Chapter 7. A Terrible Task

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_ CHAPTER SEVEN. A TERRIBLE TASK

Hunger at first--a sharp, grinding sensation of hunger attacked Mark Vandean; but as the sun rose higher this was forgotten in the intense thirst. For the heat rapidly grew scorching, and then, as Mark thought, burning, and saving the flag in the stern-sheets there was not a scrap of anything that could be used for an awning.

Every eye was strained westward in search of the returning _Nautilus_, but in the clear morning light there was no sign of her; and as the sun rose higher, the distance became obscured by a hot haze, which grew more dense as the hours went on, till it was impossible to see a mile in any direction, while this thickening of the atmosphere had the effect of heightening the power of the rays of the sun.

"We shall never be able to see the ship, Mr Russell," said Mark towards mid-day, as they lay there parched beyond endurance, rising slowly and falling upon the smooth Atlantic swell. "Do you think they will fire again?"

"Sure to, my lad," was the reply. "There, I'm glad you have spoken. This silence was getting unbearable."

"I couldn't talk before," replied Mark; "it all seemed to be so horrible lying here in this scorching heat, and I was so thirsty and faint I felt as if I couldn't keep up."

"We all felt the same, my lad, but we must bear it till help comes. There, you are my lieutenant now, and we must have a consultation as to what is best to be done."

For they had lain there all the fore part of the day watching the west for the return of their vessel. It was madness to order the men to go on rowing, weary and suffering as they were under that burning sun, farther away into the vast ocean in search of the _Nautilus_; and on the other hand, Lieutenant Russell was unwilling to give up the chance of being picked up by turning their backs on help and making for the coast.

But now the time had come for action. The men sat about in the boat looking wild-eyed with thirst and heat, and the chances of being seen by the returning ship were now growing small on account of the haze. So feeling that Captain Maitland would give him the credit of making for Port Goldby or one of the factories on the coast, Lieutenant Russell announced his determination of making for the east.

"But will the men be able to row as far?" said Mark.

"They must be able, with our help, Vandean. To be plain, my lad, it is our only chance."

"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.

"No, my lad; we can do nothing in this heat. The poor fellows can do very little good themselves; I am only letting them pull because it keeps them from sinking into a state of despair. They can leave off when they like, and row when they like."

The men heard his words and ceased pulling for a few minutes to gaze blankly round in search of help, but the shining, sunny haze shut them in, and Tom Fillot settled himself in his seat again.

"Better pull, mates," he said, in a harsh, strange voice; "the orficer's right. We're worse off doing nothing." The oars dipped again, and the boat went on slowly eastward toward the distant coast, as the terrible sense of depression and exhaustion increased with Mark, mingled with a strange desire to scoop up some of the clear, glittering, tantalising water, and drink what he knew would be so horribly salt and bitter that his sufferings would be increased.

Now and then a curious sensation of vertigo attacked him, which seemed as if by some means the shining haze had floated right into his brain, dimming his eyesight so that for a time he could not see. Then it lightened up, and he could see ships, and clear bubbling waters, and green trees.

Then there were low, harsh voices speaking, and he was back again, wondering at the curious day-dream he had had, and listening to some remark made by Lieutenant Russell, who, in spite of his own sufferings, strove hard to cheer his companions in the boat.

Now and then a man would start out of a half-drowsy state, and hold up his hand. Dance the coxswain was the first affected in that way, but after a few moments Mark felt that the poor fellow had been suffering in a similar way to himself.

For the man suddenly exclaimed--"There! Did you hear that? A gun, lads. The _Naughtylass_ is coming down on us with every stitch o' canvas on her."

Three of the men ceased rowing, and gazed through the haze in full belief that their messmate had heard a signal shot fired, for the man's attitude and tone were so convincing that there could be no doubt.

But there was no sound to break the utter silence till Tom Fillot growled forth--

"Lie down and go to sleep, Joe Dance. You're only teasing us, and making wuss of it."

"I tell you I heerd a gun," cried the coxswain.

"Ay, in your head, mate. I've been hearing the skipper giving it to Mr Russell here for keeping the cutter out all night, but it don't mean nothing, only sort o' dreams. How could the _Naughtylass_ sail to us without a breath o' wind?"

Dance stared at him wildly, and his face grew convulsed with anger, but the next moment he let his head drop down upon his hands with a groan.

Night seemed as if it would never come to bring a relief from that burning sun, which affected man after man with this curious delirium, the last touched being Mr Russell, who suddenly started up in the boat just about the hottest part of the afternoon; and, his mind still impressed by the coxswain's words, he exclaimed in a peculiarly angry voice, as he stared straight before him--"I refuse to take the blame, Captain Maitland. I did my duty by you and toward the brave, patient fellows under my charge. If there is any one to blame it is yourself for leaving us behind. Quite right, Vandean. Now, my lad, for a good drink. The water's deliciously cool and sweet, and what a beautiful river. Ahoy! What ship's that?"

He lurched forward as he suddenly ceased speaking, uttered a low groan, and but for Tom Fillot's strong arm he would have gone overboard.

The sailor lowered him down into the bottom of the boat, where he lay back, and Mark took his kerchief from his neck, soaked it in the sea-water, wrung it out, and then laid it over the poor fellow's brow, ending by gazing inquiringly in the oarsman's face, as if asking for help.

"That's all you can do, sir," said the man, sadly.

"Touch o' sunstroke, and he's got it worse than the rest on us."

"Shall I bathe his face with the water, Tom?"

"No, sir, I don't know as I would. It might make him thirstier and worse. Better wait for sundown. When the cool time comes he may work round."

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?"

The sailor pointed to the flag spread out behind where the midshipman sat; and Mark shuddered as he grasped his meaning.

"Do you think I ought to, Tom?" whispered the lad at last, in awe-stricken tones.

"What do you think, sir, left in charge as you are?" returned the man. "Seems a terrible thing for a young gent like you to give orders about, but I can't see no way out of it. We did our best to save him, and now it don't seem as we can save ourselves. 'Tall events, we can do no good to him, and I think the skipper--beg pardon, sir, no offence meant, the captain--will say you did what was quite right in giving me my orders."

Mark was silent, and tried to think out the matter calmly and with reason, but his head throbbed and burned, and all kinds of thoughts of other things kept on coming to confuse him and stop the regular flow of his thought, till it was as if he could think of everything else but the subject of such great importance to those on board.

At last, though, he leaned over the side, and bathed his throbbing temples with the comparatively cool water, when, by slow degrees, the beating ceased, and the power to think calmly came back.

"Do you really feel it would be right, Tom Fillot?" he said.

"I'm sure it would, sir."

"No, no, I couldn't do it," cried the boy, excitedly; "it seems too dreadful."

"More dreadful not to do it, sir, begging your pardon," said the man, quietly; and Mark gazed at him wonderingly to see how calm, manly, and serious he, the wag of the ship, had grown to be now.

"No, no, I dare not. Here, I'll speak to Mr Russell."

"Do, sir; but I'm afraid you won't make him understand. He's too far gone for that."

Mark went down on his knees by his officer and took his hand. Then, placing his lips close to the stricken man's ear, he asked him again and again to give him his advice what to do, but elicited nothing but a peevish muttering, as the lieutenant tossed his head from side to side.

"What I told you, sir."

"Then I'll ask Dance," cried Mark. "He is over you men, and I cannot do this without some one to share the responsibility."

"Try him, sir; but he's quite off his head, and if he says do, his advice ain't worth having, for he'll never know he said it."

All the same, in his terrible perplexity, Mark crawled over the thwarts and between the men to where the coxswain lay muttering incessantly right forward, with his head resting against the pole of his hitcher; but in spite of appeal after appeal the man lay with his eyes fixed, quite insensible to every word addressed to him, and the midshipman crept back to where Tom Fillot sat.

"I'm nobody, sir, only a common man afore the mast, so it's like impidence for me to offer to share the responsibility with a young gent like you. But being half as old again, I may say I know a little of what a man ought to do in a case like this; and I say that as you're now in command, sir, it's your duty to us, as well as to the dead."

"No, no," groaned Mark. "We may be overtaken by the ship at any time."

"Look here; it's of no use for you to shrink from it. Recollect where we are. You must."

But still Mark shook his head.

"It ain't as if we could do him any good, sir."

"But without Christian burial, Tom Fillot."

"He warn't a Christian, sir," said the sailor, slowly. "I'm only an ignorant man, but I've heerd say that you were a parson's son, sir, and know what's right to do at such a time. Mr Vandean, sir, you must."

Mark heaved a sigh, rose in the boat, and looked round him, trying to pierce the gloom in search of help out of his difficulty; but the moon was hidden by a black cloud, and look which way he would there was naught but the thick darkness hemming him in. With a piteous sigh he turned back to where the sailor sat waiting, made a sign, and then sank upon his knees in the bottom of the boat, feeling for the first few moments utterly alone.

The next minute the feeling of loneliness had passed away, and firm and strong at heart, he raised his head, and made a fresh sign to his companion, who had followed his example, and who now rose and stepped over to the very stern of the boat, to stand with his back to his young officer. Then as he bent down it seemed to Mark as if the darkness had grown more profound, till there was a faint rustling noise, and a soft plunge in the black water, followed by a faint rippling whisper against the sides. Directly after the moon appeared from behind the thick mass of clouds and shed a path of silver over the sea, till it flooded the part where the cutter lay; and as Mark Vandean knelt there, he saw Tom Fillot standing before him with the Union Jack in his hand. _

Read next: Chapter 8. "Will Morning Never Come?"

Read previous: Chapter 6. Alone On The Ocean

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