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The Black Bar, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 30. A Joint Watch |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY. A JOINT WATCH That day passed quietly enough. The weather was hot, but tempered by a gentle gale, which wafted them on their way; and, as Mark gazed at the verdant shore through a glass and then at the glistening sea, it seemed to him as if Heaven was smiling upon their efforts to save the poor weak, trembling creatures, who were ready to wince and shrink away every time he marched forward to where their part of the deck was shut off by a rope stretched taut from side to side. But as soon as he put off the stern official look he wore--an unconscious copy of Captain Maitland's quarter-deck manner--and smiled at them, their faces lit up, and he felt as if they would go down upon their knees to him and kiss his feet, if he would permit it. Already they looked better, and, like those in the second prize, basked in the sunshine, and talked together in a low, soft, pleasantly-sounding tongue. The second prize was visited twice, and in addition to Taters, Grote and Dance were left on board, to take it in turns at the wheel and manage the little sail, hoisted now to help the steering and ease the strain on the tow-rope. So everything went well that day: the Americans were quiet down below, and though the progress made was only slow, Mark felt hopeful, as he swept the horizon with his glass, of seeing the _Nautilus_ come round some point, or appear in the offing at any time. That night, so as to guard against their being passed by their friends in the darkness, lights were hoisted as a signal that would be pretty sure to bring them help; and this being done, Tom Fillot approached his superior respectfully, to speak him, as he called it, about the division of the watches. "You'll let me take the first, sir, while you'll go below and have a good sleep, sir, won't you?" he said. "Certainly not," said Mark, shortly. "So sure as I go to sleep, something happens." "But you can't do without sleep, sir," said the man. "I can to-night, Tom. I've been resting and having little naps of a few minutes at a time all day." "Well, sir, begging your pardon, it's the rummest sort o' rest I ever see. Take my word for it, sir, you can't hold up." "I must somehow, Tom; so no more words. Look here, we'll seep watch together, and the one who feels drowsy can take a nap now and then, ready to start up at the slightest alarm." "Very well, sir, if you won't sleep reg'lar, so be it." But it proved to be hard work. Nature is a terrible tyrant to those who try to break her laws, and after about an hour's duty on deck, when the clustering stars had been watched, and their reflections in the sea, the wheel visited again and again, an ear given from time to time at the forecastle hatch and ventilator, where everything was silent as the grave, all of a sudden Mark would find himself at home, talking to his father and mother, or on board the _Nautilus_, listening to Mr Whitney, the doctor, or to the captain, and then start up with a jerk to find he had been asleep. "How long was I off, Tom?" he would whisper, angry with himself. "'Bout five minutes, sir." "Not more?" "No, sir." "That's right. All quiet?" "Yes, sir. Have another." "Nonsense! I'm better now." Mark took a turn to the wheel, said a few words to the steersman, and returned to his seat, to find that in those brief minutes Tom Fillot had gone off too, but only to start up, fully awake, at the moment his young officer sat down. "Look here, sir," he said; "mortal natur' won't bear it. I'll take a trot up and down now while you sleep." "I'm not going to sleep," said Mark, shortly. "Begging your pardon, sir, you are," said Tom; and he took a few turns up and down, to return at last and find Mark quite fast. "I knowed it," he said to himself, but he had hardly thought this when Mark started up again, vexed with himself, but unable to control the desire for rest. The consequence was that during the next two hours this natural process went on, the one who sat down going off instantly to sleep, while the other kept up his sentry-like walk, and no more words were uttered respecting it. They felt that it was nature's work and accepted their position till toward midnight, when Mark was resting with his back to the bulwark, and his chin upon his breast, sleeping heavily, as he had been for about a minute. Tom Fillot stepped up lightly to his side and touched him. "Yes? What?" cried Mark, starting up in alarm. "Hist, sir! Steady! They're a-breaking out." "What!" said Mark, in an awe-stricken whisper, as his hands involuntarily sought pistol and dirk. "Hark!" came in a whisper to his ear; and leaning forward and peering into the darkness, he distinctly heard at intervals a faint, dull clink, as if some one were very carefully and slowly moving pieces of iron. For the moment, half drowsed still by his desire for sleep, Mark could not make out what it meant. Then he grasped the meaning of the sound. "Why, Tom Fillot," he whispered, "they're getting off the chain cable from the hatch." "That's it, sir; link by link." _ |
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