“Oh, it’s horrible!” cried Mark; “how can I ever trust myself again?”
“Oh, don’t you take on about that, sir: human natur’s human natur. Everybody’s weak and queer with the knocking about we had, and the proper thing for us was to have a good snooze, and we’ve only been getting ready to do a good night’s work.”
Mark looked at Mr Russell, who lay breathing comfortably enough, and then, in a stern way, he gave orders for the boat to be unmoored, and Dance rose at once, seeming feeble, but quite in his right mind, and ready to resent an attempt on the part of Fillot to relieve him of the task. A good thrust was given to the boat out into the rushing stream, oars fell on either side, and the men began to row, so as to get out of the mouth of the river and begin making their way north.
But in a very few minutes Mark was enlightened as to the state of affairs. While they slept the tide had turned, and in place of a swift stream of fresh water running out, they were in the rapid tidal current running in, any doubt he might have had on the subject being set at rest by scooping up a little water with his hand, to taste it, and find it salt.
The men were pulling steadily, but with a feeble, slow stroke, which at first kept them about stationary. Then by slow degrees the boat gave a little and a little more, till in the waning light Mark saw a cluster of trees ashore, by which they had been passing, begin to glide the other way.
“Pull, my lads, pull!” he cried, and the men tugged again for a few minutes, and managed to keep abreast of the trees, but their strokes again grew more feeble, and, in spite of spurt after spurt, it was evident enough that the tide was too strong for men suffering from injuries, and famishing with hunger, nothing having passed their lips save water for many hours.
“Here,” cried Tom Fillot, “you don’t half pull. Let me come. We’ll soon get outside, where the current won’t be so strong.”
“It’s o’ no use, mate,” said Dick Bannock. “She’s too much for us. You can’t do no good. After getting well, and a lot o’ beef and biscuit, we might do it, but there’s no pulling agin that ’ere.”
“You don’t half try,” said Tom Fillot, sitting down and getting an oar over the side to add his strength, when all pulled again, working hard for quite half an hour, when Mark called to them to stop.
“Waste of strength, my lads,” he said; “we’ve been drifting all the time.”