Already they looked better, and, like those in the second prize, basked in the sunshine, and talked together in a low, soft, pleasantly-sounding tongue.
The second prize was visited twice, and in addition to Taters, Grote and Dance were left on board, to take it in turns at the wheel and manage the little sail, hoisted now to help the steering and ease the strain on the tow-rope.
So everything went well that day: the Americans were quiet down below, and though the progress made was only slow, Mark felt hopeful, as he swept the horizon with his glass, of seeing the Nautilus come round some point, or appear in the offing at any time.
That night, so as to guard against their being passed by their friends in the darkness, lights were hoisted as a signal that would be pretty sure to bring them help; and this being done, Tom Fillot approached his superior respectfully, to speak him, as he called it, about the division of the watches.
“You’ll let me take the first, sir, while you’ll go below and have a good sleep, sir, won’t you?” he said.
“Certainly not,” said Mark, shortly. “So sure as I go to sleep, something happens.”
“But you can’t do without sleep, sir,” said the man.
“I can to-night, Tom. I’ve been resting and having little naps of a few minutes at a time all day.”
“Well, sir, begging your pardon, it’s the rummest sort o’ rest I ever see. Take my word for it, sir, you can’t hold up.”
“I must somehow, Tom; so no more words. Look here, we’ll seep watch together, and the one who feels drowsy can take a nap now and then, ready to start up at the slightest alarm.”