"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 quite comprehended by the two blacks, when Bob pointed to his messmate, and said:

"Here, Soup, this is the noble being who saved you."

The man uttered a few softly liquid words, smiled, and with his eyes full of thankfulness he took a step forward, his companion imitating his acts, and dropped down on his knees before Mark's chair.

"There," cried Bob, "what do you say to—Oh, I say, stow that, Taters; not to him. I saved you. Don't give him all the honour and glory."

But his explanation was in vain. Both the poor fellows had interpreted his words to mean that Mark had saved them both, and they crouched before him, making signs that he was their lord and they his humblest slaves.

"Well! I do call this sickening," cried Bob. "That's just my luck. Look here, Taters. I should just like to peel you and give you three dozen, you nasty black-looking, ungrateful swab. Hi! jump up! Here comes old Staples. Now then, both of you, come along."

He seized one with each hand by the sleeves of their duck frocks, and dragged them forward; but in an instant, they had snatched themselves free, and returned to Mark, speaking softly in their own tongue, and with a good deal of gesticulation, till Mark ended Bob's perplexity by pointing to the lower deck, when they walked obediently after the midshipman right away to the forecastle hatch, and went below.

Five minutes later Bob was back again by his messmate's side.

"That's just my luck," he said, sourly. "I beat the bush and somebody else catches the bird. Oh, here's Mr Russell coming; we shall have the whole quarter-deck on the sick list directly."

But all the same Bob ran across to offer the second lieutenant his arm, as he walked feebly toward where Mark was seated, and eagerly stretched out his hand to grasp that of the young brother officer who had shared the peril of what had so nearly been their last adventure.

Mark heaved a sigh, but it was one full of satisfaction as they two sat quietly talking together, with first one and then another to come up and utter a few words of congratulation; and when sailors and marines passed and saluted with a friendly smile, there was no mistaking the popularity of the two convalescents.

Meanwhile the Nautilus glided along due south, and there was a good deal of speculation as to her next destination, till Mr Staples came up, and in the conversation which ensued, announced that they were to search for a river about sixty miles along the coast, one which was not marked down in any chart, but was supposed to exist, and to be a stronghold of those engaged in the slave trade.

It was getting toward evening, and the two invalids had pleaded for the doctor's permission to stay longer on deck, for the soft air was delicious, and gave them fresh strength at every breath. They were very silent as they sat watching with keen delight the varied business of the ship, doubly interesting to them now that they could not take part in it, when the wind began to drop, and the course of the vessel to grow more sluggish.

There was nothing for the men to do, and permission had been given to a party of them, just towards sundown, to take the grains forward and try to harpoon some of the swift fish playing about their bows in the golden water; but instead of going and perching himself somewhere to take part in the sport, Bob Howlett hung about the chair of his brother middy.

"Why don't you go and join in the fishing, Howlett?" said Mr Russell.

"Oh, I don't know," he said. "It'll be quite dark directly, and I was wishing, sir, for something to happen to make me an invalid."

"Because you have such an affection for Doctor Whitney's doses?" said Mark, laughing.

"No, so you needn't make nasty remarks," replied Bob. "I thought so, because middies who have been a little out of sorts get all kinds of attentions, and those who are quite well get bullied by first lieutenants, and are spoken to by captains as if they weren't worth their salt, as Mr Staples calls it."

"I shall have to report Mr Robert Howlett's insubordinate language," said Mark's fellow-invalid, when all at once there came a cry of rage, followed by a loud shouting somewhere forward. Then more cries, and confusion, and directly after there was a desperate scuffle going on by the forecastle hatch.

"What's that?" cried the first lieutenant; and in a few minutes, after a desperate fight, the two blacks were dragged forward, pushed by four of the men, and held by main force while the captain, who had hurried on deck, called for an explanation.

This was given by a dozen voices at once, but in obedience to a command there was silence, in which the heavy panting breathing of the blacks could be plainly heard.

"Now then," said the captain, "one man speak. You, Dance, step forward. What does this mean?"

"Beg pardon, sir," said the coxswain of the first cutter; "some of the lads got skylarking and playing tricks with the two black hands."

"Who did?" said the captain, sternly.

"Beg pardon, sir, didn't see, sir, but it made the two niggers wild, and one got a knife and the other a marlin-spike; and if they hadn't been held there'd ha' been murder done, and—"

"Man overboard!" was yelled from right forward where the fishing had been going on, and following a loud splashing from just beneath the ship's counter came that most thrilling of cries to send the blood coursing back even from the strongest man's cheek.

"Boat, boat—Help—help!"

In tropic waters just as the sun had sunk below the horizon, and the rapid darkness was coming on.



CHAPTER TWELVE.

DANCE MAKES MISTAKES.

"He's tangled with the line," came in a clear voice, which Mark recognised as Bob's, and a shudder ran through him.

It needs all the strict discipline and long training to prevent confusion even on board a man-of-war, in a time of emergency. Here the disposition of the men was to run to the ship's side, and shout words of advice, but a sharp command or two brought the crew back to order, and the men rushed to the boat nearest to the spot where the man was struggling in the water.

It was a fine, smart young sailor, who had been standing on a stay below the bowsprit, holding on with one hand, and straining out to aim a good throw at a large fish gliding beneath the bows. He had darted the harpooning "grains" or trident, struck the fish deeply, but from inexperience he had not carefully arranged the line attached to the staff. The result being that there was a sudden rush on the part of the fish as soon as it was struck, a ring of the line was tightened round the man's arm in a firm tangled knot, and he was jerked from his hold and dragged down into the deep water for some distance before he rose again, struggling wildly and calling for help. He would get his lips above water for a moment or two, and then be dragged under again. Then he would rise to the surface and shriek for help in tones which thrilled his hearers.

"Quick, my lads!" roared the first lieutenant. "Bless the man! Why can't he cut himself loose?"

There was a gurgling cry and silence, as the wheels of the falls chirruped and the boat began to descend; but at that moment there was a fresh excitement plainly seen from where Mark had tottered to the bulwark, and stood looking over the side at what seemed to be a moving shadow, far down under the surface, jerked about in a most extraordinary manner.

He looked round sharply, for there was a loud cry, a babble of tongues, and the shouting of fresh orders, and simultaneously a life-buoy splashed in the sea, near where the man had been dragged down; the boat was descending and a white figure was seen to leap on to the bulwarks after a desperate struggle to free itself from those who had held it, and plunge head-first into the darkening waters.

It was the bigger of the two blacks, who had in his insane rage taken advantage of the confusion and excitement to escape from those who held him prisoner and leap overboard, to swim for his liberty.

The loud cries of excitement increased at this fresh development of the trouble. Two were overboard now; and one of the men who had held the black had been hurled upon the deck, rose to his knees holding a wrenched arm.

"He'll be drowned now," growled the man; "and sarve him right. He's as strong as a hox."

Mark saw the white-clothed figure strike the surface with a heavy plunge, and go down, make a carve of light beneath the water, and rise again to shake his black head and strike out for the open sea before him, insensible for the moment to everything but the idea of getting away. He, poor fellow, in his blind ignorance, knew no more, but before he had taken many strokes there was a wild gurgling shriek behind him, as the sailor's head appeared, and the black stopped, turned, and swam back in time to seize the drowning man and hold him up just as he was dragged under again, the boat which had just kissed the water being still far-away, the Nautilus having glided on.

The natural result was that as the fish gave its fierce jerking tug, and the black held on to the sailor, both were dragged under; but grasping the difficulty, the black seized the line and made a desperate snatch at it, with sufficient strength to detach the grains, and they both rose again, with the rescuer swimming strongly, the rescued half drowned, helpless and unable to raise a hand to save himself.

"Hold on! Coming! Swim this way," shouted the officer in charge of the boat; and as Mark looked aft at the actors in this scene, all growing more distant moment by moment, he heard Bob Howlett's shrill voice plainly in spite of the distance,—"Hold on, Soup. Coming."

The words sounded incongruous—ridiculous—but the voice influenced the black, who turned and swam slowly toward them, trying to support his charge.

"Can you see, Vandean?" said Mr Russell, who had crept to the bulwarks and stood beside the midshipman.

"Yes, but how slow the boat is."

"They are keeping afloat, then—swimming?"

"I think one of them is," said Mark in a whisper.

"Hah!" sighed the young lieutenant, "my eyes are dim and weak. How near is the boat now?"

"Oh, it must be fifty yards away, and they're going down. The men don't try."

"It seems so to us, but they must be rowing their best. Are they getting near now?"

"I don't think so, and—and I can't see anybody. Oh! how horrible. Pull, pull!"

"Hush?" said Russell. "I can't see, but the boat must be between us and the men. How was it all?"

"I don't quite understand, but the black seemed to try and save the man overboard. Don't—don't speak! I want to see. Oh, if I only had a glass. Mine's below."

"Can you see them now?" said Russell, in a faint whisper.

"No, no, this is dreadful," groaned Mark; "they are so far-off, but I can see the boat. Yes, they are pulling hard now. No; they have ceased rowing, and two men are standing up now, and—too late—too late."

"Hurray!" came faintly from the distance, where the shades of the fast-falling tropical night had rendered the boat nearly invisible. The cheer was echoed from on board with a tremendous shout, as the distant cry rose again.

"There, they have saved them, Mr Russell," cried Mark excitedly.

"Hah!" came in a low, deep sigh, as the lieutenant's legs gave way beneath him, and he would have fallen if it had not been for the sudden action of Mark, who held the poor fellow's arms pressed down over the rail as he called for help.

"What is it?" cried a firm voice from close at hand, and the captain strode up. "Ah! Mr Russell fainting. Let him go, Mr Vandean. I'll drop him into this seat."

The captain dragged a cane reclining-chair forward, and lowered the feeble man gently down.

"There, he will soon come to," said the captain. "He is too weak to be on deck."

"The sight of the men drowning upset him, sir."

"Of course, Mr Vandean. It nearly upset me, who have not been ill. Not a pleasant sight to see our fellow-creatures losing their lives, and not to be able to help them. Come, Russell, man, this will not do."

The lieutenant looked up at him wonderingly, as he unclosed his eyes.

"Are they saved!" he said, faintly.

"Thank God! Yes," replied the captain; and just then a fresh cheer arose from the cutter, which was being pulled steadily back; the cheer was answered, and soon after the boat hung from the davits, and Bob cried up excitedly to Mark,—"I say, I saved him this time, old chap."

Then followed a few stern words from the captain, strictly forbidding further fishing except by the older and more experienced hands.

Turning to the first lieutenant, he said in Mark's hearing,—"Now comes the difficulty. How am I to punish this black for the knife business? He cannot understand a word that is said."

"No; it is difficult," replied the first lieutenant; "but it cannot be passed over."

"The man evidently meant to escape, but repented on seeing a fellow-creature drowning, and saved his life. Well, that's a good trait in his character, Staples. Black and savage though he is, the man must have good qualities. I'm afraid it was a mistake to keep the two poor fellows on board."

"Hasn't turned out well so far, sir," said the first lieutenant, gruffly. "There, sir, it's for you to settle about the punishment. Something must be done."

"The plus seems to me to balance the minus, Staples," said the captain. "I want to do something, but these poor savages cannot understand." Then to the men gathered below, "Look here, my lads, with respect to this affray—"

"Beg pardon, sir," came from forward.

"Who's that?" said the captain, sternly. "How dare you interrupt!"

"Axing your pardon, sir, Joe Dance, sir, coxswain fust cutter."

"Well, what is it, sir?"

"I only wanted to say, sir, as I was down below, and I kep' on saying to the lads, sir, as was a teasing the niggers—"

"The blacks, my man," said the captain, sharply.

"Yes, your honour, the black niggers, sir. 'Let 'em bide,' I says; 'what's the good o' teasing 'em? You'll only make 'em want to bite.' But they wouldn't take no notice o' what I said, sir, and kep' it up till the poor chaps turned savage like, and it was hooroar, and all the fat in the fire."

"Stop, sir!" cried the captain, sternly. "Speak plain English, sir."

"Yes, sir; that's what I'm a-trying to do, sir."

"You say that the men were teasing and baiting the two black hands, and you advised them not to?"

"Well, your honour, it was hardly adwice, because I said I'd shove my fist in someone's eye if he didn't let the poor beggars bide."

Mr Staples uttered a curious sound, and the captain coughed.

"Ah, well, you tried to make them stop their cowardly, unmanly tricks."

"That's it, your honour."

"Then now give me the names of the men who were guilty, and as each man's name is called let him stand out three paces to the front. Go on."

Joe Dance scratched his head, but did not speak.

"Now, coxswain, speak out. The first man?"

"Adam," whispered Bob to Mark, at whose elbow he now stood, and Mark jerked back his elbow into the boy's chest.

"Well, sir, who was the first man?" cried the captain. "Beg pardon, your honour," said Joe Dance, gruffly; "it was down in the fo'c'sle."

"I know that, sir, but I want to know the names."

A faint sound arose as if several men had drawn a deep breath.

"Do you hear me, Dance?" cried the captain.

"Oh yes, your honour."

"He won't tell tales of his messmates," said Bob, with his lips close to Mark's ear.

"Silence, Mr Howlett!" cried the captain, sternly. "Now, Dance, the names?"

"Beg pardon, your honour, but there was only one dip a-going in the lantern, and it didn't give light enough to tell which was your right hand and which was your left."

"The names, sir!" cried the captain, as once more there was the sound of a deep breath.

"Couldn't give yer one of 'em, sir, unless it was Tom Fillot."

"Hah! Stand out, sir."

"Why, I was taking my trick at the wheel, your honour," cried Tom Fillot, in tones of protest.

"So you was, messmet," growled Dance; "so you was. There, your honour," he continued, turning to the captain, "you see how dark it were."

"Try again, sir," said the captain, sternly.

"Dick Bannock," said Dance.

"Which I were o' dooty in my watch, mate," cried the man.

"Ay, so you was, messmet. No, your honour, it were too dark. P'r'aps," he added, cunningly, "one o' the blacks knows."

Here there was a murmur.

"Silence!" cried the captain, sternly. "I'm afraid I shall have to recall this as a mark against you, Dance, when the time comes for promotion. It is very plain, sir, that you do know, and will not speak. Hark here, my lads, I am going to pass this over. I cannot punish two ignorant, half-savage men for resenting a cruel attack upon them—cruel and cowardly. Go below now, and show me in the future that you have too much common sense to play such boys' tricks again. Let the two blacks step out."

Efforts were made to induce the two Africans to advance, but without avail.

"Now, are those men coming aft?" said the captain, sternly; but there was only a buzzing sound below, and something extremely like a scuffle.

"Beg pardon, sir; they don't understand," said Bob Howlett. "They'd come up if I spoke to 'em."

"Then go down and send them aft—or no," said the captain, impatiently. "I want them to understand that they are pardoned, but that there must be no violence again. There, that's enough, Mr Staples. Pipe the men below."

"And that's an end of it," whispered Bob Howlett, as soon as the captain was out of hearing. "I say, Van, wasn't old Joe Dance a trump?"



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE ENEMY ONCE MORE.

"All this time sailing here and there," said Mark one day, "and not done a bit of good."

"Do you hear that, Mr Whitney?" cried Bob. "There's gratitude, when it has been just as if we were under orders to keep at sea so as to get him and Mr Russell well again; and look at 'em now. Why, it has quite cured 'em both."

"And their doctor has done nothing, Mr Bob Howlett?"

"Oh, I didn't mean that, sir, exactly," said that gentleman, colouring a little. "Of course you have done them a lot of good, sir, and—"

"There, you are only floundering about, young gentleman, and making worse of it," said the doctor, gruffly.

"Wait a bit; you will be laid by the heels one of these days, and then you will sing a very different song. But you are a wonderful deal better, Vandean, and I congratulate you. I shall not have to ask for you to be sent home."

"Oh yes, I'm much better, sir," cried Mark.

"Well, don't talk as if you were afraid I was going to order you pills and draught. I've done with you, but you had better be careful Mr Russell can go on without me now. As for Mr Howlett here—well, we'll wait for that."

He gave Bob a curious look and strolled away, leaving that gentleman with his face screwed up in a way which made Mark burst out laughing.

"Oh yes, it's all very well for you to grin," grumbled Bob; "you're out of the wood. He don't like me, and you see if he doesn't serve me out first chance he gets."

"Then you should have been more careful about what you said."

"Well, I was. I do believe he'd like to have me down in his cabin to cut up for experiment, and to practise physic on. Ugh! the old wretch!" he continued, with a shudder.

"Hallo! what's the matter now?" he added, as the man up aloft shouted "Sail ho!" and glasses were rapidly brought to bear upon a point miles away down south, where a few palm trees were dimly-seen through the hot haze.

"What do you make of her, Mr Russell?" said the captain to the young officer, who had gone aloft.

"Barque, sir. Small. Heavily-rigged. She's going right in. There must be either a bay there, or a large river."

"No mention of any bay or harbour there," said the captain. "Looks bad—or good," he added. "What else can you make out?"

"Nothing, sir. The trees hide her now completely."

"Slaver, then, without a doubt. Now, gentlemen, she has gone in without seeing us, and it will be our fault if she gets away. We must have no mistake this time."

"Hurray!" whispered Bob to his companion. "Prize-money at last."

"Chickens," said Mark.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't count 'em till they're hatched."

"Get out, croaker!"

Just then the two blacks came along the deck, looking very smart in their white sailor trousers, and not a little proud of their straw hats. Each man brightened up and displayed his teeth, as he saw the midshipmen, muttering something incomprehensible in reply to Bob's "How do, Soup? How are you, Taters?" and passing on.

"I say," said Mark, "it's too bad to nickname the poor fellows like that."

"Not a bit of it. What's in a name? They answer to 'em right enough, and the men like 'em."

"Yes, of course they do. Whoever heard of a sailor who didn't like a bit of fun of that kind?"

"Oh, then you call it fun?"

"Yes—ill-natured fun."

"Bother! Here's the skipper. Let's seem to be doing something, or we shall be lectured."

But Captain Maitland was too eager about the sailing of his ship, and paid no heed to the midshipmen's idleness, only thinking as he was of getting round the land in front, and overhauling the stranger, who was now quite out of sight beyond the point, and it took two hours to get within sight again. But they found that, instead of there being a river, the coast turned sharply to the east, and the barque, in place of being close to them, was sailing steadily away east and south, and farther from them than ever.

"Bah! another false alarm," cried Mr Staples; "are we never to capture one of the scoundrels?"

Just then Mark touched his elbow, and pointed to a vessel which had been unnoticed before, lying as it did close under the shore, with bare poles raked well back, and the whole of the long, low, schooner-rigged vessel wearing a look of having been built for swift-sailing more than for any ordinary trading purpose.

"Well done, sharp eyes!" cried the lieutenant; "that's one of the scoundrels;" and the course of the Nautilus was changed directly with a peculiar result.

The minute before not a soul was to be seen on board the schooner, which might have been absolutely deserted; but, as soon as the course of the Nautilus was changed and those on board saw that, in spite of lying close up under the trees of the muddy shore of what appeared to be a creek, they had been observed, sails were rapidly hoisted, and the slight, graceful vessel began to glide so swiftly through the water that it was evidently no slow ship that would catch her should she once get into the offing.

She was about a mile away and promised to escape, but Captain Maitland did not mean to be out-manoeuvred this time. The crew were beat to quarters, a gun fired, and the colours run up as the course of the Nautilus was again altered so as to cut the schooner off, and in due time a second gun gave out its puff of smoke.

But no heed was taken, and the schooner kept along close in shore till her captain saw that escape was impossible in the direction he was taking, and altering his helm, the swift vessel glided round and made off in the opposite direction.

But the Nautilus was again too quick for her, and in a few minutes was once more hard in chase and sending shot after shot, till one better directed than the rest went through her maintopmast.

The crew of the Nautilus sent up a tremendous cheer as the great spar came down with its gaff sail, leaving the schooner for the time like a bird with a broken wing.

"We shall have her now for certain," said Bob Howlett.

"Yes; and she has shown no colours," replied Mark; "but suppose she does not turn out to be a slaver, after all."

"Suppose pigs were to fly," cried Bob. "She's a slaver for certain, and we've got her."

"Doesn't look like it," replied his companion; "where's she making for now? Why, she sails as well as ever."

This was a slight exaggeration, but all the same the vessel glided along rapidly, and through the glasses the crew could be seen rapidly cutting away the damaged rigging, while her helm was manipulated so that she appeared to be sailing right for the shore.

Another shot and another was fired, but not the slightest heed was paid; and as the Nautilus went swiftly on, it was noted that, unseen before, there was a narrow river running up through the trees, with its regular fringe of mangroves, and the schooner was being steered for this.

"She'll get right up that river, after all," said Mark, who in the excitement had forgotten all his past illness, and appeared to be as strong as ever.

"Not she. We shall have her first, my lad. Hurray! look, she has given in. They've stopped and surrendered."

"She has struck on one of the banks, sir," cried Lieutenant Staples, excitedly, for the schooner's way through the water had suddenly ceased, and she slowly swung round broadside on, with her sails shivering and flapping.

"A prize at last!" cried Mark, as the men cheered, and the Nautilus glided on, till, when they were about a quarter of a mile away, Mr Russell announced that a couple of boats were leaving the schooner, and it was seen that her captain and crew were making for the shore.

"No doubt now about what she is, gentlemen," said the captain. "Pipe away the cutter's crew. Mr Russell, you would like to begin work again. Jump in, sir, and go and take possession."

"And pursue the boats, sir?"

"Bah! no! They are not worth the labour. You can take one of the young gentlemen with you."

Bob took a step forward, but Mr Russell turned to Mark.

"You'll come, Vandean," he said; and the lad leaped into the cutter, which was rapidly rowed away through the muddy water, just as the schooner's boats disappeared round a headland covered with trees, which screened the outlet of a stream far larger than had been imagined, and for which without doubt now the schooner's captain had been making.

"A splendid prize, Vandean," said Mr Russell, as they drew near and saw the admirable build of the vessel, which looked nearly new. "She was evidently on her way for a cargo of the poor wretches. We ought to have taken her afterwards, when she was laden."

"Yes, we should have done more good then. But if they had no slaves on board, why did they run? Oh!"

The midshipman uttered an ejaculation expressive of the utter disgust which he felt as they neared the schooner's side.

"What is it? What's the matter?" cried the lieutenant; and then his countenance changed. "Back water!" he exclaimed, as he turned away his head. "How horrible!"

Then, altering his order, he cried, "Row—row, my lads—pull!"

For from somewhere on board, now not a dozen yards from them, there rang out in smothered tones a piteous cry of despair.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

IN THE SCHOONER'S HOLD.

It was undoubtedly a terrible cry of despair from a human being in deadly peril, and with all the force of Englishmen sent to answer such a call for aid, the boat was rushed through the water, the coxswain hooked on, and setting at defiance that which had horrified and disgusted them, the two officers, followed by all their men but the boat-keeper, sprang on board the beautifully clean, trim-looking schooner, where the remains of the broken spar, axes that had been hastily thrown down, and a tangle of cordage and canvas cumbered the deck.

"What is it?" cried Mark, excitedly. "Is someone being killed?"

"Some dozens," cried Russell, fiercely, as the cry was repeated from beneath their feet, followed by a horrible scuffling sound mingled with groans. "The wretches have battened down the hatches, and the poor creatures below are suffocating."

As he spoke, he caught up one of the axes from where it lay, an example followed by Mark, and they struck off the fastenings which held down the hatches close by where they stood.

The horrible sounds ceased at the first blow of the axe, and a deathly silence succeeded, followed by a low, deep, murmuring roar.

"Stop!" cried Mr Russell. "Stand by, lads, and be prepared. The poor wretches may not know friends from foes."

The next minute the hatch was thrown up, and there was a fearful rush, not that for which they had prepared, but one perhaps worse. The wretched blacks crowded down in the stifling hold were too much cowed by the brutality from which they had suffered to dare then to raise a hand; and, instead of making a dash for liberty as anticipated, they waited in expectation of death being the portion of the man who first reached the opening.

The boat's crew shrank away from the hatch, driven back by the rush of poisonous air of so fearful an odour that the lieutenant turned ghastly as he cried,—"Oh, horror! how can the poor creatures exist?" How indeed? Relief had only come in time. The captain of the schooner had probably intended to pretend that he had no slaves on board, but had altered his mind and fled after the poor wretches had been shut down; and, without doubt, if they had been unable to break out to the deck, in less than an hour not a soul would have been left alive.

"Here, Vandean," cried Mr Russell, "we must risk their attacking us, and have them on deck. How are we to make them understand? Hi! below there! Come up into the fresh air."

But there was no reply, save a stifled moan or two.

"Volunteers," cried the lieutenant. "Two men to go down and bring one of the poor wretches up. We can show him that we mean well, and then he can act as interpreter."

For a few moments no one spoke, and Mr Russell cried:—"I know it's a terrible task, my lads. Who'll come with me?"

"No, with me," said Mark, quickly; and he stepped to the mouth of the noisome pit.

"Oh, I'll go with you, Mr Vandean, sir," cried Tom Fillot; and without a word Mark drew a deep breath, stepped in on the ladder, and descended, the light being shut out directly by the sailor.

The heat was awful, and after holding his breath till he reached the bottom, at the first inspiration Mark felt giddy and sick; but making a brave effort, he took a step forward, trying to pierce the darkness around—black darkness to one who had just come out of the blazing sunshine—and made a snatch at the arm of the man nearest to him in the crowd.

He only held on for a moment, and then the arm was wrested free. He seized another, speaking gently the while. The man uttered a yell of horror, and struggled so fiercely, that Mark was fain to let go.

"We must get one on deck, Tom," cried Mark. "Lay hold of one as gently as you can, and let's pull him up."

Tom Fillot seized the first he could distinguish in the herd of poor cowering wretches, but this one, too, filled the foul air with his piercing yells, and fought so hard to free himself, that Tom let go, and stepped back below the hatch.

"They think we want to chuck 'em overboard, Mr Vandean, sir. I don't know what to say to 'em. No good to tell 'em that under the British flag they're free."

"Let's go and breathe for a few moments, Tom," said Mark, his voice sounding as if he were half-stifled.

"I'd rather do that, sir, than have the best glass o' grog ever mixed," said the man.

"Now below there!" came from the hatch; "how are you getting on?"

Mark answered the question by stumbling up the ladder till he could put his face over the combings of the hatch, and breathe the air blowing over the vessel, Tom Fillot following suit.

"You look white as ashes, Vandean," said the lieutenant. "I had no business to let you go down. But the men are not dangerous?"

"Like so many sheep," replied Mark, rather faintly; "but we could not get one to come."

"Come out, and I'll go myself."

"No," said Mark, stoutly. "I have only half done my work. Come along, Tom Fillot."

Before he could be stayed, he stepped down once more into the terrible hold, where, his eyes growing now more accustomed to the darkness, he began to make out eyes everywhere—glistening, starting eyes—all apparently staring fiercely, and in a threatening way.

The whole scene was horrible, every surrounding was sickening. The poor creatures had been herded together down in the foul place, with less care for their health than if they had been cattle, while in the emergency of the slave captain's escape, they had been left to die. But, horrible as the place was, Mark made a brave effort to master his dread and compunction. Risking attack from some one or other of the men who might very well have been infuriated by his wrongs, the young midshipman once more made an effort to seize one of the blacks and get him on deck. Watching his opportunity, he stepped boldly forward to where the crowd had shrunk back together, and again caught a man by the arm.

"Now, Tom Fillot," he cried, "help me."

The sailor seconded him well, but the poor wretch, in an agony of fear, made a desperate plunge, got free again; and at that moment, in alarm about his young officer's safety, Mr Russell sternly ordered him to come back on deck.

It was with a mingling of satisfaction and disinclination that the lad obeyed; and as they stood about the open hatch, Mr Russell said,—"We must give them time to find out that we are friends. This is my first experience, in spite of all our chasing, Vandean, and it is worse than I could have believed."

"Signal from the Naughtylass, sir," said Tom Fillot. "Yes; the captain is getting anxious. Here, Vandean, go back in the boat, and tell them the state of affairs."

"And leave you alone with these people? There must be fifty or a hundred down below."

"I shall have four defenders with me," said the lieutenant, quietly, "and you will be back soon with a reinforcement. We must get the poor wretches on deck, out of that loathsome den, or they will half of them be dead of fever in four and twenty hours."

"You wish me to go?" said Mark, hesitating.

"I order you to go, my lad," said the lieutenant, speaking sternly, but with a friendly light in his eye. "There, off at once."

Mark passed over the side with half the boat's crew, and, feeling extremely uneasy about his officer's fate, had himself rowed back, and stated the case to the captain.

"Horrible!" he said. "Well, the men must be brought on board if the schooner is a fixture. Take back ten men with you, and tell Mr Russell to get out an anchor and see if he cannot haul off the vessel. If he cannot, the slaves must be brought on board, and the schooner burned."

"But how are we to get the men out of the hold, sir? They are frightened to death of us," said Mark.

"To be sure, yes. Try fair means, and if they do not answer, the poor wretches must be hoisted on deck with ropes. They will soon grow satisfied when they feel that we mean them no harm."

"But—I beg your pardon, sir," faltered Mark; "we cannot make them understand that we are friends."

"May I speak, sir?" cried Bob Howlett.

"Silence, sir; don't interfere," said Mr Staples, sternly.

"Oh, you lucky beggar," whispered Bob; "you get all the fun."

"Go back at once, Mr Vandean," said the captain. "You understand. Get the schooner off if possible. If not, bring the slaves on board, and the vessel is to be set on fire. Well, Mr Howlett, why are you making signs?"

"I beg pardon, sir, but I could make the slaves understand."

"You?"

"Yes, sir; I should take Soup and—I mean the two black fellows—and make them interpret."

"Of course; a capital idea, my lad; but—stop. How are you going to understand the men you would take?"

"Oh, I think I could manage that, sir," said Bob, importantly.

"Indeed?"

"Yes, sir. I am making a study of their language, and I've learned a few words and taught them."

"Take them with you in the boat, then, sir, by all means;" and Bob darted a triumphant glance at the first lieutenant, in ignorance of the fact that this gentleman was watching him, and met his look in a terribly stony fashion, which made Bob's face turn blank in the extreme.

To hide his confusion, he ran off forward, and, partly by signs, partly by hauling, he drew the two blacks to the waiting boat, into which they stepped willingly enough, and five minutes later the little party were on their way back to the schooner.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A DIFFICULT TASK.

"Old Staples'll serve me out for this," cried Bob, merrily.

"Hallo! What's the matter? Don't stare in that solemn fashion."

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

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

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

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

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

"That was a good idea of yours to bring them."

"Yes, I reckon that was a bright notion."

"Only you've spoiled it by being so cocky. I say, Bob, what a conceited chap you are."

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

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

"Why, Taters has got it too. Look at him."

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

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

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

"No, no!" growled the bigger black, fiercely.

"Yes; that's what they think," cried Mark.

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

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

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

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

"Oh, they know a lot," said Bob. "Here, I'll show you. Hi, Soup! Taters, ahoy!"

The two blacks looked at him excitedly.

"It's all right."

"All—righ?" said Soup.

"Yes, all right."

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

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

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

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

"I tell you it is all right," he said. "Won't you believe me?"

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

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

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

"Show up, then," cried Mark, merrily. "There, up with you."

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

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

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

"What is it?" said the lieutenant.

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

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

"Well, wouldn't that be best for them?"

"No, Vandean; they'd only be captured and sold again. You must coax them aboard."

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

The men joined hands and stood back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, I am blest!" muttered Bob, turning scarlet.

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

"Well, I am blest, and no mistake," muttered Bob, "and him going to take all the kudos. It's too—"

He had no time to say bad, for Mark spoke out,—

"No, sir; it was Bob Howlett's idea."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hadn't I better go too, Mr Russell?" he said. "I understand those two blacks."

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

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

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

"Oh!" he ejaculated; and then again, "Oh!"

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

"Oh, just you go there, sir. 'Pon my word! it's just awful."

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

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

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

"Find it a bit strong, sir?"

"What?" cried Bob, haughtily.

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

"Then you'd better go down, sir," said Bob, sharply.

"Yes, sir, soon as I'm wanted, sir. I did go down before with Mr Vandean."

"Did he go down, then?"

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

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

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

"What, down there, sir?"

"Yes; I mean can a fellow bear it?"

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

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

"Of course, sir, if you could stand it, and didn't faint right away."

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

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

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



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

INTERPRETING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

"Come on!"

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

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

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