"Come along, old fellow!" we shouted; "it's not up to your neck yet."
"He turned his head over his shoulder - even at the distance we were, its
pallor was quite visible - and slowly and cautiously releasing one hand,
he pointed to the water between himself and the island.
"By Jove!" cried the pilot, "he's bailed up by a shark, look at his
sprit-sail!" and following his finger we saw an enormous black fin sailing
gently to and fro, as regularly and methodically as a veteran sentry paces
the limits of his post.
"Stick tight, old man! we'll bring the boat," and leaving the pilot to
keep up a fusillade at the monster with the carbines, we darted back. I
shall never forget the efforts we made to launch the boat, but she was
immovable, and every moment the tide was rising, the little ripples
expending themselves in bubbly foam against the thirsty sand. We strained,
we tugged, we prised with levers, but unavailingly, the boat seemed as if
she had taken root there and would not budge an inch. A happy thought
struck me all of a sudden, as a reminiscence of a similar case that I had
seen in years gone by came back in full vigour.
"Give me a tomahawk," I said.
One was produced in a minute from under the stern-sheets. Meanwhile I had
got out a couple of the oars.
"Now, Jim, you're the best axeman, off with them here!"
Half a dozen strokes to each, and the blades were severed from the looms.
"Now boys, lay aft and lift her stern."
It was done, and one of the oars placed under as a roller.
"Now, launch together."
"Heave with a will."
"She's moving!"
"Again so. Keep her going."
"Hurrah!" and a loud cheer broke forth, as, through the medium of the
friendly rollers, the heavy boat trundled into the water.
The pull was long, at least it seemed to us long, for we had to round the
sandy spit before we could head towards the rock, and nearly got on shore
in trying to make too close a shave. We could hear the crack of the
pilot's carbine every few minutes, borne down to us by the freshening
breeze, and the agonising "coo-ehs" of poor Wordsworth, whose ankles were
already hidden by the advancing waters; added to this, we had only two
oars, and the wind, now pretty strong, was dead in our teeth. I was
steering, and Jim was standing up in the bows with his carbine for a shot,
if the shark offered such an opportunity. As we neared the rock we could
distinctly see the black fin within six feet of the narrow ledge on which
the poor fellow was standing, and only when we approached to within a
couple of boats' lengths, did the ferocious brute sail sullenly out to sea,
pursued by a harmless bullet from Jim's rifle.
