The man ceased speaking, and his companions laid in their oars before sinking down in the bottom of the boat and resting their heavy heads against the sides.
As for Mark, the rest of that afternoon passed as if he were in some fevered dream, during which he was back home at the Devon rectory, telling his father and mother of his adventures with the slaver. Then he was bathing in a beautiful river, whose water suddenly grew painfully hot and scalded him. After that there was a long blank time, and imagination grew busy again, his brain dwelling upon the chase of the slaver, and he saw through his glass the splash in the moonlit water, as one of the poor wretches was thrown overboard to stay the progress of the Nautilus.
Soon after some one touched him, and he started up to find that all was dark, and that the edge of a dense cloud was silvered by the moon, while a face was bent down close to his.
“What’s the matter?” he cried, excitedly.
“Things is getting wuss, sir. Mr Russell’s lying there talking like in his sleep, and t’others have got it bad. You and me’s the only two as have any sense left.”
“I—I couldn’t understand for a bit, Tom,” said Mark, making an effort. “It all seemed puzzling, but I think I know now.”
“That’s right, sir; and as your superior officer’s down, you’re in command, and have got to tell me what to do.”
“What can I tell you to do?” cried Mark, in desperation. “You can’t row the boat back to the coast alone.”
“That’s true enough, sir, but there’s one thing you ought to order me to do at once.”
“Yes; what?”