"You can't do everything yourself, sir, and must get yourself fit to keep going. Now look round, sir. There's Soup and Taters keeping guard; shore's a mile away; light breeze sending us norrard; Joe Dance at the wheel. Could you find a better time for a snooze?" Mark hesitated. He knew that he could not hold out. It was within an hour of sundown, and the blacks were lying about forward in restful content; the schooner's sails were gently filled, and there was not a cloud in the sky. No better opportunity could be found for a rest, and, after giving strict commands to Tom Fillot to call him at eight bells, he went below, bent over Mr Russell, and shudderingly satisfied himself that Tom Fillot was right. "It's horrible," he muttered; "but it may not mean death;" and, throwing himself on a locker, he dropped off into a deep sleep almost instantly, and then sprang to his feet directly after, as he imagined, roused up by a tremendous shock, followed by a heavy thud; and he knew what was coming then--to wit, the rush of water, as a wave deluged the schooner from stem to stern, while all was so pitchy dark that he could not for the moment make out where the door of the cabin lay. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. A RESPONSIBLE POSITION. Confused and still half-steeped in sleep, Mark blundered about for a few moments before he reached the door, and was then thrown back, for the schooner heeled over, and then there was a tremendous bump, which made her shiver. "Mr Vandean, sir, quick! All hands on deck!" came in familiar tones, as the lad struggled to the door once more, and then up through the hatchway, to find the schooner on her beam ends rushing through the water, which was foaming around them. Then a wave once more struck her, deluging the deck, and making her shiver as she rose again upon an even keel. "Where are you, Tom Fillot?" shouted the midshipman. "Here, sir. Wheel," came back; and the next minute he was beside Tom Fillot and Joe Dance, who were trying to steady the vessel as she rode on through the surf. "Where are we?" shouted Mark, his voice sounding pitifully small amidst the roar of the waves. "Ashore, 'mong the breakers," cried Tom with a groan. "But I think we're 'most through 'em, sir." Just then, dimly-seen by its white crest, a huge billow rose up before them, as if to crush the little vessel into matchwood, but she lifted and passed right over it, and then over another and another, for there was a brisk breeze from off the shore; and after a few minutes of terrible peril the beautifully built vessel glided into smooth water, rapidly leaving the roaring surf behind, though the rollers extended far enough out, and the schooner rose and fell as she sailed away north-west at a rapid rate.