Meanwhile, in spite of his injury, the captain had been busily engaged placing the weapons in order in his own cabin, off the saloon—the door not being required; and this he carried out by the help of a lamp, Mark eagerly obeying his slightest wishes, with the result that at last there was an ample supply of charged weapons ready, with ammunition so placed as to be at hand.
“If it comes to fighting, my boy—which Heaven forbid!” said the captain—“you will take your place here, and as rapidly as you can you will recharge the pieces brought back to you. Now, try that revolver.”
Mark caught up the weapon.
“Unload it.”
He was sufficiently versed to understand the process, and rapidly drove out each cartridge.
“Now reload,” said the captain.
Mark’s fingers were just as active in replacing the cartridges; and this done, the guns were tried in the same way.
“I don’t see what more we can do,” said the captain. “So lie down and have a sleep, my boy. I’ll keep watch. To-morrow may be a very weary day for us all.”
“Don’t ask me, father,” said the boy in tones of remonstrance. “I feel as if I couldn’t sleep to-night. Let me go and talk to mother.”
“They may be asleep,” said the captain. “No; it is not likely. Yes; go if you like.”