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"I don't like risking you men's lives," said Mark; "but there's no going back now; it must be done." "Come on, Dick Bannock," cried Tom Fillot, rolling up his sleeves. "You chaps stand by with the end of that cable."
Then a big wave rose and lapped over into the boat, striking Mark just as his fingers touched the tip of the oar blade, and the next moment he was swept on by the tide up the river. "All right, sir!" cried Tom Fillot, loudly; "swim steady. We'll have you directly. You, Dick Bannock, cut that painter. Now, then: oars!"
He fought against this time after time, and strove to keep to his duty, but it was all-powerful, and at last, feeling that he was sinking into delirium or a deadly sleep, he stretched out his hand to awaken Tom Fillot, but paused so as to give one despairing glance round.
There were a couple of dozen blacks on deck, but they were only staring stupidly at the approaching boat, and Joe Dance was still fumbling with his knife, while Grote had disappeared. "Oh, if I was only there!" cried Tom Fillot. "They might have saved that schooner," groaned Mark. "Oh, Tom, Tom, is there nothing we can do?" "No, sir; only look on. Hah! at last."
A sharp flash and a report made all three start back, and spread the alarm, one of the first to run up being the great black, bar in hand, his eyes flashing, his teeth gleaming, and all eager to join in any fray on behalf of those who had saved his life. "Wish my cutlash had come down heavy on the hand as fired that shot," muttered Tom Fillot. "Put out the light," said Mark sharply.
"It's more than half empty," he said to himself; and, listening intently, he could hear a trickling sound, and then a faint splash somewhere below. The lad's heart began to throb heavily, and stepping away from the hatch, he walked on tiptoe to where Tom Fillot stood close to the bowsprit, and laid his hand upon the man's shoulder. Tom Fillot started round fiercely.
Joe Dance, answer to your name." "Ay, ay," came in a growl. "Dick Bannock." "Here." "Bill Billings." "What's left on me, mate." "Sam Grote." "Here, but ain't got no head." "Bob Stepney." "Here; and wish I warn't," came surlily out of the darkness. "Don't you be sarcy 'fore your orficers, Bob, or there may be a row," said Tom Fillot, sharply.
"Trust me, sir, for that," was whispered back; and there was a little rustling heard as Mark carefully made his way in the darkness to where Tom Fillot stood. "Sit down," whispered Mark. "I want all the men to hear. Lean this way, all of you." There was another rustling sound, and a certain amount of deep breathing as Mark whispered softly,
But there was no one to order him, and with the whole responsibility upon his shoulders, he for the first time in his life began to realise what it meant to be the captain of a ship, answerable for everything thereon. Two days glided by, during which Tom Fillot proved himself to be invaluable.
When I give the word, Tom Fillot will let the boat drift, two men will give a few dips with oars, and I shall steer her alongside; then Dance will hook on. You will all follow me " "And the schooner's ours once more." "If it is the schooner," said Mark, dubiously. "If she ain't, she's a slaver, sir," replied Tom Fillot, "and that's enough for we."
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