The Black Bar Part 27

"With those poor creatures on board."

"Just as we'd made 'em clean and comf'able, sir. Oh, my poor head!"

"Let's see to Mr Russell first, and then I'll bind up your head as well as I can."

"How's one to see to Mr Russell, sir? Why, plagues o' Egypt's nothing to darkness like this."

Mark bent over his brother officer, and pa.s.sed his hand over his face and head.

"He's not bleeding," he whispered, impressed as he was by the darkness and their terrible position.

"More am I, sir, but I'm precious bad all the same. Don't s'pose any one's bleeding, but they got it hard same as I did. Wood out here ain't like wood at home. Oak's hard enough, but iron-wood's like what they call it."

"Who is this?" said Mark, as, after gently letting Mr Russell's head sink back, his hands encountered another face.

"I dunno, sir. It was every man for hisself, and I was thinking about Tom Fillot, AB, and no one else. What's he feel like?"

"Like one of our men."

"But is it a hugly one with very stiff whiskers? If so be it is, you may take your davy it's Joe Dance."

"How am I to know whether he's ugly?" cried Mark, petulantly.

"By the feel, sir. Try his nose. Joe Dance's nose hangs a bit over to starboard, and there's a dent in it just about the end where he chipped it agin a shot case."

"Oh, I can't tell all that," cried Mark--"Yes, his nose has a little dent in it, and his whiskers are stiff."

"Then that's Joe Dance, sir."

"Avast there! Let my head alone, will yer?" came in a low, deep growl.

"That's Joe, sir, safe enough. Harkee there! Hear 'em?"

Sundry creaking sounds came out of the darkness some distance away now, and Tom Fillot continued in a whisper,--

"They're hysting all the sail they can, sir. Look! you can see the water briming as she sails. They're going same way as we. Tide's taking us."

"Oh, Tom Fillot, I oughtn't to have gone to sleep. I ought to have stopped on deck."

"No yer oughtn't, sir. Your orders was to take your watch below, and that was enough for you. Dooty is dooty, sir, be it never so dootiful, as the proverb says."

"But if I had been on deck I might have heard them coming, Tom."

"And got a rap o' the head like the pore fellows did, sir."

"Well, perhaps so, Tom. I wonder why they didn't strike me as they did you."

"'Cause you're a boy, sir, though you are a young gentleman, and a orficer. Fine thing to be a boy, sir. I was one once upon a time.

Wish I was a boy at home now, instead o' having a head like this here."

"I'm thinking of what the captain will say," muttered Mark, despondently, as he ignored the man's remark.

"Say, sir? Why, what such a British officer as Cap'n Maitland's sure to say, sir, as he won't rest till he's blown that there schooner right out of the water."

"And those poor blacks," sighed Mark.

"Ah, it's hard lines for them poor chaps, and the women and bairns too, even if they are n.i.g.g.e.rs. Oh, if I'd only got that there skipper by the scruff of his neck and the waistband of his breeches! Sharks might have him for all I should care. In he'd go. Hookey Walker, how my head do ache all round!"

"I'm very sorry, Tom Fillot."

"Which I knows you are, sir; and it ain't the first trouble as we two's been in together, so cheer up, sir. Daylight'll come some time, and then we'll heave to and repair damages."

Just then there was a low groan from forward.

"That's one of our blacky-toppers, sir. 'Tarn't a English groan. You feel; you'll know him by his woolly head, and nose. If he's got a nose hooked one way, it's Soup. If it's hooked t'other way--c.o.c.ks up--it's Taters."

"The hair is curly," said Mark, who was investigating.

"P'raps it's d.i.c.k Bannock, sir. There, I said it warn't an English groan."

By this time some of the men were recovering from the stunning effect of the blows they had all received, and there were sounds of rustling and scuffles.

"Steady there, mate," growled one man. "What yer doing on?"

"Well, get off o' me, then," said another.

"Here, hi! What are you doing in my bunk? Hullo! Ahoy there! where are we now?"

"Steady there, and don't shout, my lads."

"All right, sir," growled a voice. "I was a bit confoosed like! Oh, my head!"

"Ay, mate," said Tom Fillot, "and it's oh, my, all our heads. Beg pardon, sir, for the liberty, but if you'd do it for me, I should know the worst, and I could get on then. I'm all nohow just now, and it worries me."

"Do what, Tom?" said Mark.

"Just pa.s.s your finger round my head, and tell me for sartin whether it's broke or no. It feels all opening and shutting like. Go it, sir; don't you be feared. I won't holler."

Mark leaned forward and felt the man's head.

"It's not fractured, Tom," he said. "If it had been it would have made you feel very different from this. You would have been insensible."

"Well, that what's I am, sir, and always have been. I never was a sensible chap. But are you sure as it ain't broke, sir?"

"Certain, Tom."

"Then who cares? I don't mind a bit o' aching, and I'm ready for any game you like. What do you say, sir, to trying to captivate the schooner again?"

"You and I, Tom?"