"Hi! all on you," came sharply from the forward part of the boat, which rocked a little from some one changing his position; and as it rocked tiny waves of light like liquid moonbeams flowed away to starboard and port, while dull sparks of light appeared in the water down below. "What's the matter there?" said Mark, rousing himself up to speak. "Be silent, and keep the boat still." "Ay, ay," growled Tom Fillot, but the boat still swayed. "Do you hear there?" cried Mark, sharply. "Who's that?" "Hi! all on you!" came again. "Did you hear my order, Dance?" cried Mark. "Sit down, man. Do you want to capsize the boat?" "I want my hitcher," said the man, sharply. "Who's been a-meddling with my boathook? it ain't in its place." "Sit down, man. This is not the first cutter, but one of the schooner's boats. Your boathook is not here." "Do you hear, all on you? I want my hitcher. Some on you's been and hidden it for a lark. Give it here." "Are you deaf, Dance?" cried Mark, angrily. "How dare you, sir! Sit down." "I know," continued the man, who was tumbling about forward. "Some on you's took it for a game, and Lufftenant Staples ain't the man to stand no larks. `Where's that there boathook, Joe Dance?' he says. `Produce it 'twonce, sir, or--' `Ay, ay, sir. Starn all it is. Where are you coming? Pull. Starboard there--On Portsmouth hard in Portsmouth town. Three cheers, my merry lads--Now then, pull--pull hard--Ay, ay, sir--Now all together, my lads!'" As the coxswain was speaking from out of the darkness, to the wonderment of all, Tom Fillot whispered quickly to his young officer,-- "It's the crack he got, sir. He'll be overboard if we don't mind. Poor chap, he has gone right off his nut." Creeping forward past the men, Tom made for where Joe Dance was speaking loudly, evidently under the belief that he was talking to a number of people around. Then, stamping about in the boat, his words came forth more rapidly, but in quite a confused gabble, of which hardly a single word was comprehensible. Invisible though he was, it was evident that he was growing more and more excited, for his words flowed strangely, swiftly, and then became a mere babble, as, with a shout, he rushed aft at the touch of Tom Fillot. "Stop him, some on you; he's mad!" roared Tom Fillot; and as instinctively Mark started up, it was to be seized by the poor wretch in his delirium, and held back, in spite of his struggles, more and more over the side of the boat toward the sea. CHAPTER NINETEEN. A DISABLED CREW. "I thought it was all over with you, sir," said Tom Fillot, who, regardless of those over whom he had passed, had plunged aft and thrown himself upon the coxswain, bearing him and the young midshipman down into the stern-sheets of the boat, and holding the former till he was dragged away, laid in the bottom, and held down forward, in spite of his struggles and cries.