“I thought it was all over with you, sir,” said Tom Fillot, who, regardless of those over whom he had passed, had plunged aft and thrown himself upon the coxswain, bearing him and the young midshipman down into the stern-sheets of the boat, and holding the former till he was dragged away, laid in the bottom, and held down forward, in spite of his struggles and cries.
“I thought so, too, Tom. Ugh! how horrible! As if our position was not bad enough before; it is too hard to have a madman on board.”
“’Tis, sir; but I wonder we ain’t all mad. My head’s bad enough for me to be. Are you much hurt, sir?”
“More frightened than hurt. I thought we should have been over into the black water.”
“And it you had been, he’d ha’ drowned you, as sure as sure, sir, for we couldn’t ha’ found you in the darkness.”
“And the worst of it is, I don’t know what to do,” said Mark. “If Dr Whitney were only here.”
“No use to wish, sir. If it was, I’d wish the Naughtylass was here to try and catch the schooner and her crew. There is one thing to wish for, though, and that’s for to-morrow morning to come instead of to-night, sir.”
“Yes, and I’m afraid it’s a long way off yet,” said Mark, with a sigh, as he looked round at the veil of black darkness which shut them in, and then sat listening to the struggles and cries of the unfortunate coxswain, till by degrees they grew weaker and weaker, and the men who had been holding him relaxed their efforts, for their prisoner sank into a heavy stupor.
Startling and painful as this episode in their night’s adventures had been, it had had one advantage, that of making the time pass more swiftly; and in consequence it was with a feeling of wonder that the young officer turned sharply round as Tom Fillot said drily,—
“Good morning, sir.”