"No, sir; the doctor tackled him, and lifted up the bit o' broken bone, and made him a better man than ever; and that's what Mr Whitney'll do with Mr Russell, sir, as soon as we get back to the _Naughtyla.s.s_."

"Oh, if we only could get back, Tom!"

"All right, sir; give us time; and the longer the better, I say, sir, for if you goes aboard with us lads looking all chipped and knocked about like we are, Cap'en Maitland'll be arksing you why you ain't took better care of your men."

"Oh, I don't mind that, Tom," cried Mark, triumphantly; "I've got the schooner, and the slaves."

"You have, sir, and it's such a splendid job for a young orficer like you to have done, that Mr Howlett'll be ready to eat his head off like with disappyntment because he warn't in the game. You've done it this time, sir. Why, our skipper ought to put you down for a swab on your shoulder as soon as you've got one big enough to carry it."

"Now, no joking, Tom Fillot, because I'm friendly with you. Recollect I'm your officer."

"Right, sir, I will. I didn't mean no harm. It's only a way my tongue's got o' saying things. I say, sir, just look at them poor half-starved blacks. 'Most makes me feel like a girl, sir, and soft, to see how happy they are."

"Yes, poor creatures. But tell me, Tom. It's a terrible responsibility for me with this vessel and all those people. Are they likely to make a fight for their liberty?"

"Why, they've got it, ain't they, sir?"

"Yes, but they don't understand it. They may think it's only a change of masters, and rise against us."

"Not they, sir. Why, see how they looks at us, sir. They'd lay down and let you walk over 'em, sir. Why, I've seen all them poor women look as if they could eat you, sir. I don't mean with their teeth, but with their eyes. They're safe enough, sir. They've been well-fed on Soup and Taters--I mean them two black messmates of ourn's talked to 'em till they understands about being under the Union Jack, and all that sort o'

thing."

"I hope they do, Tom, for it makes me very uneasy."

"Course it do, sir. But now just look here, sir; there's nothing for you to fear, so if you'll take my advice, you'll go and have three or four hours' sleep below."

"What?"

"I mean it, sir. You can't keep on without rest, so go and have it.

Joe Dance and me'll keep the schooner steady on her course till you've had your dowse, and then you come up and give us a turn below."

"I can't leave the deck, Tom."

"Yes you can, sir, and you must. What are we going to do if you run yourself aground and break up? Orficers want rest like other folk.

Look here, sir; you're dead beat. Out, ain't you? Why, you warn't down below an hour."

"Yes, I feel done up, Tom, but--"

"You can't do everything yourself, sir, and must get yourself fit to keep going. Now look round, sir. There's Soup and Taters keeping guard; sh.o.r.e's a mile away; light breeze sending us norrard; Joe Dance at the wheel. Could you find a better time for a snooze?"

Mark hesitated. He knew that he could not hold out. It was within an hour of sundown, and the blacks were lying about forward in restful content; the schooner's sails were gently filled, and there was not a cloud in the sky. No better opportunity could be found for a rest, and, after giving strict commands to Tom Fillot to call him at eight bells, he went below, bent over Mr Russell, and shudderingly satisfied himself that Tom Fillot was right.

"It's horrible," he muttered; "but it may not mean death;" and, throwing himself on a locker, he dropped off into a deep sleep almost instantly, and then sprang to his feet directly after, as he imagined, roused up by a tremendous shock, followed by a heavy thud; and he knew what was coming then--to wit, the rush of water, as a wave deluged the schooner from stem to stern, while all was so pitchy dark that he could not for the moment make out where the door of the cabin lay.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

A RESPONSIBLE POSITION.

Confused and still half-steeped in sleep, Mark blundered about for a few moments before he reached the door, and was then thrown back, for the schooner heeled over, and then there was a tremendous b.u.mp, which made her shiver.

"Mr Vandean, sir, quick! All hands on deck!" came in familiar tones, as the lad struggled to the door once more, and then up through the hatchway, to find the schooner on her beam ends rushing through the water, which was foaming around them. Then a wave once more struck her, deluging the deck, and making her shiver as she rose again upon an even keel.

"Where are you, Tom Fillot?" shouted the midshipman.

"Here, sir. Wheel," came back; and the next minute he was beside Tom Fillot and Joe Dance, who were trying to steady the vessel as she rode on through the surf.

"Where are we?" shouted Mark, his voice sounding pitifully small amidst the roar of the waves.

"Ash.o.r.e, 'mong the breakers," cried Tom with a groan. "But I think we're 'most through 'em, sir."

Just then, dimly-seen by its white crest, a huge billow rose up before them, as if to crush the little vessel into matchwood, but she lifted and pa.s.sed right over it, and then over another and another, for there was a brisk breeze from off the sh.o.r.e; and after a few minutes of terrible peril the beautifully built vessel glided into smooth water, rapidly leaving the roaring surf behind, though the rollers extended far enough out, and the schooner rose and fell as she sailed away north-west at a rapid rate.

Not another word had been spoken, though all the men were on deck clinging to the bulwarks, and in the full expectation that the vessel would go to pieces next time she struck; but, now that the peril was past, d.i.c.k Bannock was sent below to report on the water, while the rest rapidly rigged the pump ready for use.

To their great relief, though, the young sailor came on deck to declare the schooner dry as a bone; and now to hide his own self-reproach, Mark turned to the men for an explanation.

"I had no business to go below," he said to himself; land then aloud, "How was this, Fillot? Who was at the wheel?"

"Me, sir," said the cutter's c.o.xswain. "Me it were, and I don't want no one else to be blamed. Tom Fillot was forrard seeing to the watch, and that them blacks was--them blacks was--them blacks was--"

"Well, what?" cried Mark, angrily. "What do you mean, man?"

"Dunno, sir--dunno, I'm sure," said the c.o.xswain, humbly. "It's my head won't go proper, sir. I was standing there by the wheel one minute, sending her along right enough, and the next minute was--was--was--was ash.o.r.e with the breakers all around."

"Why, you went to sleep!" roared Mark. "_You_! in charge of the wheel, went to sleep!"

"Nay, sir. I never went to sleep. I was steering, and them blacks was--them blacks was--them blacks was--say, Tom Fillot, what was that along o' them blacks?"

"Oh, they're all right, messmate," growled Tom Fillot. "Fact is, sir, he ain't quite right about his main truck yet, and I oughtn't to ha' let him take his trick at the wheel."

"I ought not, you mean, Tom," said Mark, bitterly. "I had no business to go below."

"Nay, don't say that, sir, 'cause it was your dooty to. Fact is, sir, we was all so knocked about in the upper works that there ain't a man on us good for much; and you see poor old Joe Dance's got it bad next to Mr Russell, sir, only we thought him so much better."

"Yes, I'm better," said the c.o.xswain. "All right again, mate, but I can't get over it about them blacks. What was it as--"

"Here, what are you doing with that there wheel?" cried Tom Fillot, rushing at the man, and thrusting him aside. For Dance had suddenly grown excited, and was turning the spokes first in one direction and then in another in a most reckless way, while as he was thrust off, he staggered for a few steps, and then sat down on the wet deck to hold his head with both hands and rock it to and fro.

"Want to send us ash.o.r.e among the breakers again?" growled Fillot.

"Nay, my lad, nay. There's something wrong in my head, and it wants fishing or splicing, sir. It won't go. Them blacks has got in it somehow, and I can't get 'em out."

"Go below and lie down, Dance," said Mark, gently. "You'll be better after a good long sleep."

"Sleep, sir? No, I can't sleep. Who's to take my trick at the wheel?

Point or two more, sir; and, Tom Fillot lad, what was it about them blacks?"