“I have him, sir,” said the coxswain, “but I don’t think he’s—”
“Oh, don’t say he’s dead!” cried Mark.
“Course not, sir, if you says I’m not,” muttered the man; “but it strikes me as he was dead before he reached the sea. Some one seems to have hit him on the head.”
The lieutenant changed his position, so as to place himself alongside the coxswain, and then moved away again.
“Dead?” whispered Mark, as he drew himself a little more on the bottom of the boat, and craned his neck towards his brother officer.
Russell did not answer for the moment, but gravely bent his head.
“The brutes!” he then said, softly; “and all this risk for nothing.”
Then aloud—“Now, my lads, quick. Swimmers. The oars.”
These words roused the little crew, which had been clinging to the keel, half lying on either side of the boat, as if there was nothing more to be done but wait for help but now three of the men at once quitted their hold, and began to swim about in search of the oars and other objects floating about in the glistening moonlight.
“Never mind the hats, man,” shouted the lieutenant. “The oars—the oars.”