There was the sound of the oar being laid along the thwart, and then of someone stumbling.
“That was most nigh overboard, sir. Wish it warn’t so dark. Why, it’s black. What’s that?”
There was a creaking sound from a little distance, and the man whispered,—
“They’re making sail, sir, and they’ll creep out afore morning, and get right away.”
“With those poor creatures on board.”
“Just as we’d made ’em clean and comf’able, sir. Oh, my poor head!”
“Let’s see to Mr Russell first, and then I’ll bind up your head as well as I can.”
“How’s one to see to Mr Russell, sir? Why, plagues o’ Egypt’s nothing to darkness like this.”
Mark bent over his brother officer, and passed his hand over his face and head.
“He’s not bleeding,” he whispered, impressed as he was by the darkness and their terrible position.