“What’s that?” cried the captain, sharply, for there had been the sound of a sharp crack, and Mark had uttered the cry.
“What’s that, sir?” cried the lieutenant in a rage; “why it’s Mr Vandean, sir, getting under my feet like a spaniel dog, and the moment I move he yelps out, sir.”
“It wasn’t your foot, sir,” cried Mark sharply, for his head was stinging with pain. “You swung round your speaking trumpet, sir, and hit me.”
“Silence, sir! how dare you, sir? You should get out of the way, sir,” roared the first lieutenant.
“That will do, Staples,” said the captain, calming down now. “Now, men, up with that boat.”
The cutter was already swinging from the davits, while at a turn of the wheel the Nautilus began to forge through the water again, and the men stood ready for another shot at the flying schooner.
Just then the cutter’s crew lifted out the black they had rescued, and he too sank down helpless on the deck, half dead from exhaustion.
“That’s one to me, Van,” whispered Bob. “I saved that chap.”
“Then you only half did it, Mr Howlett,” said the doctor, who overheard him. “Let me finish.”
“I say,” whispered Bob, “what a nuisance it’s getting, you can’t say a word on board without somebody hearing. Hullo! what’s the matter with your head?”