Black Bar
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CHAPTER EIGHT.
"WILL MORNING NEVER COME?"
For the full space of an hour there was utter silence in the boat, wherethe lieutenant and his stricken crew lay as in a stupor. The blackclouds had rolled away, and the calm sea was bathed in silvery light.The air was warm, but, by comparison with the scorching day, thetemperature was delicious.
Tom Fillot had folded up the flag and laid it back in the locker, afterwhich he had seated himself to wait for orders. At last, after quite aneffort, Mark roused himself from his musings, and turned to hiscompanion in distress.
"Tom," he said, "what ought I to do?"
"Nothing, sir," said the man, promptly. "There ain't nothing you can.Someone else must do whatever is to be done for us. We've got to wait."
"But could we row back to the port?"
"Without biscuit or water, sir, and with that sun sure to come upto-morrow ready to 'most scorch out our brains. What do you think?"
"I think it's impossible, Tom."
"Don't say think, sir. It's what you say without the think, and so Itell you. Impossible, and I don't say that because I ain't willing towork. I'll take an oar, and row till I drop if you like, but what goodwill one man do, or one man and a young gentleman? You needn't say youthink it's impossible, sir, for you know it is, and that all we can dois to sit and wait. To-morrow morning, I'll rig up the flag over anoar, so as to keep the sun off Mr Russell, sir."
"If the ship hasn't come and picked us up, Tom."
The sailor was silent.
"Don't say you think she will not," cried the lad.
"Very well, sir, but I'll say this she can't sir, till there's somewind, and that's why it is. The captain has either took the schooner orgive it up; and then, as he was coming back to pick us up, he's been andgot becalmed. When the crew has whistled enough and the wind come,he'll make all sail, but whether he'll find any of us left to pick up ismore'n I can say."
The man ceased speaking, and resting his chin upon his hands, satwatching the glittering water stretching right away beneath the moon, ascene of beauty so grand that for the moment it thrilled Mark, but onlyfor that moment; the next he was in utter despair, famished, his mouthdry, and above all, suffering from a terrible feeling of horror whichmade him shrink within himself, as he knew that he was face to face witha fearful lingering death.
"Beg pardon, sir," said Tom Fillot, suddenly, their companionship inmisfortune having in no wise interfered with the sailor's respect forhis superior, "like to try a bit o' 'bacco, sir?"
Mark shook his head.
"O' course not. You ain't used to it and don't want it. Try and go tosleep, sir. I'll keep the watch."
"Sleep?" cried Mark, bitterly; "what for? to wake up and find it morningwith the sun up, ready to scorch us to death?"
"That's looking at the very worst side of things, sir," replied thesailor, cheerfully. "There's always a best side as well as a worst, andwe're as likely to see one side as the other."
"Don't, don't keep on talking," cried Mark, passionately.
"All right, sir," said Tom Fillot. "I'll be as dumb as a ship's lead."
"I mean--I didn't mean to speak roughly to you, Tom Fillot," cried Mark,eagerly. "I didn't want to wound you, but I know you were saying allthat to try and cheer me."
"Well, sir, to be downright honest, p'raps it was."
"Then don't please. I'm sick and faint, and ready to die."
"Nay, not you, sir. Too much pluck in you."
"Pluck!" cried Mark, bitterly. "I'm in despair."
"Nay, not you, sir. You're in command here, and as an officer you'vegot to let yourself drift off nowhere, and think about taking care ofus. That's your duty, sir, and you know it. What's to become o' us ifyou cut yourself adrift? That won't do at all. There, sir, let's waitfor day. We may have quite a breeze come with the sun, and soon aftercatch sight of the _Naughtylass_ bowling down to us. For, trust me,they'll see us fast enough. Young Mr Bob Howlett'll be up at themasthead spying out with his glass, see if he ain't. Better have asleep, sir."
"No, man, no; I'm too ill and miserable to sleep."
"Then if you won't mind, sir, and'll give me leave, I will have asnooze. For I can't do you no good, and it will rest me, so as I shallbe able to do something in the morning."
"Sleep if you can," said Mark, bitterly.
"Nay, sir, I can't sleep if you take it and speak like that. Dessay Ishall be just as well awake."
"No, no, lie down and rest a bit," cried Mark.
"Mean it, sir?"
"Mean it, man? yes."
"Then thank ye, sir; and if you want me, just give the word, and I'lltumble up at once."
To the lad's wonder, Tom Fillot lay down in the bottom of the boat, andfive minutes after he was breathing deeply and as regularly as ifnothing whatever were wrong.
How that night passed Mark Vandean could hardly tell. He crept fromplace to place in the boat to see how the men were, and then crept backto his old seat close by Mr Russell. Then, with the boat gently risingand falling, he waited for the day, thinking of home, of thepossibilities of escape, and above all, of the terrible hunger andfearful thirst which dried him up.
"Will morning never come?" he cried, bitterly, and then prayed that itmight not, as he recalled the sufferings of the past day; and now he wascontent to sit, thankful that the day did not break, for there was restand less pain in the moonlight.
It was like the delirium of a fever, in which one moment it was allcalm, soft light in darkness, the next the sun had rolled above thehorizon, and the boy strained his eyes in all directions for the comingship, but looked in vain. Sea--smooth, slowly-heaving sea--everywhere,all ruddy gold and amber now, and heat once more burning into his brain,till a strange sense of weariness came over him, a feeling as of thebeginning of sleep.
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 intodelirium or a deadly sleep, he stretched out his hand to awaken TomFillot, but paused so as to give one despairing glance round.
The next instant he had glided down into the bottom of the boat,insensible to everything save his fevered dream, which was of greenfields, sparkling waters, and home.
For the cutter was alone on the sun-bright water; and as a great birdslowly floated over them, it looked down with cruel gaze, as if waitingand watching and wondering which would be the first of the insensiblemen on board to sink into a deeper sleep--one from which there would beno return.
That was just as Mark was dreaming the brightest of his old Devon home,and the sun was turning the sea into paler gold, and then into silverydazzling white.