“No, sir; it was Bob Howlett’s idea.”
“Oh, was it?” said Mr Russell. “Well, never mind; they seem to trust you. Go on and see what you can do.”
“It’s so difficult, because they cannot understand, sir,” replied Mark; “but I think I can show them what we want. Shall I try?”
“Yes, of course,” said the lieutenant, to whom Mark had already given his message. “The schooner is too fast on the bank here for us to get her off, so the blacks must be taken to the Nautilus, and then we’ll fire her at once. Pity too—such a fine boat. There, try and get the poor wretches on deck, and let’s see how many there are. I’m afraid that some are dead.”
Mark shuddered and turned to the blacks, who were watching him eagerly. Signing to them to pick up a couple of buckets, he led them to the fresh-water tub, made them fill them, and then, taking up a couple of pannikins, he led the way to the mouth of the noisome hold, from which low moans were now issuing.
They followed him, and he pointed down, but they shrank away wildly, their eyes rolling, and the fear of treachery still in their breasts.
“Very well, then,” said Mark, quietly, while the officers and boat’s crew looked on. “We are going to give those poor creatures some water;” and he stepped through the hatch to the ladder, and once more began to descend.
That was enough. The two blacks carefully raised their buckets of water and followed him down, to the satisfaction of every one save Bob Howlett, who felt horribly aggrieved.
“Hadn’t I better go too, Mr Russell?” he said. “I understand those two blacks.”
“Perhaps you had,” said the lieutenant, drily. “By all means go.”