“But through this heat?”
“They will suffer less rowing than sitting still;” and giving his orders, the men, accustomed to move smartly at the slightest word, sprang into their places, but directly after there was a low whispering and muttering among them, and they appeared to be making a communication to Dance the coxswain.
“What’s the matter, my lads?” cried the lieutenant sharply; and he forgot his own sufferings now that there was a sudden call made upon his energy.
“Tell the lufftenant, Joe Dance,” said Fillot, who was nearest to where his officers sat, but who preferred to pass task on to the coxswain, who was farthest off.
“Why couldn’t yer tell him yersen?” growled the coxswain.
“Speak out, Dance. No nonsense, my lad. We are in difficulties, and we have to behave like British seamen till we get out of them.”
The coxswain took off his well-dried straw hat and saluted. Then coughed, hesitated, and at last blurted out—“Well, sir, you see it’s like this. The lads says they’re willing enough, and they’ll pull till they drop, but they want to know if you don’t think it’s time something was done about him as we come to pick up.”
“Leave that to me, my lads,” said the lieutenant, gravely. “I shall do my duty by you all, so please to do yours by me. Wait till nightfall and see.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” came huskily, the oars dropped into the water, and to Mark there was quite a feeling of relief in the motion of the boat, and also in the knowledge that they were moving—slowly enough, but surely—toward help. Whether they would live to reach that aid was another thing.
“Shall we take an oar each, Mr Russell?” said Mark after a time, during which he had sat watching the dispirited, weary looks of the men as they dragged more and more slowly at their rowing.