“Find us? Yes, of course,” cried the lieutenant. “They must find us. There, it’s all right. Never despair. No fear of our being washed off, and we’ve nothing else to mind.”
“Sharks?” said Mark, involuntarily.
“Hush!” whispered the lieutenant, fiercely. And then with his lips to the lad’s ear he said, “Never utter a word likely to damp your men’s courage at a time like this. Do your duty and hope for the best. Trust in God for the help to come, my lad. That’s how a sailor should act.”
“I’ll try, Mr Russell,” whispered back Mark, with a curious choking feeling at his breast as he thought of home in far-away old England, and of the slight chance he had of ever seeing it again.
“Of course you will try, black as it all looks. Now then, we’re a bit rested, and going to have another start.”
But he gave no orders then, for with his wet hand shading his eyes, he tried to make out what was going on between the Nautilus and the schooner, the firing having now ceased.
“I’m afraid the Yankee skipper’s carrying on the same manoeuvre,” he said at last; “and perhaps we shall have to wait for morning. Now then, I want this boat righted and baled out, but we shall be colder sitting in our wet clothes than we are now. Ready, my lads?”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
Still he did not give orders for the men to renew their efforts, but hung there watching the distant vessels, while alone in the great ocean the capsized boat softly heaved and fell on the long smooth rollers.
“Yes,” said the lieutenant at last, “he will be obliged to let her escape.”