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."