Not another word had been spoken, though all the men were on deck clinging to the bulwarks, and in the full expectation that the vessel would go to pieces next time she struck; but, now that the peril was past, Dick Bannock was sent below to report on the water, while the rest rapidly rigged the pump ready for use. To their great relief, though, the young sailor came on deck to declare the schooner dry as a bone; and now to hide his own self-reproach, Mark turned to the men for an explanation. "I had no business to go below," he said to himself; land then aloud, "How was this, Fillot? Who was at the wheel?" "Me, sir," said the cutter's coxswain. "Me it were, and I don't want no one else to be blamed. Tom Fillot was forrard seeing to the watch, and that them blacks was--them blacks was--them blacks was--" "Well, what?" cried Mark, angrily. "What do you mean, man?" "Dunno, sir--dunno, I'm sure," said the coxswain, humbly. "It's my head won't go proper, sir. I was standing there by the wheel one minute, sending her along right enough, and the next minute was--was--was--was ashore with the breakers all around." "Why, you went to sleep!" roared Mark. "_You_! in charge of the wheel, went to sleep!" "Nay, sir. I never went to sleep. I was steering, and them blacks was--them blacks was--them blacks was--say, Tom Fillot, what was that along o' them blacks?" "Oh, they're all right, messmate," growled Tom Fillot. "Fact is, sir, he ain't quite right about his main truck yet, and I oughtn't to ha' let him take his trick at the wheel." "I ought not, you mean, Tom," said Mark, bitterly. "I had no business to go below." "Nay, don't say that, sir, 'cause it was your dooty to. Fact is, sir, we was all so knocked about in the upper works that there ain't a man on us good for much; and you see poor old Joe Dance's got it bad next to Mr Russell, sir, only we thought him so much better." "Yes, I'm better," said the coxswain. "All right again, mate, but I can't get over it about them blacks. What was it as--" "Here, what are you doing with that there wheel?" cried Tom Fillot, rushing at the man, and thrusting him aside. For Dance had suddenly grown excited, and was turning the spokes first in one direction and then in another in a most reckless way, while as he was thrust off, he staggered for a few steps, and then sat down on the wet deck to hold his head with both hands and rock it to and fro. "Want to send us ashore among the breakers again?" growled Fillot. "Nay, my lad, nay. There's something wrong in my head, and it wants fishing or splicing, sir. It won't go. Them blacks has got in it somehow, and I can't get 'em out." "Go below and lie down, Dance," said Mark, gently. "You'll be better after a good long sleep." "Sleep, sir? No, I can't sleep. Who's to take my trick at the wheel? Point or two more, sir; and, Tom Fillot lad, what was it about them blacks?"