s later the men were rowing steadily toward the land, while
Mark rejoiced at the only piece of good fortune he had encountered since
the previous night when he lay down, and that was in the fact that to
get rid of the party who had captured the schooner, the slaver captain
had not scrupled to send them adrift in his own boat, one which proved
to be light, swift, strong, and admirably adapted for facing the heavy
swell that deluged the shore.

Mark's time was pretty well divided between steering, watching his
patients, and keeping a look-out for an inlet into which the boat could
be run. So as not to weary the men, he made them row with the tide
until they had gone south some miles, and he was hesitating as to
whether he ought not to turn back, when there were signs ahead of the
mouth of a river whose banks were heavily timbered. These signs proved
to be correct, and in half an hour the boat was steered into a narrow
canal-like channel among the mangrove growth, made fast to a stem, and
the men, feverish--hot and suffering, drank eagerly of the swiftly
rushing water, forgetting its muddiness in the delicious coolness it
imparted to their burning throats; while Fillot and his young officer
busied themselves, as they lay in the shade of the overhanging trees, in
bathing the heads of the two sufferers, in each case winning for reward
sighs of satisfaction and content.

"Hah!" ejaculated Tom Fillot, when, after holding down his face close to
the water, and drinking for some time like a horse, he sat up with a tin
baler in his hands, sipping from the full vessel, enjoying himself, and
making comments for his comrades to hear.

He had tried to smile, but the effort consequent upon the state of his
swollen face was too painful, and he gave that up.

"Yer health, messmets," he said, raising the baler, "and wishing us all
out of our difficulties."

He took another sip of the muddy fluid, and nodded as he passed the tin
to the next man.

"Drink hearty, messmet," he said, "and pass it on. This is something
like water. Reg'lar strong slab stuff as has got plenty o' victuals in
it as well as drink. Reg'lar meaty water, like soup."

"Why, it's on'y mud, mate," said the man who held the tin; "hadn't we
better let it settle?"

"What for? Drink, my hearty. What's mud but dust o' the earth made
wet? Well, we're all made o' the dust o' the earth, ain't we, and
consequently wet dust's just the stuff to make yer grow strong