The position of the men would have been delightful if they had had a
fair stock of provisions. For the cool water rippled by their boat,
there was a refreshing breeze in the shady trees, and a pleasant
sensation of dreamy repose and restfulness came over all as they lay
about watching the dazzling sea and beautiful verdant tropic shore.
And as he gazed, Mark felt that undoubtedly fruit of some kind could be
found sufficient to sustain life; and, with the determination to wait
till another day, when the men would be better able to act, forgetful of
the fact that fasting would make them more unfit, he thought of landing
again directly after daylight, for a search, and then went to the boat
and sat back to gaze out at sea.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Mr Vandean, sir! Mr Vandean!"
"Eh? Yes! What's the matter?"
"Nothing sir, only I couldn't wake you up."
"Was I asleep?"
"Yes, sir; we've all been asleep, more shame for me to say so, and the
lads have only just woke me up."
"Oh, it's horrible!" cried Mark; "how can I ever trust myself again?"
"Oh, don't you take on about that, sir: human natur's human natur.
Everybody's weak and queer with the knocking about we had, and the
proper thing for us was to have a good snooze, and we've only been
getting ready to do a good night's work."
Mark looked at Mr Russell, who lay breathing comfortably enough, and
then, in a stern way, he gave orders for the boat to be unmoored, and
Dance rose at once, seeming feeble, but quite in his right mind, and
ready to resent an attempt on the part of Fillot to relieve him of the
task. A good thrust was given to the boat out into the rushing stream,
oars fell on either side, and the men began to row, so as to get out of
the mouth of the river and begin making their way north.
But in a very few minutes Mark was enlightened as to the state of
affairs. While they slept the tide had turned, and in place of a swift
stream of fresh water running out, they were in the rapid tidal current
running in, any doubt he might have had on the subject being set at rest
by scooping up a little water with his hand, to taste it, and find it
salt.
The men were pulling steadily, but with a feeble, slow stroke, which at
first kept them about stationary. Then by slow degrees the boat gave a
little and a little more, till in the waning light Mark saw a cluster of
trees ashore, by which they had been passing, begin to glide the other
way.
"Pull, my lads, pull!" he cried, and the men tugged again for a few
minutes, and managed to keep abreast of the trees, but their strokes
again grew more feeble, and, in spite of spurt after spurt, it was
evident enough that the tide was too strong for men suffering from
injuries, and famishing with hunger, nothing having passed their lips
save water for many hours.
"Here," cried Tom Fillot, "you don't half pull. Let me come. We'll
soon get outside, where the current won't be so strong."
"It's o' no use, mate," said Dick Bannock. "She's too much for us. You
can't do no good. After getting well, and a lot o' beef and biscuit, we
might do it, but there's no pulling agin that 'ere."
"You don't half try," said Tom Fillot, sitting down and getting an oar
over the side to add his strength, when all pulled again, working hard
for quite half an hour, when Mark called to them to stop.
"Waste of strength, my lads," he said; "we've been drifting all the
time."
"Yes, sir," said Tom Fillot. "I knowed it and was only waiting for you
to speak. Most too dark to see, but I'm 'bout sure."
"We must let her go up with the tide, Tom, or else moor her again by the
trees."
"Well, we should be brought back again, sir; but I think it would be
best to make fast."
"Steadily, my lads," said Mark; "let's pull in shore with the tide till
I see a good place."
"Or, feel it, sir," whispered Tom Fillot.
"Yes, or feel it, Tom," said Mark. "How dark it's getting. Easy--easy
there; just dip so as to get nearer the shore. The current's so swift
we may be capsized."
"Easy it is, sir," said Tom, and they rowed gently on with the current,
getting nearer and nearer the shore with its heavy fringe of verdure,
Mark watching eagerly in the gathering blackness for a big tree with
overhanging boughs, but all in vain.
It was so dark now that they seemed to be gliding along right in the
shadow, while more out towards the middle of what was evidently a broad
river--the stream widening above the mouth--it was comparatively light,
sufficiently so for them to see any object afloat.
"Can't you make anything we can hook on to, sir?" said Tom Fillot.
"No, my lad, not yet. But I shall directly. You be ready."
"Ready it is, sir. If I see a chance, shall I ketch hold?"
"_Hist_!"
"What's the matter, sir?"
"Talk lower. What's that? It may be enemies."
"Phew!" whistled Tom Fillot, softly. "It was behind me. I didn't see
that. There, you have it."
He caught hold of the overhanging bough of a tree and brought the boat
up as they both stood there watching a gleaming light at a little
distance, which gradually was made out to be a lanthorn carried by
someone here and there.
"Ashore," whispered Mark.
"Afloat," said Tom. "It's somebody aboard ship. Hark at that!"
There was the rattle of a chain, apparently being let out through the
hawse-holes of a vessel, then a little more rattling, followed by the
disappearance of the light, and silence once more.
"What do you make of it, sir?" whispered Tom.
As he spoke there came a strange, plaintive, smothered sound, so full of
agony that Mark shuddered.
"I can hardly tell," he said. "I thought at first it was the
_Nautilus_."
"No, sir; people on board the _Naughtylass_ don't howl like that."
"Then--no: it can't be! Is it the slaver?" faltered Mark, as his heart
beat rapidly with excitement.
"It's she or another on the cowardly beggars," whispered Tom Fillot,
hoarsely. "Don't make a sound, my lads."
"But oh, it can't be," cried Mark, trembling now with eagerness.
"Don't see why not, sir. She was bound to go into hiding a bit till our
ship had gone, and she's crept in here to lie by, and sail perhaps when
the tide turns."
"Take a turn with a rope round that branch, Tom," whispered Mark; "and
not a sound."
"Trust me, sir, for that," was whispered back; and there was a little
rustling heard as Mark carefully made his way in the darkness to where
Tom Fillot stood.
"Sit down," whispered Mark. "I want all the men to hear. Lean this
way, all of you."
There was another rustling sound, and a certain amount of deep breathing
as Mark whispered softly,--
"Mind, not a word when I've done, or we shall be heard aboard that
vessel. She's not two hundred yards away."
There was not a sound, and after waiting a few moments to command his
voice and to try and stay the tumultuous beating of his heart, Mark went
on,--
"My lads, that must be the schooner waiting, as Tom Fillot said."
He paused again, for his words would hardly come. Then, more and more
huskily from his emotion:
"My lads, I know you're weak, but you've got the pluck. The crew of
that schooner stole upon us in the night, struck you all down, and
pitched us into the boat."
There was another pause--a longer one, for it required a desperate
effort to get out the words. Then, so faintly as to be hardly heard,
but with a strength in them which electrified the listeners, Mark
Vandean, midshipman and mere boy, said to the stout men around him,--
"It's dark as pitch now, lads, so couldn't we steal aboard and serve
them the same?"