he said, feebly.  "I am getting better, really,
now.  Don't do that.  It would be more than I could stand."

Bob Howlett uttered a peculiar sound, half-angry cry, half growl, caught
up his cap, and marched out, as if in high dudgeon, while Mark lay back,
staring at the open port-hole, through which came the warm glowing light
of the tropic sunshine.

"Poor old Bob!" he muttered; "he thinks he can sing, and of all the
dreadful noises ever made.--Ha, ha, ha!"

He laughed merrily at the recollection of some of his messmate's vocal
efforts, and his face was lit up as if with inward sunshine, till he
heard a voice and looked round in wonder, to see that Captain Maitland,
Mr Staples, and the doctor were at the doorway watching him.

"Humph!" cried the captain; "not much cause for anxiety here."

"No," said the first lieutenant: "he's what the men call miching.  Here,
Vandean, when are you coming on deck?  Can't have you lying here with
half a dozen people to wait upon you."

"I don't want to, sir," said Mark, in a piping voice.  "Mr Whitney
knows."

"Yes, I know," said the doctor.  "There," he continued, turning to the
two officers; "you don't think much of your doctor, but what do you say
to that?"

He patted Mark's head as he spoke.

"I believe half the surgeons in the navy would have let the poor fellows
slip through their fingers.  I saved them all when they were in the most
hopeless state."

"Not all," said Mr Staples, with a sharp look at the captain.  "What
about the poor niggers?"

"Well, I saved two of them, sir.  The others were as good as dead when
you called me to them.  Humph! did my part better than you did yours.
Why didn't you take the schooner?"

The captain laughed.

"He has us there, Staples," he said.  "Let the doctors alone; they are a
bad set of people to play with.  Only serve you out when you come into
their hands.  Don't take any notice of him, Whitney.  Well, Vandean, I'm
very glad to see you so cheerful, but don't presume upon it.  You must
take it quietly, and be patient.  I want to see you on deck again."

"Quite out of the question yet," said the doctor, sharply.

"I don't mean on duty, Whitney," said the captain smiling, "but in a
cane seat under the awning.  It would be brighter and better for him to
see the men about."

"Thank you, sir," cried Mark, with a smile full of gratitude.

"Oh, that's different," said the doctor.  "Well, after a few days I'll
have him carried up."

"Yes," said the first lieutenant, "and he can lie there and hatch
mischief along with Mr Howlett, and play with the monkey.  Nice trio."

"Eh?  Oh, yes, by the way, I cannot allow you young gentlemen to have
pets of that class on board my ship.  You are not schoolboys now.  Why,
you will be wanting white mice and guinea-pigs next!"

"Shall I have the animal thrown overboard?" said Mr Staples.

"Hump!  Well--er--not till Mr Vandean is better.  You'd like to keep it
a little longer, eh?" said the captain, turning to the young invalid.

"Very much," cried Mark, as he thought of the quaint little old man he
and Bob Howlett had bought.

"Very well, you can for the present."

"And now, gentlemen," interposed the doctor, "my patient requires rest
and cool air.  You are fidgeting him and making the place hot."

"That means go.  Well, Staples, we must give way, I suppose.  The doctor
is always above the admiral.  Make haste and get well, Vandean.
Good-bye."

He shook hands warmly and turned to leave the cabin, the first
lieutenant following his example, and turning to give the midshipman a
friendly nod.

"Hah!" said the doctor, as soon as they were alone; "they want to go too
fast, and undo my work.  I shall not have done with you yet awhile,
Vandean, and you'll have to attend very strictly to my orders if I'm to
make a man of you.  Did you take my medicine?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sure?"

Mark coloured.

"Yes, sir, I told you."

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" cried the doctor.  "Dear me, how bumptious we are,
young fellow.  There, I believe you, but that's more than I'd do for
some of your tribe.  There's Mr Bob Howlett, for instance.  If he had
to take a dose, I should not only stop till he had emptied the glass,
but I should pinch his nose till I was sure he had swallowed it.  There,
I will not give you more than is good for you, my lad.  You think I'm
glad to get hold of a job, and will not leave it till I'm obliged; but
don't you fall into an error about that, my dear sir.  I'm too fond of
ease."

"I'm sure you will do the best you can for me," said Mark; "and I want
to be grateful."

"Ah!  Then you're an exception, my lad."

"How is Mr Russell, sir?"

"Getting on, but obstinate; wants to be well all at once, and get to his
duties.  I must go and see him now.  Mind and take your stuff regularly.
Morning."

The cabin was empty once more, save for the patient, who uttered a sigh
of relief, and lay listening to the soft _pad_, _pad_ of the sailors'
bare feet on the deck, and the voices of the officers giving their
orders, all sounding pleasantly familiar as he lay back there feeling
that he must be better from the interest he took in all that was going
on, and the pleasant clearness of his head.

"I wonder how long it will be before they have me on deck," he said to
himself.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"SOUP" AND "TATERS."

"Hooray!" cried Bob Howlett, about a week later, as he burst into the
cabin.

"What is it?" cried Mark, excitedly.  "Why are they getting the anchor
up?"

"Don't know.  Nobody knows but the skipper, but we're off somewhere,
thank goodness, and you're to come on deck to-day, and old Russell too."

"That is good news."

"Yes, I shall have you all right now, in no time, getting the breeze
away from this dismal shore.  Here, I've told your lady's-maid--

  "Hoozoar we're off to sea--he--he,
  Hoozoar we're off to sea."

Mark thrust his fingers into his ears till the last word was sung, and
then withdrew them.

"Here, what do you mean about the lady's-maid?"

"I've told Tom Fillot to come.  He's to attend to you down here.  I've
got some one else for you on deck."

"Tell him to make haste, then."

"Come in," cried Bob; and Tom Fillot came in, pulled his forelock, and
kicked out one leg behind, as he stood grinning, but looking rather
white and pulled down.

"Ah, Tom," cried Mark, "glad you have got well again.  Coming to help
me?"

"Yes, sir!  Mr Howlett said I was to come and wally de sham you, as he
calls washing yer down and dressing of yer up.  Same to you, sir, only
you don't look quite as I should like to see yer."

Half an hour later Mark was on deck in a long cane chair, the awning
above his head, the monotonous-looking coast off astern, and forward and
to right and left the blue dancing water, rippled by a light breeze
which made the _Nautilus_ careen over and glide through the little
waves.

"And how beautiful it all looks!" sighed the lad.  "I never thought the
ship so delightful, nor the sea so bright before."

Just then, Dance the coxswain came by, and saluted, Bob Howlett passing
them the same moment.

"Here you are, then, skipper," he said.  "What do you think of Joe
Dance?  Looks yellow about the gills, don't he?  Here comes the captain.
Can I do anything for you, Vandean?"

"Morning, Mr Vandean," said the captain.  "Come, that's better.  Now
then, be smart and get well."

"I almost think I am well, sir," replied Mark, "and feel ashamed of
being so idle."

"Humph!" said Mr Staples, from behind him, "first midshipman I ever
knew with so fine a conscience.  But come, he does look better, sir."

"Oh yes.  Only wants time," said the captain.  "You'll be ready to help
take the next slaver, Vandean--eh?"--this to the lieutenant; "well, say
the next but one.  By the way, Mr Vandean, you can send your attendant
to the cabin for any books you like to read.  Look here, Staples."

They went aft together talking, and then descended to the cabin, when
Bob Howlett hurried up.

"Why, you're holding quite a levee, old chap.  I want to introduce two
gentlemen to you, only I don't know about bringing them on the
quarter-deck.  All right, I will.  It can be to move your chair."

Before Mark could say a word, the lad was off, and a minute later he
returned with a couple of black sailors in white duck shirt and
trousers--big built, fierce-looking fellows, whose black faces, hands,
and feet showed strangely in contact with their snowy clothes.

They followed Bob Howlett on deck and to the chair occupied by Mark,
stopping at a sign given by the midshipman who led them up.

"Here we are," he said.  "You two don't understand a word I say, and I
can't make out a word of yours, so we're free and equal there.  Now,
look here, this is Captain Vandean, and I'm Captain Howlett.  That is,
we shall be some day.  Now then, listen."

The two blacks gazed at him intently, as if trying hard to understand
him.

"This, I say, is Captain Vandean, and I'm Captain Howlett, and we came
in the boat and saved your lives when you were pitched overboard out of
the slaver."

"Are these the two men?" said Mark, eagerly.

"Right, my lord.  These are they.  I've had 'em holy-stoned and fresh
painted.  They seemed to want to stay, and the skipper said as he was
short-handed he'd give 'em a trial.  Of course, I took their parts; and
I said to Maitland--"

"Yes, what did you say to Maitland, Mr Howlett?" said the captain, who
had returned unobserved.

Bob's jaw dropped.  He was as a rule ready enough, but he was so
completely taken aback that he was now speechless.

"Ah," said the captain, "your memory is so short that you cannot
recollect.  But try and bear this in mind, Mr Howlett.  Don't vapour
and don't brag.  These things are not becoming to an officer and a
gentleman."

He passed on, and Bob's face was a study.

"There, it's all over," he said, dismally.  "Don't laugh at a fellow.
You might have said he was coming up."

"I can't help laughing, and I didn't know, Bob, really," said Mark,
merrily, "Oh, I say, you did look a muff."

"So would you," said Bob, angrily.  "There, I can't say what I was going
to say to you, only that their names are Soup and Taters.  This is the
one you brought aboard--Soup.  And this is my one--Taters.  Soup--
Taters," he said again, and he touched the two men on the shoulders as
he spoke, both smiling faintly as they heard his words, and gazing from
one to the other as if striving hard to catch the meaning.  "Now then,
what do you think of them?"

"They both seem to be big, strong, healthy fellows."

"Yes, and I shall make first-class seamen of them."

"I suppose so," said Mark, smiling.

"There you go again--chaffing.  Ah, you're ever so much better,"
grumbled Bob.  Then turning to the two blacks--"Now then, you may both
go below, only recollect that we've got a sort of right in you, because
Mr Van here saved one of you, and I saved the other."

The two blacks gazed hard at the speaker, the man who had been dragged
into the first cutter through Mark, bending forward a little, with his
soft opal eyeballs gleaming and a wonderful intense look in his swart
face.  There was a twitching about the temples, and his lower lip
trembled a little, while one hand was raised; but as Bob Howlett
finished, he uttered a low sigh, muttered a few words to his companion,
and drew himself up, folding his arms across his broad chest.

"Well done, noble savage," said Bob.  "We very nearly understand each
other.  Here, Soup."

The black started at the word, and looked inquiringly at the speaker.

"Don't worry the poor fellows," said Mark.

"Who's going to worry them?  Look here, Soup, you're going to serve the
Queen, and the sooner you understand the Queen's English the better.
I'm going to suit the action to the word.  Now then, see here."

Bob glanced sharply round, to see that only the officer of the watch was
on deck, and then, going through a kind of pantomime with great
rapidity, he made believe to be struggling with an assailant toward the
bulwarks, and being pitched overboard, while the blacks looked on in
astonishment.

"Here, they think you're going mad, Bob," cried Mark.  "Drop it."

"Sha'n't!  Look at 'em!  They understand.  Look here, Soup.  Now then,
Taters, I'm swimming for my life."

He struck out and swam drily, going through all the actions till he
pretended to grow weak, threw up his hands, made believe to splash, and
then let his head droop as he reached Mark's chair.

"Now then," he said, "pretend to pull me into the boat."

Mark laughed and obeyed, helping to finish the pantomime, which was