ing 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.

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?"