Part 29 (1/2)
”Well, they arn't soft, sir. But hallo! I never shut up my knife.” He closed the keen blade with a sharp snap. ”There! Now you see the vally of a lanyard,” he continued, as he thrust the great clasp-knife into the waist-band of his trousers.--”Keep it up, my lads. I'll take a turn as soon as I've got my own wind again. Ah, there's nothing like a lanyard.
If it hadn't been for that my snickersee would have gone zigger-zagging down through the dark black water disturbing the little jellyfish and lighting the way for a snip, snap, swallow, all's fish that comes to their net style, to go inside some shark. But I've got it safe. It's a fine bit of Sheffield stuff, and I'll be bound to say it would have disagreed with him as had swallowed it. Here, somebody--who's got a match? Mine'll be all wet. Strike a light, will you; I want to see if he's beginning to wink yet.”
A match was struck, and as it burned steadily in the still air a faint light was shown from the schooner far, far away.
”See there, my lads? He's winking his eyes like fun; but go on pumping slow and steady to keep him breathing--mustn't let him slip through your fingers now. Pull away there, my lads; put your backs into it. My word, there's a stiff current running here!”
”Yes,” said Poole; ”we are much farther away than I thought.”
”But what an escape!” cried Fitz.
”Eh? What do you mean?”
”Look yonder; that streak of light gliding along and making the water flash. You can just make out now and then something dark cutting through it.”
”Ah, that's plain enough,” said the boatswain; ”a jack shark's back fin, and a big un too.”
”Lucky for you both,” said Poole, ”that you are safe on board.”
”Lucky for him, you mean,” said the boatswain. ”That knife of mine's as sharp as hands can make it. If I had let him have it he'd have shown white at daylight, floating wrong side up.”
”If you had hit him,” said Fitz.
”If I'd hit him, sir! A man couldn't miss a thing like that. But of course there wouldn't have been time to pick my spot.”
”Oh!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Fitz, in a long-drawn sigh. ”Seems to turn me quite over! That's about the most horrible cry I know--Man overboard! It's bad enough in the daylight, but on a night like this--”
”Ah, it would make you feel a bit unked, my lad,” said the boatswain, ”if you had time to think; but it was a fine night for the job. I have been out in a boat after one of these silly chaps as didn't mind where he was going, when you couldn't make out his bearings at all. To-night the sea brimed so that you could tell where he was at every move.
Splendid night for the job!”
”And it was a very brave act, b.u.t.ters,” said Poole warmly.
”What was, sir?”
”Why, to jump overboard on a dark night, not knowing whether you would ever reach the schooner again.”
”Tchah! Nonsense, sir! You shouldn't talk stuff like that to a wet man! It was all charnsh, of course; but a sailor's life is all charnsh from the moment he steps aboard. We are charns.h.i.+ng now whether they'll pick us up again, for they can't see us, and we don't seem to be making no headway at all in this current. Here, you, Sam Boulter, get right in the stem and stand by there with that there box of matches. Keep on lighting one and holding it up to let it s.h.i.+ne out. Be careful and don't burn your ringers.”
A low chuckle rose from the oarsmen, followed the next moment by a deep groan and a low muttering from the reviving man.
”Hah!” said the boatswain. ”He's coming round now, and no mistake.”
Just then there was a sharp scratch, a pale light of the splint of wood stood out in the darkness, and mingled with a spluttering husky cough came the voice of the half-drowned foremast-man.
”Here, easy there! What are you doing? Hah! Boat! Boat! Help!”
This was consequent on the gleaming match s.h.i.+ning out before the poor fellow's eyes.
”Steady there!” roared out the boatswain. ”What are you singing out like that for? Can't you see you are safe aboard?”
”Eh? Eh? Oh, thank goodness! I thought it was the schooner's lights.