“Yes, I’m coming round,” he said. “Head’s a bit soft, that’s all; but I’m coming round.”
While this was going on, Mark had turned to the black, whose shirt was wet with the blood which oozed from the score made in his shoulder by the bullet fired at him when first the attempt was made to escape, and then by the light of a lantern, while the man knelt down, the wound was bound up, the black smiling and making very light of it the while.
As Mark busied himself, he could not help thinking of how much demand there was made upon an officer in command, with the result that his respect for those over him was wonderfully increased.
All further thought of rest for the men was given up, and the remainder of the night was devoted to keeping a careful watch, Mark pacing the deck and stopping to have a quiet consultation now and then with his mate.
“I can’t think where they obtained their arms, Tom,” he said on one occasion.
“Oh, you needn’t wonder at that, sir,” replied the man, with a laugh. “’Mericans ain’t like Englishmen, and pretty well every man jack of ’em’s got a pistol hid somewhere about him. It ain’t to be wondered at, sir,” continued the man, stretching out and clenching his big hand. “I never see a ’Merican yet with a good fist like that, and a man must have something to fight with when he goes knocking about in the world. Well, sir, as you say I’m to be mate while we’re on this expedition, p’r’aps you won’t mind me asking what you’re going to do next ’bout the prisoners. Is it to be irons?”
“No,” said Mark, firmly. “I can’t do that.”
“Then if I were you, sir, I’d risk them trying to take the schooner again, and send ’em adrift first thing in one of the boats.”
“On an uninhabited shore? Why, it would be like murdering them, man.”
“Well, hardly, sir, because you give ’em all a chansh for their lives, though it ain’t lively for a look-out to be cast ashore where there’s only palm trees and nothing else ’cept the niggers, who might want to serve you out for captering their brothers and sisters for slaves.”