"You'll let me take the first, sir, while you'll go below and have a good sleep, sir, won't you?" he said.

"Certainly not," said Mark, shortly. "So sure as I go to sleep, something happens."

"But you can't do without sleep, sir," said the man.

"I can to-night, Tom. I've been resting and having little naps of a few minutes at a time all day."

"Well, sir, begging your pardon, it's the rummest sort o' rest I ever see. Take my word for it, sir, you can't hold up."

"I must somehow, Tom; so no more words. Look here, we'll seep watch together, and the one who feels drowsy can take a nap now and then, ready to start up at the slightest alarm."

"Very well, sir, if you won't sleep reg'lar, so be it."

But it proved to be hard work. Nature is a terrible tyrant to those who try to break her laws, and after about an hour's duty on deck, when the cl.u.s.tering stars had been watched, and their reflections in the sea, the wheel visited again and again, an ear given from time to time at the forecastle hatch and ventilator, where everything was silent as the grave, all of a sudden Mark would find himself at home, talking to his father and mother, or on board the _Nautilus_, listening to Mr Whitney, the doctor, or to the captain, and then start up with a jerk to find he had been asleep.

"How long was I off, Tom?" he would whisper, angry with himself.

"'Bout five minutes, sir."

"Not more?"

"No, sir."

"That's right. All quiet?"

"Yes, sir. Have another."

"Nonsense! I'm better now."

Mark took a turn to the wheel, said a few words to the steersman, and returned to his seat, to find that in those brief minutes Tom Fillot had gone off too, but only to start up, fully awake, at the moment his young officer sat down.

"Look here, sir," he said; "mortal natur' won't bear it. I'll take a trot up and down now while you sleep."

"I'm not going to sleep," said Mark, shortly.

"Begging your pardon, sir, you are," said Tom; and he took a few turns up and down, to return at last and find Mark quite fast.

"I knowed it," he said to himself, but he had hardly thought this when Mark started up again, vexed with himself, but unable to control the desire for rest.

The consequence was that during the next two hours this natural process went on, the one who sat down going off instantly to sleep, while the other kept up his sentry-like walk, and no more words were uttered respecting it. They felt that it was nature's work and accepted their position till toward midnight, when Mark was resting with his back to the bulwark, and his chin upon his breast, sleeping heavily, as he had been for about a minute. Tom Fillot stepped up lightly to his side and touched him.

"Yes? What?" cried Mark, starting up in alarm.

"Hist, sir! Steady! They're a-breaking out."

"What!" said Mark, in an awe-stricken whisper, as his hands involuntarily sought pistol and dirk.

"Hark!" came in a whisper to his ear; and leaning forward and peering into the darkness, he distinctly heard at intervals a faint, dull clink, as if some one were very carefully and slowly moving pieces of iron.

For the moment, half drowsed still by his desire for sleep, Mark could not make out what it meant. Then he grasped the meaning of the sound.

"Why, Tom Fillot," he whispered, "they're getting off the chain cable from the hatch."

"That's it, sir; link by link."

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

A NOVEL FASTENING.

"Come on!" whispered Mark; "we must stop that game. Who's on the watch at the hatch?"

"Sam Grote, sir; but, poor lad, he can't keep awake."

"A lantern," said Mark, laconically; and Tom Fillot trotted aft to the cabin, and came back in five minutes with a light half hidden in his breast.

During his absence, Mark had stood there listening in the darkness with a peculiar shuddering sensation to the soft clinking as link pa.s.sed over link; and in imagination, while he peered through the transparent darkness, he saw a hand, which had been thrust out after the hatch had been raised a little, softly lifting and pa.s.sing the cable off to the deck.

Tom came back so silently that Mark was half startled. Then together they went on tiptoe in the direction of the sound, the lantern being carefully screened, and then only just a ray of light allowed to shine out forward.

It fell upon the figure of the sailor Grote in a very peculiar att.i.tude; for the poor fellow, unable to keep awake, had knelt close by the hatch, with his drawn cutla.s.s point downward, resting on the cover, his two hands upon the hilt, and his forehead upon his hands--fast asleep.

It was a dire offence against discipline, and a hot feeling of indignation swelled in Mark's breast against the man.

But it died out as quickly as it had come. The man had done his best to guard against the cover of the hatch being moved, feeling certain that any attempt to stir it must be communicated to his brain by the cutla.s.s; and so no doubt it would have been later on. He was fast asleep, but for the last two nights he had hardly closed his eyes, though utterly worn out by the day's exertion, while still suffering from his injuries.

Greater reason still why Mark could not sit in judgment upon his man; he himself had been utterly unable to keep awake.

These thoughts pa.s.sed as the ray of light was shifted by Tom Fillot's manipulation of the lantern, which shone directly after upon the clean white planks, with their black, well-caulked seams. Then, very slowly and cautiously, Tom Fillot guided the little patch of light along the boards till it fell upon a big heap of rusty chain between them and the hatch, showing how long and patiently someone must have been at work, and also the terrible fact that before long every link would have been removed, and in all probability the crew would have been taken by surprise.

For now, as Tom still guided on the little patch of light, it fell upon a red hand visible as far as the wrist. This had been thrust out beside the edge of the cover after a portion had been hacked away with a knife, and the fingers, rust covered and strange looking, were working away, industriously easing down link after link on to the deck, their weight helping the worker, while the heap on the hatch was steadily, as it were, melting away.

They stood watching this for a few moments, and then steadying the lantern with one hand, Tom slowly raised his cutla.s.s with the other. A slight alteration of the rays of light must have flashed in the signal _Danger_! to the man at work, for the strange dull clinking of the links finished suddenly with one louder clink than the rest. The chain had been dropped as the hand darted in.

Grote started back into wakefulness at the sound and sprang to his feet, on guard with his cutla.s.s, while Tom Fillot fully uncovered the lantern, and held it up right in the man's face, the light gleaming on the weapons they held.

"Yes, you're a nice 'un, you are," growled Tom Fillot, "Look at that.

Where should we have been in another hour if we'd trusted to you?"

The man stared at the two heaps of chain, then at Tom Fillot, and then at his young officer, as he uttered a low groan.

"I've done it now, sir," he faltered, in his deep ba.s.s. "I did try so hard, sir; oh, so hard, but it come over me like all of a sudden, and walking up and down warn't no good. I was asleep as I walked, and at last I thought if I shut my eyes a moment--"

_Bang_!

A sharp flash and a report made all three start back, and spread the alarm, one of the first to run up being the great black, bar in hand, his eyes flashing, his teeth gleaming, and all eager to join in any fray on behalf of those who had saved his life.

"Wish my cutlash had come down heavy on the hand as fired that shot,"