s here to
try and catch the schooner and her crew. There is one thing to wish
for, though, and that's for to-morrow morning to come instead of
to-night, sir."

"Yes, and I'm afraid it's a long way off yet," said Mark, with a sigh,
as he looked round at the veil of black darkness which shut them in, and
then sat listening to the struggles and cries of the unfortunate
coxswain, till by degrees they grew weaker and weaker, and the men who
had been holding him relaxed their efforts, for their prisoner sank into
a heavy stupor.

Startling and painful as this episode in their night's adventures had
been, it had had one advantage, that of making the time pass more
swiftly; and in consequence it was with a feeling of wonder that the
young officer turned sharply round as Tom Fillot said drily,--

"Good morning, sir."

"What! What do you mean?"

"First signs of it, sir. Listen! you can hear the birds beginning to
pipe."

"Yes; that's a bird's whistle," said Mark. "Then we can't be so very
far from the shore."

"That's right, sir, and what I hope is that we're not very far from the
_Naughtylass_, and that they'll be at work with the spy-glasses to see
where we are."

"And I've got to face the captain," thought Mark, "and give him an
account of our night's work. How shall I do it? It's horrible to go
back like this."

As the time glided on, the sounds grew more frequent from the shore, and
by degrees there was a lightening around them, and they made out that
they were slowly gliding along over the calm sea beneath a thick canopy
of mist, some eight or ten feet above their head; and this was gradually
growing opalescent, and shot with bright tints, till all beneath was
fairly light, and the midshipman looked round for the _Nautilus_ and the
schooner.

But there were no signs of either, perhaps because the mist prevented
them from seeing fifty yards in any direction.

There was plenty to see, however, inboard, and at the first glance
round, before his gaze was concentrated upon his officer, Mark Vandean's
heart sank within him at the sight of the wretched, dilapidated men,
whom he had seen on the previous evening looking so smart and active.
To a man they were battered, bruised, and bore traces of the terrible
struggle through which they had passed. The coxswain lay asleep, and,
upon examining him, he seemed cool, and with the hope that he might wake
up calm and collected, Mark gave one look at Tom Fillot--who