Chapter Thirty Six.
It was a false alarm, for Terry had been tended by Rogers, and seemed one of the strongest of the party that sat eating their morning meal a few hours later.
But an enemy would have found an easy capture of the place that day had he come; though, as there really was no illness, the recuperation was rapid enough, and all congratulated themselves on the find.
“It warn’t nice while it lasted, but you see it was an eggsperens like, sir,” said Strake; “only what puzzles me is, why you and Pan-y-mar didn’t think of the water afore.”
“I was thinking about it all night, Strake,” said Syd, “and it was as great a puzzle to me. I heard the gurgling of water that day when Mr Dallas was hurt, and thought it must be the sea coming in through some crack, and I never thought of it again till I felt that I was dying. Then it came like a flash.”
“Dying! Lor’ now, we warn’t dying,” said the boatswain cheerily. “But thirsty I will say though, as I never was so thirsty afore. I’ve been hungry, and had to live for a week on one biscuit and the wriggling things as was at the bottom of a cask, but that’s heavenly to going without your ’lowance o’ water.”
“Don’t talk about it,” said Syd; “it was a horrible experience.”
“Well, come, sir, I like that,” growled Strake, who soon seemed quite himself again; “it was you begun it, not me.”
“I?” cried Syd, angrily; “why, didn’t you come to me, sir, and say that you always thought as long as a man had a biscuit and plenty of rum he could do without water?”
“Why, so I did, Master Syd, sir. Of course I’d forgotten it. Got so wishy-washy with so much water, that I can’t think quite clear again yet.”
“Never mind; you know better about the rum now.”
“Yes, sir; and if I gets back home again well and hearty, you know, there’s a good cellar under the cottage at home.”
“Yes, of course, I know. What of that?”
“Well, sir, I’m going to set Pan-y-mar to work—his fin ’ll be strong long afore then—to wash all the empty wine-bottles I can find up at the house, and I’m goin’ to fill ’em at the pump, cork ’em up, and lay ’em down in the cellar same as the captain does his port wine.”
“And give up rum altogether?”
“Give? Up? Well, no, sir; I dunno as I could quite do that.”
“Never mind talking about it, then,” said Syd; “but as soon as the men are well enough, let’s have all the water-casks well-filled.”
“Beg pardon, sir.”
“Well, what?”
“Water’s lovely and sweet and cool where it is; wouldn’t it be better to have it fetched twice a day as we want it?”
“Yes, Strake,” said Syd, “if you are quite sure that no enemy will come and try to oust us. Suppose they land, and we are shut up here; are we to go on suffering for want of water again?”
The boatswain hit himself a tremendous blow on his chest with his doubled fist.
“Think o’ that now, sir. Must be the water. Head’s as wishy-washy as can be. Sort o’ water on the brain kind o’ feeling, sir.”
“We’ll have the casks all filled and stored in that cave near the powder, and be secure from it, but have the water for use fetched twice a day from the spring.”
“O’ course, Master Syd, sir. Never struck me till this instant. Well, I’m proud o’ you, sir, I am indeed, and it’s a comfort to me now as I did have something to do with teaching of you.”
“What’s that mean? What does Rogers want?”
“Dunno, sir. Caught a big ’un, I s’pose, or lost his line. You give him leave to fish, didn’t you?”
“Yes.—Well, Rogers, what is it? Got any fish?”
“Lots, sir. But here’s a big boat, sir, close in; floating upside down.”
“Boat?” cried Strake. “Ay, ay, my lad; that means firewood for the hauling up; soon dry on the rocks.”
The news brought Roylance from Mr Dallas’s quarters, and Terry hurried down, the little party finding that the current had brought a water-logged boat as big as a small schooner close in to the rock, by which it was slowly floating some forty yards away.
“If we could only get a rope made fast on board,” cried Syd, excitedly, as he gazed at the swept decks, and masts broken off quite short.
“I’ll swim off with a line, sir,” said Rogers.
“Ugh! sharks!” ejaculated Roylance.
“I could swim off with a line and make it fast,” began Syd.
“Do, then, Belton,” said Terry, eagerly; “the boat would keep us in firewood for long enough.”
“But I should be afraid of the sharks, and should not like to let a man do what I would not do myself.”
“P’r’aps there are no sharks here now,” said Terry, with an aggravating smile, which seemed to say, “you’re afraid.”
“I’m not going to risk it,” said Syd, quietly, “badly as we want the wood.”
“But that little vessel may be valuable,” said Terry, “and mean prize-money for the men.”
“I don’t think the men would care for prize-money bought with the life of their captain’s son,” said Syd, coldly.
“I wouldn’t for one,” muttered Rogers, as a murmur ran round the group of watching men.
“Pish!” said Terry, with a merry laugh.
“Why don’t you try it, Mr Terry?” said Roylance.
“Because I should order him not to go, and would not allow it, Mr Roylance,” said Syd, firmly.
“Brayvo, young game-cock!” muttered Strake, who was busy with a line. “My, what a orficer I shall make o’ him.”
“It would be too dangerous a job for any man to attempt. The sea swarms round the rock with hungry fish, and I don’t mind saying I should be just as much afraid to go as I should be to let one of my men go.”
“There, sir, I think this here ’ll do it,” said Strake, coming forward with a ring of line and a marlin-spike tied across at the end. “If you’ll give leave for me to go with half a dozen o’ the men along yonder, we may be able to hook her as she comes along.”
“Come along, then,” said Syd. “But will not that marlin-spike slip out?”
“That’s just what I’m afraid on, sir. Ought to be a little tiny grapnel as would hold on, but this is the best I can think on.”
The party climbed along the rocks, which formed a perpendicular wall from thirty to forty feet high, till they were some twenty yards beyond the derelict. Place was given to the boatswain, who had the line laid out in coils, and while he waited he carefully added to the stability of the marlin-spike with some spun-yarn.
And all this time, rising and falling, the water-logged boat came on, the current drawing it in till it was only some thirty yards away from the cliff where they stood, and the men whispered together as to the possibility of the boatswain throwing so far. At last she was nearly opposite.
“Stand by,” growled the boatswain, gruffly. “Hold on to the end o’ that line, Rogers, my lad, and stick to it if there comes a tug; then tighten easily, for we’ve got to check her way if my grappling-iron does take hold.”
“Stand clear all,” said Syd, as the old man made the marlin-spike spin round like a Catherine wheel at the end of three feet of the line. The speed increased till it produced a whizzing sound; then, letting it go, away it flew seaward right over the derelict, and the men gave a cheer.
“Well done, Strake,” cried Syd, making a snatch at the line.
“Nay, nay, sir,” whispered the old man; “you’re skipper here; let me do this.”
“Yes; go on,” said Syd, colouring at his boyish impetuosity, as he resigned the line to the boatswain’s hands. “Haul steadily! that’s the way. Now, then, will it hold?”
There was another cheer, for, as the rope was drawn upon, the marlin-spike caught somewhere on the far side among the broken stays of the foremast.
But the wreck was not secured yet. It was gliding along slowly with the tide, but with great force, while it required a great deal of humouring and easing off to succeed for fear that the hold should break away. The consequence was that the men who held on by the rope had to follow the little vessel for some distance before it began to yield, and then they towed it slowly and steadily along. No easy task, for the towing-path was one continuous climb, and the men had to pass the line on from one party to the other.
But they towed away till the spot was reached whence the line had been thrown, and now that the boat was well in motion, the task grew more and more easy.
“Steady, there, steady!” growled the boatswain. “You arn’t got hold of a nine-inch cable, and it arn’t hard and fast to the capstan. Steady, lads.”
For the men were getting excited, and were stamping away. They calmed down though, and towed on and on till Syd began to give his orders, looking hard at Strake the while, as if to ask if he was doing right.
“You, Rogers, have a line ready and jump aboard as she comes close in by the pier. Make it fast round the stump of the bowsprit.”
“Nay, nay, sir,” growled Strake; “take a turn or two round the foremas’, my lad, run the rope out through the hawse-hole, and then chuck it ashore here.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” shouted Rogers, picking up one of the rings of rope they had ready, and throwing it over his shoulder, as he stood barefooted on the rock.
“Don’t jump till you are quite sure, Rogers,” cried Syd, “and ’ware sharks.”
The men laughed, the little vessel came nearer and nearer, and the excitement increased; when all at once, just as she was within a dozen feet of the rocks where the officers stood and the men were hauling steadily away, there was a yell of disappointment; the marlin-spike came away, bringing with it some tow and tarry rope, and the prize stopped, yielded to the pressure of the current, and began to glide away again.
“Never mind, sir, I’ll make another cast,” cried Strake, gathering in the line; but before he had got in many feet there was a splash, a quick scattering of the water, and after rapidly making a few strokes, Roylance was seen to climb over the side of the little vessel, which was nearly flush with the water.
As he did so there was a shriek of horror, for a couple of sharks, excited by the sight of prey standing so near the edge of the waves that ran over the natural pier, made a swoop down upon the young officer, who in his hurry and excitement let loose the ring of rope he had snatched from Rogers, and it was seen to descend through the clear water.
“Why, he has no rope! He’ll be carried away with the boat. Jump back now; never mind the sharks.”
“Stay where you are,” cried Syd, as loudly as he could call out above the hurry and excitement. “Now, Strake, quick!”
The boatswain was being quick, but it was hard work to get the line free from the tangle that it had dragged ashore. There was no other line handy, and it began to seem as if the brave young fellow, who was a favourite with all but Terry, would be carried off to sea to a horrible lingering death, for all knew that it was impossible for him to swim ashore.
“Who told him to go on board?” said Terry, coolly.
“No one,” replied Syd, who was now as excited as his companion was calm. “It was his own rash idea. Oh, bo’sun, bo’sun, be smart!”
The boat had drifted some distance, before the old man, who, though really quick, seemed to be working with desperate deliberation, was ready to gather his line up in rings, and climb along the rocks till he was abreast, and could make his cast.
The climb was difficult, as we have seen, and half a score of hands were ready to snatch the rings from his hands, and try to go and cast them.
But discipline prevailed. It was Strake’s duty, and he clambered up, followed by the men who were to haul; while on the vessel Roylance stood with his arms folded, waiting, the water rolling in every now and then nearly over his knees, and—horror of horrors!—the two sharks slowly gliding round and round the boat, their fins out of the water, and evidently waiting for an opportunity to make a dash at the unfortunate lad and drag him off.
“Now, now!” was uttered by every one in a low undertone that sounded like a groan, as the old boatswain stopped short, raised the ring of rope, holding one end tightly in his hand, and cast.
The rings glistened in the sun like a chain as the main part went on, and there was a groan of horror, for the end of the last ring fell short with a splash in the water.
“He’s gone!” muttered Syd. “Oh, my poor brave, true lad!”
But even as he uttered those words, with sinking heart the boatswain was gathering the line up into rings again, with the most calm deliberation, climbing along the edge of the cliff as he went, till he was again well abreast of the vessel, when he paused to measure the distance he had to throw with his eye, for it was farther than it was before.
The line, too, was heavy with its fresh drenching, and a murmur once more arose as it seemed to them that the old man was losing confidence, and letting the time go by; for though he would be able to follow along right to the end of the rock, the line of coast trended in, and the current was evidently setting out, and increasing the distance.
“Oh, Strake! throw—throw,” whispered Syd, who was close behind.
“Ay, my lad,” said the old man, calmly; “it’s now or never. Safety for him, or the losing of a good lad as we all loves. Now, then—with a will! stand clear! Hagh!”
He uttered a peculiar sound, as, after waving the rings of rope well above his head, he looked across at Roylance, who stood in a bent attitude, close to the side, forgetful of the sharks; and then, with everybody wishing the cast God-speed, the rope was thrown.
Chapter Thirty Seven.
The excited party burst into a hearty cheer as the rings of wet rope flew glistening through the sunshine, and a fresh burst broke forth as they saw the outermost deftly caught by Roylance. But the cheer changed to a yell of horror as it was seen that in his effort to cast the line far enough, the old boatswain had overbalanced himself and fallen headlong down the cliff, which was, fortunately for him, sufficiently out of the perpendicular where he fell to enable him to save himself here and there by snatching at the rugged blocks of coral, checking his fall cleverly enough till, as his companions breathlessly watched, he stopped altogether, hanging, almost, on a ledge about six feet above the waves, and only keeping himself from going farther by grasping the stones.
The intense interest was divided now between Roylance on the slowly drifting boat and the boatswain clinging for dear life.
“Who can climb down to him,” cried Syd, “before the rope tightens and he is dragged off? Here, I will.”
“No, sir; I’ll go,” said Rogers, eagerly; and without waiting further orders he began to lower himself down as actively as a monkey, now hanging by his hands and dropping to a ledge below, now climbing sidewise to get to a better place before descending again.
“Give the rope a turn round one of the blocks as soon as you get hold of it, Rogers,” cried Syd.
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Can you hold on, Strake?”
“Ay, my lad, I think I can,” growled the boatswain. “Nuff to make a man hold on with them sharks down below.”
“The rope—the rope!” shouted Roylance from the derelict boat.
“Yes. We’re trying,” cried Syd. “Here, what are you doing? Don’t tighten that; you’ll have Strake off the rock.”
He yelled this through his hands as he saw Roylance stooping down and hauling away at the rope hand over hand.
“Perhaps he knows what he’s doing,” thought Syd; and he turned his attention to the boatswain and the man going to his help.
“Can any other man go down to assist?” he said. “I’m afraid that Rogers will not be able to hold on, and the boat will go.”
“You’d better go, Belton,” whispered Terry. “I’ll take command here. Mustn’t lose poor Roylance.”
Syd turned upon him sharply, and was about to follow the suggestion, when a shout came from Rogers.
“The rope—the rope!”
For a moment or two Syd stood there half-paralysed as he grasped the fresh trouble that had come upon them, and saw the explanation of Roylance’s action. It was plain enough now: in the boatswain’s headlong fall he had either loosened his hold of the end of the rope, or retained it so loosely, that as he clung to the rock for his life it had dropped into the waves, and by the time Syd quite realised what was wrong, Roylance had hauled it on board, and was standing with it in his hand, fully awake to the peril of his position, and seeing that no help could come now from the rock.
Syd’s throat felt dry, and a horrible sensation of fear and despair ran through him as he stood there motionless watching his friend and companion drifting slowly away. Another minute and his position would be hopeless unless some vessel picked him up. So desperate did it seem that Syd felt as if he could do nothing. Then he was all action once more, as he saw what Roylance intended. His lips parted to cry out “Don’t! don’t!” but he did not utter the words, for it was Roylance’s only chance; and all on the rock stood with starting eyes watching him as he seemed to be examining the rocky wall before him, and they then saw him turn his back, bend down, lift a loose coop, bear it to the side of the boat furthest from them, raise it on high, and heave it with a tremendous splash into the smooth sea.
Before Syd could more than say to himself, “Why did he do that?” Roylance was back to his old place, had let himself down softly into the water, and was swimming hard for the rock.
“It was to attract the sharks,” said a voice behind him, as some one else grasped the meaning of the act, and to Syd’s intense delight he heard a panting sound, and another of the sailors came toiling up with a fresh ring of rope which he had been to fetch.
“Can you save Strake, Rogers?” shouted down Syd.
“Ay, ay, sir. I’ll help him all right.”
“Come on, then,” panted the young midshipman, and setting off he led the way, climbing along the edge of the rock so as to get level with Roylance, who was rapidly drifting to the end of the rock.
“He is bringing the rope ashore,” said Syd to himself, as he saw the end in his companion’s teeth; and they climbed on, encouraging each other with shouts, and steadily progressed; but as they climbed it was in momentary expectation of hearing a wild shriek, and seeing Roylance throw up his hands, as one of the ravenous monsters dragged him under.
And as they climbed to get level with him, Roylance swam steadily on through the clear blue water; and though every eye searched about him for a sight of some shark, not one was visible, though the back fins of no less than four could be seen gliding about in the neighbourhood of the floating hutch on the far side of the boat.
By making almost superhuman efforts the party on the rock managed to get abreast of Roylance just as he was half-way between the boat and a patch of rugged boulders which had seemed to promise foothold till help could reach him from above, and still the brave fellow swam on with the rope in his teeth, ring after ring slowly gliding out over the boat’s side.
“Now,” cried Syd, as he grasped mentally the spot where his companion would land. “A man to go down.”
The sailor who had been his other companion on the day when Syd had attempted to explore the rock stepped forward, a loop was made in the rope, the man threw it over his head, and passed it below his hips.
“Ready,” he cried, and he was lowered down over the edge to be ready to give Roylance a helping hand, and try to make fast the line the latter was bringing ashore.
“Ah!” shrieked Syd, suddenly, for it seemed to him that the end had come. For as he gazed wildly at his messmate, he saw that he was swimming with all his might, but making no way. Worse: he was being drawn slowly and surely out to sea, and the reason was plain; the rope that should have continued to give over the side had caught somewhere in the broken edge of the bulwarks, and all Roylance’s risks and efforts had been thrown away.
“Let go, and swim for it!” yelled Syd, and Roylance answered by throwing up a hand.
“Can you see the sharks?” said Syd, half-aloud.
“No, sir, not yet,” said one of the sailors. “They’re cruising about the boat.”
“Roylance—Roy! Let go of the rope and swim,” cried Syd, in an agony of dread.
But the young middy turned on his back, loosened the rope all he could, and gave it a shake so as to send a wave along it. This had no effect, for it was too tight, and to the honour of those on the rock they saw him deliberately turn and take a stroke or two back toward the boat before giving the rope another shake. This time it had its due effect, for the wave ran along the line and shifted it out of the rugged spot where it had caught, so that it once more ran out freely as Roylance turned to swim for the shore.
“Hist! Don’t make a sound,” whispered Syd, as a murmur of horror ran through the group on the top of the cliff.
For something had caught the eyes of all at the same moment. To wit, one of the triangular back fins, which had been gliding here and there about the coop on the far side of the boat, was seen to be coming round her bows, and the next thing seemed to be that the monster would detect the position of the midshipman, and then all would be over. In imagination Syd saw the voracious creature gliding rapidly toward Roylance, dive down, turn over showing its white under-parts, and then there was the blood-stained water, the wild shriek, and disappearance. But only in imagination, for as he made an effort all this cleared away from his excited brain, and the midshipman was there still swimming vigorously, and with a slow steady stroke, toward the rock, towing the line. But there was the shark between him and the boat, quite round on his side now.
“Hadn’t you better let go?” said Syd, in a voice he did not know for his own.
“No,” came back rather breathlessly, “there’s plenty of line, Belt. I made the other end fast and—can’t talk now.”
A sudden thought struck Syd.
“I must not say any more,” he said to himself; “a word would frighten him and make him lose his nerve. Here, quick! My lads,” he whispered, “get some big lumps of rock ready to throw down.”
The men scattered, and in less than a minute they were back, and a little heap of stones from the size of a man’s head downwards were ready at the edge of the cliff, where Syd was gazing down fifty feet or so at his friend, who still swam on toward where the sailor was waiting, and in happy ignorance of the nearness of one of the sharks. Syd could see right down into the clear water whenever the disturbance made by the lad’s strokes did not ruffle the surface, and his starting eyes were plunged down into the depths in search of fresh dangers.
“Oh!” he said to himself, “if he only knew how near that savage beast is! Swim, Roy, swim, lad! Why don’t you let go of the rope and save yourself?”
He dare not shout aloud; and though he was high up in safety, he felt once more all the agony of horror and fear which had come over him when he was himself escaping from a shark, and he shuddered as he heard a murmur about him, and the men stood ready each with a great stone.
“Couldn’t no one go and help him with a knife?” whispered one of the men. “Oh! look at that.”
“Hullo! Caught again?” cried Roylance, as the rope jerked.
No one replied. It was as if their mouths were too dry to utter a word, for the party on the top of the cliff plainly saw the shark thrust the rope up with its muzzle and glide under it.
Just then the horrible secret was out, for the sailor down below at the end of the rope shrieked out—
“Swim, sir! swim for it. One of those devils is coming at yer.”
Roylance was not a dozen feet from the speaker now, and they saw him give a violent start, and glance wildly over his shoulder.
The fright did it. He could no longer swim calmly now, but began to throw out his arms hand over hand to reach the rock, splashing the water up into foam, and in an instant this brought the shark in his track.
“Ready with the stones?” cried Syd, seizing one himself, and poising it above his head.
The others obeyed, and what followed seemed afterwards almost momentary.
The shark scented its prey, and came on steadily now toward where Roylance was struggling desperately. In another minute the poor fellow would have been seized, but a shower of great stones came whirling down in dangerous proximity to the swimmer, only one of which struck the shark, but that one with so good effect that it was for the moment disconcerted, and turned round as if puzzled. But directly after it saw its prey, went down, and rose in the act of turning over to seize its victim.
But there’s many a slip between the cup and the lip, even in the case of sharks. Many a one has had a knife ripping it open just as it has anticipated enjoying some juicy black; and others have had their prey snatched from their lancet-studded jaws, or tasted with it a hook.
It was so here. Syd had hurled his stone, and was watching its effect before stooping for another, when he realised what the sailor in the loop below was about to do.
“No, no,” he cried, quick as thought. “No more stones, stand by with the rope.”
Syd threw himself down upon his chest and strained over the edge to watch what was going on, while, with the rapidity taught by discipline, the sailors seized the rope, and stood ready and waiting the next order.
It was not for them to think for themselves, but to act as their officers bade, and Syd was already one whom they trusted and flew to obey.
All this takes long to describe, but the action was quick enough.
The sailor at the end of the rope had, as Roylance drew nearer, spun himself round rapidly till the loop was tight about him as he sat astride in the bight, and then he began to swing himself to and fro, describing a longer and longer arc till he found that he could reach. Then with a sudden desperate movement he flung himself forward and grasped Roylance round the waist, seizing the line the midshipman held with his teeth, too; and then as, with the horror of despair, Roylance exerted his failing strength to get a grip of the bight of the hanging rope, Syd loudly shouted—
“Now, my lads, run them up.” It was just in time.
In spite of the rocks and dangerous nature of the top of the cliff, the men, who had been waiting, started away from the edge, the rope hissed in running over the limestone, and Roylance and his brave rescuer were literally snatched up ten feet as the shark made its second attack, but only to fall back into the sea with a mighty splash.
“Haul now!” cried Syd, excitedly, for the men could go no farther.
“No, no, avast! avast!” came up hoarsely from between the sailor’s teeth, as he and Roylance swung to and fro just above the maddened shark, which began to swim in a circle.
“Stop!” roared Syd. “Can you hold on, sir?” said the sailor. “Yes,” said Roylance. “Then here goes. Loose the line, sir.” His hands were free, and he had taken the tow-rope now from his teeth.
Hardly knowing what he did Roylance obeyed, and with the rapidity taught by much handling of hemp, the sailor passed the end of the tow-rope through the bight of that which supported them, and then sent it through again, and secured it with a knot.
It was just in time, for as he drew through the end and tugged at it, the line began to tighten, and draw them out of the perpendicular, then more and more away from the rock as the boat still glided away.
“All right, sir, I’ve got you now,” cried the sailor, clasping Roylance about the waist. “Now then, get your legs ’cross mine, and put your arms round my neck and the rope too. That’s your sort. Glad I saved your end from going after all that trouble.”
“Ready below?” cried Syd, as he looked down. “Well, no, sir,” said the sailor, “I wouldn’t haul yet, or t’other line might part.—Did you make it well fast aboard the boat, sir?” he continued to Roylance.
The latter nodded his head, and sat gazing down, shuddering, at the shark.
“Then you’d best wait, sir,” shouted the man, as they were drawn up higher and higher, swinging gently like a counterpoise. “You see our weight eases it off like on the boat, and we may get her yet.”
It seemed possible, for its rate was checked, but the slow deliberate glide still went on a little, flattening the curve formed by the two lines extending from the deck of the boat to the top of the rocks, fifty feet above the sea.
“One moment, Mr Roylance, sir,” said the man, as coolly as if he were in the rigging of the ship, and not suspended by a thin rope over the jaws of a monstrous shark. “I want to get my legs round facing that cliff there. That’s your sort. Now if your line gives way, as I’m feared it will—one minute: yes, the knot’s fast; that won’t draw—I say, if the rope gives way we shall go down again the rocks with a spang, but don’t you mind; it’ll only be a swing, and I’ll fend us off with my feet. My! we’re getting tight now. Look out, sir, we’re going.”
But the rope did not break, for seeing how dangerous the strain was becoming, Syd ordered the men behind him to ease off a little, and then a little more and a little more, till the progress of the water-logged vessel was gradually checked, and as they felt that the worst of the strain was over, the men on the cliff gave a cheer.
“Steady there, steady!” cried Terry, angrily, and the men murmured.
“Silence there!” cried Syd. “Now, my lads, I think you may begin to haul.”
The men obeyed, and by the exercise of a great deal of caution the first rope was drawn slowly hand over hand up the cliff till Roylance’s head appeared. Syd extended his hands to his help, and the midshipman climbed over the edge and sat down in the hot sunshine in his drenched clothes, looking white and haggard, as one looks after a terrible escape from death.
The next minute the sailor was on the cliff, looking none the worse for his adventure, but pretty well drenched by contact with Roylance’s dripping clothes.
Then a little more hauling took place, till the men could get a good hold of the line Roylance had brought ashore, in the midst of which the latter suddenly sprang up, looked over the edge of the cliff, and catching sight of his enemy, he picked up the biggest piece of stone he could lift and hurled it down. It fell with a mighty splash in the water, and as chance had it, for little could be said for the aim, right down upon the shark, which turned up directly after, and then recovered itself and swam laboriously away.
Chapter Thirty Eight.
“You made me feel horribly bad, Roy,” whispered Syd, hastily. “How could you do such a fearfully dangerous thing?”
Roylance smiled feebly and pointed down at the boat, which was yielding slowly to the drag kept on it by the men.
“That may be the means of saving our lives,” he said.
“Are you going to leave those other two poor fellows to fall off the rock as food for the sharks, Mr Belton?” said Terry, who had been put out of temper by the action of the men.
“I think you can answer that question yourself, Mr Terry,” said Roylance, flushing up angrily.
Syd made no reply, but quietly gave his orders.
“Mr Roylance,” he said, “are you well enough to take charge of the men here, as they haul the boat along, while I go and see to the bo’sun and Rogers being got up the cliff?”
“Well enough? yes,” cried Roylance, upon whom the short encounter with Terry had acted like a stimulus.
Terry turned pale with rage at being passed over, and he followed Syd and four of the men as they hurried along with the rope set at liberty coiled up.
It was with no little anxiety that the party approached the spot where Rogers had gone down, while Terry, who had expressed so much interest in the fate of the two men, oddly enough hung behind.
Syd was the first to reach the place, and looked over to be greeted by Rogers with a hail.
“Is Mr Strake all right?”
“Ay, ay, sir; all but my bark,” said the boatswain. “Don’t say, sir, as you haven’t got Mr Roylance off the boat.”
“Got him off, Strake, and they’re towing the boat along.”
“Hurrah!” shouted the two men, whose position in an indentation of the rock line had prevented them from seeing what was going on.
The rope was lowered down with the loop all ready, and Strake was hauled up first, his appearance over the side being greeted with a cheer, and plenty of hands were ready to help him into a sitting position, for it was evident that he could not lift one leg.
“Never mind me, my lads,” he said, quietly. “Get Rogers on deck first.”
This was soon effected, the smart young sailor displaying an activity as he scrambled over the edge of the rocks that contrasted strangely with the boatswain’s limp.
“Now, Strake,” said Syd, as soon as he had seen Rogers safe, “are you hurt?”
“Hurt, sir? Did you say hurt?”
“Yes, yes, man.”
“Well, I s’pose I am, sir, for I feels as if I’d got a big sore place spread all over me. Mussy me, sir, that’s about the hardest rocks to fall on as ever was.”
“But no bones broken?”
“Bones broken? Nay. I’ve got none of your poor brittle chaney-ladle kind o’ bones; but my head’s cut and the bark’s all off my right leg in the front. Left leg arn’t got no bark at all, and I’m reg’larly shaken in all my seams, and stove in on my starboard quarter, sir. So if you’ll have me got into dock or beached and then overhaul me a bit, I’d take it kindly.”
“Of course, of course, Strake; anything I can do.”
“Ahoy!” cried the old man, raising a hand as he sat in the sunshine upon the rock, but lowering it directly. “Oh, dear; I wanted to give them a hearty cheer yonder, but, phew! it’s bellows to mend somewhere. Yes, I’m stove in. Old ship’s been on the rocks; all in the dry though.”
A cheer came back, though, as Roylance and his men caught sight of the two who had been rescued, while they towed the boat slowly along.
“How are we to get you back to the huts, Strake?” said Syd, anxiously.
“Oh, never mind me just at present, my lad,” said the boatswain; “what I want to see is that there boat got alongside o’ our harbour—on’y ’tarn’t a harbour—and made fast with all the rope you can find. Maybe she’s got a cable aboard. I should break my heart if she weer to break adrift now.”
“Mr Roylance has her in charge, Strake, and I’ll see to you. Where are you in pain?”
“Ask me where I arn’t in pain, Mr Belton, sir. I got it this time.”
“I’m sorry for you, Strake.”
“Thank ye, sir; but I’m sorry for you. There’s a big job to patch me up and caulk me, I can tell you. It’s horspittle this time, I’m feared.”
“But how are we to move you without giving you pain?”
“I’ll tell you, sir. Sail again, and some un at each corner. We shan’t beat that.”
The sail was procured, and the injured man was carried as carefully as possible back to the foot of the gap, hoisted up, and then borne into the hospital.
“Strake! Hurt?” cried the lieutenant.
“Oh, not much, sir; bit of a tumble, that’s all, sir. Don’t you be skeared. I arn’t going to make no row about it. No, no, sir, please,” continued the boatswain, “not yet. I don’t feel fit to be boarded. Just you go and give your orders to make that there boat safe, and then I’m ready for you. One word though, sir.”
“What is it?”
“Have that there boat well fended, or she’ll grind herself to pieces agen the rock.”
Syd hesitated, but being full of anxiety to see the boat that had cost them so much thoroughly secured, and feeling perhaps that after all a rest after his rough journey would make the boatswain more able to bear examination and bandaging, he hurried off to find that he need not have troubled himself, for Roylance was doing everything possible, and the vessel was being safely moored head and stern.
But he was in time to have the boatswain’s proposition carried out, and a couple of pieces of spar were hung over the side to keep her from tearing and grinding on the edge of the natural pier.
As Syd was returning he came upon Terry, looking black as night, and held out his hand.
“I’m sorry there should have been any fresh unpleasantness,” he said. “Can’t we be friends, Mr Terry?”
“That’s just what I want to be, Belton,” cried Terry, eagerly, seizing the proffered hand. “I’m afraid I did interfere a bit too much to-day.”
“And somehow,” mused Syd, as he went on to the hospital, “I can’t feel as if it’s all genuine. It’s like shaking hands with a sole and five sprats. Ugh! how cold and fishy his hand did feel.”
The lieutenant was lying in the hospital with his eyes closed, and Pan was bathing his father’s brow with water, using his injured arm now and then out of forgetfulness, but putting it back in the sling again as soon as it was observed.
“Arn’t much the matter with it, I know, Pan-y-mar,” the injured man whispered, as Syd halted by the door to see how his new patient seemed, trembling terribly in his ignorance at having to put his smattering of surgery to the test once more.
“Ah, you dunno, father,” grumbled the boy. “You’ve ketched it this time. I don’t talk about getting no rope’s-ends to you.”
“No, my lad, you don’t. I should jest like to ketch you at it. But you won’t see me going about in a sling.”
“Ah, you dunno yet, father.”
“Don’t I? You young swab; why, if I had my head took off with a shot, I wouldn’t howl as you did.”
“Why, yer couldn’t, father,” said Pan, grinning.
“What, yer laughing at me, are yer? Just you wait till I gets a few yards o’ dackylum stuck about me, and you’ll get that rope’s-end yet, Pan-y-mar.”
“Oh, no! I shan’t,” said Pan in a whisper, after glancing at the lieutenant, who was lying with his eyes closed. “You’ll be bad for two months.”
“What? Why, you sarcy young lubber, if the luff warn’t a-lying there and I didn’t want to wake him, I’d give yer such a cuff over the ear as ’d make yer think bells was ringing.”
“Couldn’t reach,” said Pan, dabbing his face.
“Then I’d kick yer out of the door.”
“Yah!” grinned Pan. “Can’t kick. I see yer brought in, and yer couldn’t stand.”
“Keep that water out o’ my eye, warmint, will you,” whispered the boatswain. “Water’s too good to be wasted. Give us a drink, boy.”
Pan rose and dipped a pannikin full of the cool water from a bucket, and held it to his father’s lips.
“Wouldn’t have had no water if it hadn’t been for me coming ashore,” he said.
“Ah, you’ve a lot to boast about. Just you pour that in properly, will yer; I want it inside, not out.”
“Who’s to pour it right when yer keeps on talking?” said Pan, as he trickled the water into his father’s mouth.
“Ah, you’re a nice sarcy one now I’m down, Pan-y-mar,” said Stoke, after a long refreshing draught. “But you may be trustful, I’ve got a good memory for rope’s-ends, and you shall have it warmly as soon as I’m well.”
“Then I won’t stop and nuss yer,” said Pan, drawing back.
“You just come on, will yer, yer ungrateful swab.”
“Shan’t,” said Pan.
“What! Do you know this here arn’t the skipper’s garden, and you and me only gardeners, but ’board ship—leastwise it’s all the same—and I’m your orficer?”
“You arn’t a orficer now,” said Pan, grinning. “You’re only a wounded man.”
“Come here.”
“Shan’t!”
“Pan-y-mar, come here.”
“Say you won’t rope’s-end me, and I will.”
“But I will rope’s-end you.”
“Then I won’t come.”
The boatswain made an effort to rise, but sank back with a groan. Pan took a couple of steps forward, and looked at him eagerly.
“Why, you’re shamming, father,” he said.
The boatswain lay back with the great drops of sweat standing on his face.
“I say, you won’t rope’s-end me, father?”
There was no reply.
“Why, you are shamming, father.”
Still all was silent, and the boy darted to the injured man’s side and began to bathe his face rapidly.
“Father,” he whispered, hoarsely, “father. Oh, I say! Don’t die, and you shall give it me as much as you like. Father—Oh, it’s you, Master Syd. Be quick! He’s so bad. What shall I do?”
“Be quiet,” said Syd, quietly. “Don’t be frightened; he has fainted.”
“Then why did he go scaring a lad like that?” whimpered Pan, looking on.
“Hush! Be quiet. There: he is coming round,” said Syd, as the injured man uttered a loud sigh and looked wonderingly about him.
“Just let me get hold—Oh, it’s you, sir. Glad you’ve comed. I’m ready now.—Stand aside, Pan-y-mar, and give the doctor room.—Say, Master Syd,” he whispered, “don’t let that young sneak know what I said, but I do feel a bit skeared.”
“You are weak and faint.”
“But it’s about my legs, Master Sydney. Don’t take ’em off, lad, unless you are obliged.”
“Nonsense! I shall not want to do that. You are much bruised, but there are no bones broken.”
“Ay, but there are, my lad,” said the boatswain, sadly. “I didn’t want to say much about it, but I am stove in. Ribs.”
“How do you know?”
“Feels it every time I breathes, my lad. Bad job when a ship’s timbers goes.”
Sydney knew what to do under the circumstances, and sending Pan for Rogers to help him, he proceeded to examine his fresh patient, to find that two ribs were broken on the right side, the rest of the injuries consisting of severe bruises and grazings of the skin. In addition there were a couple of cuts on the back of the head, which called for strapping up.
Part of these injuries had been attended to by the time Pan returned with Rogers, and then the ribs were tightly bandaged with a broad strip of sail-cloth.
“I say, sir,” growled the boatswain, “not going to do this all over me?”
“No! Why?”
“’Cause I shan’t be able to move, and my boy’s been a-haskin’ for something hot ’fore you come.”
“That I didn’t, father.”
“Oh, yes, you did, my lad. You didn’t ask with yer mouth, but have a way of asking for what you’re so fond on without making no noise.”
Pan screwed up his face, and the lieutenant, who had been lying apparently asleep, burst into a loud laugh.
“Come, Strake,” he said, “you had better leave that, and think of getting better.”
“Ay, ay, sir; but I hope I see you better for your nap.”
“I wish you did, my man, and I wish you the same. But there, we’ve such a skilful young doctor to look after us, we shan’t hurt much.”
“Not us, sir. I am’t nothing to what you was, and see what a job Mr Belton’s made o’ you.”
“Yes; it’s wonderful. I can never be grateful enough.”
“Beg pardon, sir,” said Sydney, “but I want to finish bandaging the boatswain; and if you keep on talking like that I can’t.”
“I am silent, O doctor!” said the lieutenant, laughing. “And so you’ve got a boat, have you?”
“Such as it is, sir.”
“Then if the captain does not come back we shall have the means of getting away from this place. No; that will not do, Mr Belton: we must hold it till we are driven out. Keep to it to the very last. I say we: you must, for you are in command. I suppose it will be months before I am well.”
“I’m afraid it will,” replied Syd.
“Then you must hold it, as I said.”
“Hurrah!” cried Strake, and then screwing up his face—“My word! that’s bad. You’re all right, Pan-y-mar. There won’t be no rope’s-end for you this week.”
“No,” said Syd, merrily, “I think he’s safe for quite that time.”
“And when may I move, doctor?” said Mr Dallas, smiling.
“As soon as you can bear it, sir, I’ll have you got out in the morning to lie in the shade and get the fresh sea-breeze before it grows hot.”
“Ah! thank you, my lad,” he said, with a longing look. “I’m beginning to think I would as soon have been a surgeon as what I am.”
Syd started and coloured up, as he wondered whether the lieutenant knew anything about his life at home.
Chapter Thirty Nine.
The same reply always from the look-out man by the flagstaff; no ship in sight, and the town of Saint Jacques slumbering in the sun. But there was so much to do that Syd and Roylance could spare very little time for thinking.
As soon as the patients had been tended there were a score of matters to take Syd’s attention; but he was well seconded by Roylance, who, to Terry’s disgust, threw himself heart and soul into the work of keeping the fort as if it were a ship.
The lieutenant progressed wonderfully now that the feverish stage was over, and one day he said—
“I can’t work, Syd, my dear boy, for I am as weak as a baby, and I shall not interfere in any way, so go on and behave like a man.”
Pan forgot to use his sling to such an extent that there could be no mistake about his wound being in a fair way to heal, and were other proof needed it was shown in the way in which he tormented his helpless father. For though the boatswain pooh-poohed the idea of anything much being the matter with him, it was evident that he suffered a great deal, though he never winced when his injuries were dressed.
“Serves me right,” he used to say. “Arter all my practice, to think o’ me not being able to heave a rope on board a derrylick without chucking myself arter it. There, don’t you worrit about me, sir. Give me a hextry fig o’ tobacco, and a stick or a rope’s-end to stir up that young swab o’ mine, and I shall grow fresh bark over all my grazings, and the broken ribs ’ll soon get set. How are you getting on with the boat?”
“Not at all, Strake,” replied Syd. “We can’t pump her out because there’s a big leak in her somewhere, and I don’t like to break her up in case we think of a way of floating her so as to get away from here.”
“What? Who wants to get away from here, sir? Orders was to occupy this here rock, and of course you hold it till the skipper comes back and takes us off.”
“Yes; but in case our provisions fail?”
“Tchah! ketch more fish, sir. There’s plenty, aren’t there?”
“Yes; as much as we can use.”
“And any ’mount o’ water?”
“Yes.”
“And the only thing you want is wood for cooking?”
“Yes.”
“Then that boat, which seems to ha’ been sent o’ purpose, has to be got ashore somehow to be broke up. Now, if you’ll take my advice you’ll just go down to the rocks there and think that job out. I can’t help you much, sir, ’cause here I am on my beam-ends. Go and think it out, lad, and then come and tell me.”
“Strake’s right,” said the lieutenant, who had been lying in the shade outside the hut. “Captain Belton will either be back himself or send help before long. You must hold the place till he comes.”
Those words were comfortable to Sydney. They were like definite orders from his superiors, and he could obey them with more satisfaction to himself than any he thought out for himself. So he went down to the pier, meeting Roylance on his way, who had just been his rounds, and had a few words with the men on duty by the upper and lower guns, and at the flagstaff.
“My orders are to go and see to getting the wreck ashore for firewood, Roylance.”
“Orders?” said the midshipman, laughing. “Well, it does seem a pity after the trouble we took.”
“And risk,” interpolated Syd.
“To get her moored here to be of no use.”
“Come, and let’s see what can be done.”
The two youths descended the rope-ladder beneath the lower gun, and spent some time in examining the vessel, but were compelled to give up in despair. She was securely moored so that they could easily get on to the water-washed decks, where there were a couple of fixed pumps, but these had been tried again and again; and, as the men said, it was like trying to pump the Atlantic dry to go on toiling at a task where the water flowed in as fast as it was drawn out.
“There’s no getting at the leak even if we knew where it was,” said Roylance.
“I think the same,” said Syd, “so we may as well get all the wood out of her we can, and lay it on the rocks to dry.”
This task was begun, and for two days the men worked well; some cutting, others dragging off planks with crowbars, while the rest bore the wood to the foot of the rocky wall, where it was hauled up and laid to dry in the hottest parts of the natural fort.
It was on the third day from the beginning of this task, as the pile of dripping wood they had taken from the wreck began to grow broad and high, while endless numbers of riven pieces were ranged in the full sunshine, and sent forth a quivering transparent vapour into the heated air, that Syd, who was standing ankle-deep in water on a cross-beam directing the men, and warning them not to make a false step on account of the sharks, suddenly uttered a cry—
“Look out!” he shouted, and there was a rush for the rock, where as soon as they were on safely the men began to roar with laughter.
“Beg pardon, sir,” said Rogers, touching his hat, as he stood axe in hand; “but seeing as how he tried to eat me, oughtn’t we to try and eat he?”
The “he” pointed to was a long, lean, hungry-looking shark which had been cruising about the side of the vessel, whose bulwarks had all been ripped off and deck torn up, so that she floated now like a huge tub whose centre was crossed by broad beams. So open was the vessel that it had needed very little effort on the part of a shark to make a rush, glide in over the ragged side, and then begin floundering about in the water, and over and under the beams which had supported the deck.
“I don’t know about eating him, Roy,” said Syd; “but as I’m captain I pass sentence of death on the brute.” Then to the men—“How can you tackle the wretch?”
“Oh, we’ll soon tackle him, sir,” said Rogers; “eh, messmets?”
There was a growl of assent at this, and the men looked at their young leader full of expectancy.
“Well,” he said, “be careful. What do you mean to do?”
“Seems to me, sir,” said the man, “as the best thing to do would be to fish for him.”
“No, no,” cried Roylance; “fetch a line with a running knot, and see if you can’t get it round him, and have him out.”
Rogers gave his leg a slap.
“That’s it, sir. Pity you and me can’t be swung over him like we was off the rocks. Easily run it across his nose then.”
Roylance could not help a shudder, and he glanced at Syd to see if he was observed.
“I get dreaming about that thing sometimes,” he said. “I wonder whether this is the one.”
“Hardly likely, but it’s sure to be a relation,” said Syd, laughing, as they stood watching the movements of the shark, which seemed to be puzzled by its quarters, and was now showing its tail as it dived down under a beam, now raising its head to glide over and disappear in the depths of the ship’s hold.
The men were not long in getting the line that had been used to tow the vessel to its moorings, and a freely running noose was prepared and tested by Rogers, who suddenly threw it over one of his messmates’ heads, gave it a snatch, and drew it taut. Taking it off, he lassoed another in the same way.
“That’s the tackle,” he said, smiling. “Next thing is to get it round the shark.”
“Yes,” said Roylance, “but it’s something like the rats putting the bell on the cat’s neck. Who’s to do it?”
“Oh, I’m a-going to do it, sir,” said Rogers, shaking out the rope. “Lay hold, messmates, and when I says ‘now!’ have him out and over the rocks here.—P’r’aps, sir, you’d like to have an axe to give him number one?”
“How do you mean?”
“One on the tail, sir, to fetch it off; only look out, for he’s pretty handy with his tail.”
“That’s what some one said of the man who had his legs shot off,” whispered Roylance, laughing, “that he was pretty handy with the wooden ones.”
“We’re ready, sir,” said Rogers, “when you likes to give the word.”
“But about danger, my man?” said Syd, who half-wondered at himself, as he hectored over the crew, and thought that he was a good deal like Terry, who was contemptuously looking on.
“Theer’s no danger, sir,” said Rogers. “I don’t know so much about that,” said Syd; “suppose you slipped and went down into the hold?”
“Well, in that case, sir,” said Rogers, grimly, “Master Jack there would have the best of it, and none of his mates to help. Wonder whether a shark like that shovel-nosed beggar could eat a whole man at a meal?”
“Ugh!” ejaculated Syd, with a shudder. “It’s too risky. Better give it up.” But the men looked chapfallen.
“But the brute will put a complete stop to our work,” said Roylance, who was watching the restless movements of the self-imprisoned shark. “Don’t stop them, Belton,” he continued, in a low tone, “I want to see that monster killed.”
“For revenge?”
“If you like to call it so. It or one of its fellows made me pass such moments of agony as I shall never forget.”
“I shall never forget my horror either,” said Syd, as he too looked viciously at the savage creature, which just then rose out of the water and glided over one of the beams. “There, go on, Rogers, only take great care.”
“I just will that, sir,” said the man, as his messmates cheered; and taking the noose in his hand he stepped along the plank leading from the rocks to the vessel. “When I say ‘now, lads,’ mind you let him feel you directly; and haul him out.”
“Ay, ay!” cried the men; and then every eye was fixed upon the active young fellow, whose white feet seemed to cling to the wet planking upon which he stood, and from which he stepped cautiously out upon one of the beams that curved over from side to side.
Hardly was he well out, and stooping down peering into the water, than Syd uttered a warning cry, and the man bounded back as the shark, attracted by the sight of his white legs, came up from behind, and glided exactly over the spot where he had been standing.
“Ah! would yer!” shouted Rogers; and the men roared with laughter. “This here’s fishing with your own legs for bait,” continued the young sailor. “Well, it’s got to be who’s sharpest—him or me.”
“I think you had better not venture,” said Syd, hesitating again.
“Oh! don’t say that, sir. We shall all be horrid disappointed if we don’t get him.”
“But see what a narrow escape you had.”
“Well, yes, sir; I wasn’t quite sharp enough, but there was no harm done.”
“Go on,” said Syd, unwillingly, as he caught Roylance’s eye; and hurrying by for fear that the permission should be withdrawn, the man stepped quickly back on to the beam, keeping a sharp look-out to right and left.
“I see you, you beggar,” he said; “come on.”
The shark accepted the invitation, and made quite a leap, passing over the beam again, diving down, snowing his white, and swam twenty feet away, to turn with difficulty amongst the submerged timber forward, and returned aiming clumsily at the white legs which tempted him, but missing his goal, for the young sailor nimbly leaped ashore.
“I shan’t get him that way,” he said. “Here, give us something white.”
There was nothing white handy but blocks of coral, and Rogers solved the difficulty by selecting a hat and taking a handspike.
He tried his plan at least a dozen times without result, and lost two good chances; but the man was too clever for the shark at last. Rogers had scanned pretty accurately the course the brute would pursue, and had noted that when once it gave a vigorous sweep with its tail to send itself forward, there was no variation in its course.
So waiting his time, standing in the middle of the cross-beams with the noose in his hand, he fixed his eye upon his enemy, threw the hat ashore as a useless bait, and depending once more upon himself, he waited.
It was not for long. The brute made at him, and as it glided out of the water to seize its prey, Rogers, by a quick leap, spread his legs wide apart and held the noose so cleverly that the shark glided into it as a dog leaps through a hoop; and it was so ingeniously adjusted that the rope tightened directly, almost before the young sailor could shout “Now” while the shark went over and down between two of the cross-beams behind his fisher, as, from a cause upon which he had not counted, Rogers took an involuntary header into the part of the water-logged vessel from which the shark had come.
The cause upon which the young sailor had not reckoned was the rope, which, at the shark’s plunge as soon as noosed, tightened the line which crossed Rogers’ leg, snatched it from under him, and down he went, to the horror of all present.
In a moment the water all about where the shark had plunged began to boil, and the next moment there was a quick splashing as Rogers’ head appeared.
“Hold on to him!” he shouted. “Don’t let him go. Where’s he ketched?”
“Don’t talk,” yelled Syd, running along the planks to stretch out a hand. “Here, quick, let me help you out.”
“Oh, I’m all right, sir, so long as the rope holds,” cried the young sailor, coolly. “He won’t think of me while he’s got that bit of line about him.” But he climbed out all the same, and stood rubbing his shin.
“Never thought of the rope hitching on to me like that,” he said. “Whereabouts is he ketched, mates?”
“The rope has slipped down pretty close to his tail,” cried Roylance, as he watched the creature’s frantic plunges in the limited space.
“Something like fishing this, Roy,” said Syd, excitedly, while the men held on, and they could see amid the flying, foaming water the long, lithe body quivering from end to end like a steel spring.
“I’d haul him out, sir, ’fore he shakes that noose right over his tail.”
“Yes. Look alive, my lads. Now then!” cried Syd, “haul him out. Quick!”
The men gave a cheer, and hauling together, they ran the writhing monster right out of the water, and over the edge of the natural pier, fifty feet or so up among the loose rocks, where it leaped and bounded and pranced about for a few minutes in a way which forbade approach.
Then there was a loud cheer as Rogers seized his opportunity, and brought down the axe he had snatched up with so vigorous a stroke on the creature’s back, about a couple of feet above the great lobe of the tail, that the vertebra was divided, and from that moment the violent efforts to get free lost their power.
It was an easy task now to give the savage monster its coup de grâce, and as it lay now quivering and beyond doing mischief, the men set up another cheer and crowded round.
“There,” cried Rogers, “that means shark steak for dinner, lads, and—”
“Sail ho!” came from above; and the shark was forgotten as the words sent an electric thrill through all.
“Come on, Roylance!” cried Syd, climbing up the rope-ladder to run and get his glass.
“Ay, ay,” cried Roylance, following.
“Let’s get a better hold with the rope, mates,” said Rogers, “and haul the beggar right up on deck. They’re artful beggars is sharks, and if we leave him here he’d as like as not to come to life, shove a few stitches in the cut in his tail, and go off to sea again.”
The men laughed, and the prize was hauled right up to the perpendicular wall below the tackle, willing hands making the quivering mass fast, and hauling it right up into the gap, and beyond all possibility of its again reaching the sea.