"I wish I knew what was best to do," said Mark Vandean. It was not long
before he had to come to the conclusion that unless accident favoured
them there was very little chance of escaping from the cabin, and he sat
at the window at last, fretting with impatience, trying to master his
disappointment, and comparing his fate with that of Bob Howlett, who was
doubtless quietly going on with his duties, and amusing himself in his
leisure teaching the chimpanzee to chew tobacco.
"I wish I knew what was best to do," Mark said to himself again.
"See that, sir?"
Mark looked round sharply.
"See what?"
"They've altered her course, sir, and are going after the other
schooner."
It was plain enough, now that his attention was drawn to the fact. The
coast which had been on the starboard side was now on the port, and
there, about a mile away was the other schooner just gliding round, and
with her sails filling for the other tack.
"Joe Dance sees what they're up to, sir, but he'll never get away. Too
short-handed."
"But he and Grote mean to try for it. Look, Tom."
"Ay, well done, my lads," cried Tom Fillot, slapping his leg and then
wincing. "Oh, how sore I am! He has the niggers hauling. Pull away,
my lads, up with her. Go on, altogether--another pull. That's her.
Now then, sheet her home. My wig, look at her now, sir. She can sail."
"Yes, like a yacht," cried Mark, as the great mainsail, which had been
only half hoisted in a slovenly way, now spread its broad canvas to the
light breeze, and the graceful vessel sped rapidly through the calm sea,
and passed out of their sight. "Why, Tom, this boat will have to sail
well to catch her."
"They won't catch her, sir, by fair means. If they do, it will be by
seamanship, and having plenty of hands to manoeuvre."
"Well, Tom, it seems as if we can do nothing?" said Mark.
"No, sir, 'cept sit on the deck and growl, and that won't do no good,
will it? Wish we could see how Joe Dance is getting on."
"I've thought every way I can," continued Mark, "but I can find no means
of escape."
"Might perhaps get on deck when it's dark, sir. Dessay I could manage
to get up enough to make a jump on to the chap on the watch, and hold
him till you were all alongside."
"A desperate venture, Tom."
"Yes, sir, and we're all desperate now, I can tell you."
No more was said then, and after making a hearty meal from the
provisions in the cabin, the men sat about and went off fast asleep,
worn out as they were with watching and exertion.
But Mark could not sleep. There was the great sense of responsibility
to keep him awake, and the question always troubling him: Had he done
the best as an officer who had succeeded to so important a charge?
He went to where Mr Russell lay in his berth, and bent over him for a
few minutes, but only to go away again with his feeling of misery
increased, and seat himself once more at the cabin window in the hope of
catching a glimpse of the other schooner when a tack was made; but fate
did not favour him. All he could make out was that the vessel must be
sailing south and south-west, and the one they were in keeping on in
full pursuit.
"I don't wonder," he thought. "It means a splendid profit for them to
take her and her living freight."
It was terribly hot down in that cabin, and an intense longing came over
the lad to get on deck in the fresh air. Then he looked longingly down
into the clear sparkling water through which they were rushing, and
thought of how delightful it would be to plunge down and swim.
"Right into the jaws of some shark," he muttered, bitterly, and then,
"Oh, Bob Howlett, I wish you were here to take your share of the worry."
The heat and anxiety seemed too much for him, and despair made
everything now look black; he could see no ray of light.
But nature is very kind, and she came to the sufferer's help, for as he
looked round sourly at those in the cabin, Mr Russell in his
stupor-like slumber, and the rest breathing heavily in perfect repose,
he muttered:
"Not one of them seems to care a bit. Even Tom Fillot and that black
asleep, and at a time like this!"
It is a bad thing to set up as a judge without a plentiful stock of
profundity. Mark scowled angrily at the sleepers, and turned away in
disgust to gaze out of the cabin window at the flashing sea and try in
vain to catch sight of some sail, that might bring help.
The next minute he, too, was sleeping heavily, for nature was building
them all up again ready for the struggles yet to come.
A heavy bang as of a closing door made Mark Vandean start up and strike
his head against a piece of wood--a blow which for the moment increased
his confusion.
Where was he? What had happened?
No answer came, but there was a question from out of the darkness.
"Say, messmates, hear that?"
"Tom Fillot."
"Ay, ay, sir."
"Where are we?"
"Dunno, sir. Here, I think."
"But where is here, stupid?"
"That's a true word, sir. I am stupid--who's this?"
"Dick Bannock, AB, it is," said the familiar voice of that seaman.
"Know where we are, mate?"
"No. Awake, I think."
"Well, we know that," cried Mark, pettishly. "Yes, I remember now. I
must have gone to sleep."
"That's about as near as we shall get to it, sir," said Tom Fillot.
"This here's the cabin, and there ought to be a locker here, with
matches in it, and a lamp. Wait a moment."
There was a rustling as Mark listened, and the rush of the water came up
from below, and he could feel that the schooner was gently careening
over as she glided on through the calm sea.
"Hooroar!" said Tom; and the next moment there was the scratch of a
match, and the little cabin was illumined, showing Tom Fillot learning
over a lamp, which directly after burned up, and showed that the cabin
door must have been opened while they slept, for a tub of water and a
bucketful of biscuits had been thrust in.
"Look at that," cried Dick Bannock. "Now, if we'd been awake, some of
us might have got out and took the schooner again."
"Not much chance o' that, messmate," said Tom Fillot. "They're too
cunning not to have taken care. Don't mean to starve us, seemingly."
"Put out the light," said Mark, after a glance round, to see that Mr
Russell was unchanged, and the next moment the cabin was in darkness.
"Have your arms ready," he whispered, "and keep silence. Perhaps--"
He did not finish speaking, for a faint shadow lay across the cabin
skylight, and he was aware of the fact that some one must have been
watching, probably listening as well.
The shadow passed away; and mounting on the cabin table by the
midshipman's orders, one of the men tried hard to find some way of
opening the light, but short of breaking it open with sturdy blows of a
sledge-hammer, there was no possibility of escape that way.
After a time Mark whispered with Tom Fillot as to the renewal of an
ascent through the cabin window and over the poop.
"Proof o' the puddin's in the eatin', sir," said the sailor. "Only way
is to try."
"Yes, by-and-by," said Mark, "when all is quiet. Some of them are sure
to go to sleep."
For there was a good deal of talking going on upon deck, and they could
smell tobacco, and once there came down the rattle of a bottle neck
against a glass.
So the prisoners waited patiently in the darkness, Mark discussing from
time to time the possibility of the second schooner having been
captured, but they had no means of knowing. One thing was, however,
certain--they were sailing very gently, evidently not in pursuit, and,
judging by the stars, they were going south, and thus farther away from
aid.
Making a guess at its being about midnight, and when all was wonderfully
still, Mark whispered his plans to the men. They were simple enough.
He told them that he should climb up over the poop, and do so without
exciting the attention of the hand at the helm, for it was possible,
though doubtful, that the man set as sentry over them would be asleep.
He had no reason to expect this, but it was probable, and he was going
to try it.
"Best let me go first, sir," said Tom Fillot. "You might be knocked
over at once, and dropped into the sea."
"If I am, you must haul me out again," said the lad, coolly. "There's a
coil of signal or fishing line there, strong enough to hold me--there,
in that locker. I shall make it fast round my waist, and if I get up in
safety, I shall secure it to a belaying-pin, so that it will be handy
for you who follow. Mind, as silently as cats. Get it out, and make it
fast. Two of you can hold the end."
There was a slight rustling sound as Tom obeyed; the line was declared
to be quite new, and kept there in store; and at last, amidst the deep
breathing of the excited men, Mark prepared to climb out, while his
followers in this forlorn hope were eager and waiting for their turn.
The recollection of the last attempt would trouble the lad, try as he
would to be calm and firm.
"I can do it in less than a minute," he said to himself; "but I wish
that my heart would not beat quite so hard."
But it would beat all the same, and at a tremendous rate, as he, in
imagination, saw the sentry ready to strike him down.
"Ready, sir?" whispered Tom.
"Yes. Got the line?"
"Right, sir; and we'll just keep touch of you, and pay it out. Moment
you've made it fast."
"If I do," whispered Mark.
"You will, sir," said the man, confidently. "Give four jigs, and up we
come. Got your dirk?"
"Yes."
"Draw it, sir; hold it in your teeth, to leave your hands free, and if
any one comes at you use it. That thing can't kill."
Mark drew a deep breath, thrust himself half out of the window, turned,
and gazed up.
All was perfectly silent--not a suggestion of an enemy above; and
getting right out, the boy seized the carved ornamentation of the stern
above the window, raised one foot, to find a resting-place on a kind of
broad beading or streak, and began to climb.