"No, my lad; we can do nothing in this heat. The poor fellows can do very little good themselves; I am only letting them pull because it keeps them from sinking into a state of despair. They can leave off when they like, and row when they like." The men heard his words and ceased pulling for a few minutes to gaze blankly round in search of help, but the shining, sunny haze shut them in, and Tom Fillot settled himself in his seat again. "Better pull, mates," he said, in a harsh, strange voice; "the orficer's right. We're worse off doing nothing." The oars dipped again, and the boat went on slowly eastward toward the distant coast, as the terrible sense of depression and exhaustion increased with Mark, mingled with a strange desire to scoop up some of the clear, glittering, tantalising water, and drink what he knew would be so horribly salt and bitter that his sufferings would be increased. Now and then a curious sensation of vertigo attacked him, which seemed as if by some means the shining haze had floated right into his brain, dimming his eyesight so that for a time he could not see. Then it lightened up, and he could see ships, and clear bubbling waters, and green trees. Then there were low, harsh voices speaking, and he was back again, wondering at the curious day-dream he had had, and listening to some remark made by Lieutenant Russell, who, in spite of his own sufferings, strove hard to cheer his companions in the boat. Now and then a man would start out of a half-drowsy state, and hold up his hand. Dance the coxswain was the first affected in that way, but after a few moments Mark felt that the poor fellow had been suffering in a similar way to himself. For the man suddenly exclaimed--"There! Did you hear that? A gun, lads. The _Naughtylass_ is coming down on us with every stitch o' canvas on her." Three of the men ceased rowing, and gazed through the haze in full belief that their messmate had heard a signal shot fired, for the man's attitude and tone were so convincing that there could be no doubt. But there was no sound to break the utter silence till Tom Fillot growled forth-- "Lie down and go to sleep, Joe Dance. You're only teasing us, and making wuss of it." "I tell you I heerd a gun," cried the coxswain. "Ay, in your head, mate. I've been hearing the skipper giving it to Mr Russell here for keeping the cutter out all night, but it don't mean nothing, only sort o' dreams. How could the _Naughtylass_ sail to us without a breath o' wind?" Dance stared at him wildly, and his face grew convulsed with anger, but the next moment he let his head drop down upon his hands with a groan.