“I hope they do, Tom, for it makes me very uneasy.”
“Course it do, sir. But now just look here, sir; there’s nothing for you to fear, so if you’ll take my advice, you’ll go and have three or four hours’ sleep below.”
“What?”
“I mean it, sir. You can’t keep on without rest, so go and have it. Joe Dance and me’ll keep the schooner steady on her course till you’ve had your dowse, and then you come up and give us a turn below.”
“I can’t leave the deck, Tom.”
“Yes you can, sir, and you must. What are we going to do if you run yourself aground and break up? Orficers want rest like other folk. Look here, sir; you’re dead beat. Out, ain’t you? Why, you warn’t down below an hour.”
“Yes, I feel done up, Tom, but—”
“You can’t do everything yourself, sir, and must get yourself fit to keep going. Now look round, sir. There’s Soup and Taters keeping guard; shore’s a mile away; light breeze sending us norrard; Joe Dance at the wheel. Could you find a better time for a snooze?”
Mark hesitated. He knew that he could not hold out. It was within an hour of sundown, and the blacks were lying about forward in restful content; the schooner’s sails were gently filled, and there was not a cloud in the sky. No better opportunity could be found for a rest, and, after giving strict commands to Tom Fillot to call him at eight bells, he went below, bent over Mr Russell, and shudderingly satisfied himself that Tom Fillot was right.
“It’s horrible,” he muttered; “but it may not mean death;” and, throwing himself on a locker, he dropped off into a deep sleep almost instantly, and then sprang to his feet directly after, as he imagined, roused up by a tremendous shock, followed by a heavy thud; and he knew what was coming then—to wit, the rush of water, as a wave deluged the schooner from stem to stern, while all was so pitchy dark that he could not for the moment make out where the door of the cabin lay.