“Yes, of course,” said Bob, cavalierly. “I could come up again.”
“Of course, sir, if you could stand it, and didn’t faint right away.”
Bob turned upon him sharply, with the fact dawning upon him that Tom Fillot, the most impudent joker on board the Nautilus, was laughing in his sleeve at his expense; but before he could make quite sure, a thrill ran through all on deck, and a rush was made for the hatchway.
The moment before, Mr Russell was peering down uneasily, and his conscience was smiting him for allowing so young an officer to undertake the onerous task of descending into that loathsome den. For strange noises—low mutterings, and harsh whisperings—were going on; and directly after, to his horror, Mark’s voice rang out in wildly excited tones, just as there were the sounds of a struggle going on.
“Here, men—Mr Russell! Help—quick!” shouted Mark; and in response thereto the lieutenant shouted to the boat’s crew to come on, took a step downward to lead the way, and then stepped back as the lesser of the two black sailors suddenly appeared at the hatchway with his face wild with excitement, and his white duck frock and trousers horribly stained with blood.
Chapter Sixteen.
Interpreting under Difficulties.
“Come on!”