A SWIM FOR DEAR LIFE--PURSUED BY SHARKS.
As long as the moonlight lasted the evenings were very pleasant
indeed, and every night Fred, Frank, and Quambo went out for a row
and a song. Hurricane Bob begged so earnestly to be excused that it
was thought best to leave him on shore.
Magilvray and Cassia-bud also expressed themselves as perfectly
content to take a back seat at the evening concert, or, in other
words, to lie on the beach and listen there. Probably they thus had
the best of it; for the sound of the singing floating over the water
was weirdly tremulous and beautiful.
The singers, however, thought it safest to keep well away from the
reef. There was something decidedly uncanny in the sight of that
black and terrible apparition springing over the reef. Besides, as
Frank said, if that was the brute's usual way of coming home of an
evening, the wisest plan was to give him a wide berth. Explorations
of the island, which was many miles in extent, took place every day.
These little excursions formed a very pleasant way of spending the
greater portion of the day, there was so much that were strangely
foreign and beautiful to be beheld, and so many pretty peeps of
scenery. The whole island, indeed, and everything in it, was as
different from anything that Fred and Frank had seen before, as if it
had been part and parcel of some other planet.
Sometimes it was Cassia-bud who came with them, at other times Quambo
or Magilvray, and sometimes it was Hurricane Bob only. Whoever
stayed at home had to cook the dinner, and just as often as not had
to catch it also.
Cassia-bud was the fisher-boy _par excellence_. He was never better
pleased than when out on the water all by himself, armed with rod and
reel, or with hand-line only! His whole evenings used to be devoted
to the study of bait, and when he went fishing he seemed to know the
very spot at which to sink his line in order to procure some
particular kind of fish.
He found several species of skates and rays, a huge kind of
conger-eel--the first he caught frightened poor Cassia-bud, and
almost as much as "de debbil fish" had--many other nameless and
curious fishes, all good to eat, and mackerel. These last were not
such as we in England are used to, but cooked as Quambo cooked them
they were very delicious indeed. They were very numerous too in some
parts of this reef-locked bay, and Quambo's plan was to start
Cassia-bud out to catch two or three just half an hour before dinner,
and pull on shore with them immediately. The fish were killed and
cleaned, then cut up the back after the fashion of kippered salmon,
and roasted before a clear fire. Served hot then with the acid juice
of a species of lemon that grew on the Isle of Good Hope, they made a
dish that might have graced the table of a king.
About every second day a visit was paid to the top of Beacon Hill,
and the horizon eagerly scanned for sight of some passing vessel.
Had any such appeared a huge pile of brushwood, both withered and
green, would have been kindled in hopes of attracting attention. But
days and weeks flew by and no sail was ever sighted.
When men are stranded on an island as our heroes were, it is always
the first month or six weeks that seem the longest time. After this
the Crusoe or Crusoes settle down more, and the time flies more
quickly on.
As to reckoning the days, Fred and Frank were not reduced to the
necessity of notching a tree, for one of them happened to possess a
note-book with an almanack in it, and every noon one day was ticked
off.
Of wild beasts the island possessed not a single specimen, but a
curious kind of coney or cavy, they could not tell which, even after
Cassia-bud one day succeeded in shooting one with a bow and arrow he
had made. Cassia-bud roasted the beast and ate it for supper, for
the lad had a wonderful appetite. Bob enjoyed the bones.
"Was it nice?" said Frank. "Did you enjoy it, Kashie?"
"Oh, sab, he just too awful jolly for anything!" replied the boy,
licking his lips and rolling his eyes.
"Well, Kash, you must shoot some more you know, and then perhaps
we'll all have a taste."
These creatures were to be found in very great abundance on one
particularly rocky glen, where they had their burrows.
On the very next morning, after receiving his commission, Cassia-bud
and Hurricane Bob both disappeared in the woods, and about noon
emerged again, Bob carrying a coney that he himself had captured, and
Cassia-bud carrying four.
"Bravo!" cried Fred, picking the lad up as soon as he had thrown down
his burden; "now for a game of live-ball to make Kashie hungry."
"Play!" he shouted, pitching the little laughing black ball of a boy
towards Quambo.
"Play!" cried Quambo, throwing him to Magilvray.
"Keep the pot a-boilin'," roared Magilvray, and next moment Frank had
caught the lad and pitched him back to Fred.
They kept the game up for ten minutes. It was as good as dumb-bells,
Fred said. The rule of the game was, that when anyone dropped the
live-ball on the sand he was to stand out. At last there was nobody
in except Quambo. He hoisted Cassia-bud right up on his shoulders,
and there the boy stood erect while the giant went capering up and
down the sands, with Hurricane Bob barking around them for joy.
Well, Cassia-bud's conies, or cavies, proved most delightful eating,
and were quite a change from fish fish, fish morn, noon, and night.
But it must not be supposed that because there were no wild beasts in
the island, there were no wild adventures to be had. No; for there
was the sea, and adventure is inseparable from the briny ocean.
It would be difficult indeed to say how many different species of
sharks there were in the bay. Quambo was rather an authority on the
natural family _Squalidæ_, and both Fred and Frank had seen a shark
or two in their time. Well, there were at all events the blue shark,
the basking shark, the white shark, and the most dread monster of
all, the tiger shark. This last was admitted by the other species to
be _facile princeps_, for whenever one appeared the others modestly
retired.
Strange as it may appear, Cassia-bud had not the slightest fear of
these awful demons of the sea. But an adventure he had one day while
fishing was surely enough to scare the senses out of any boy one whit
less brave.
He was fishing as usual one afternoon when Fred and Frank had got
home earlier than usual from their woodland rambles, and were lying
on the sands watching his sport. The boy had caught about a dozen or
more good-sized fish, stringing them one by one as he did so on a
long, supple wand, that after he landed he could carry across his
shoulder--so many fish behind, so many in front of him. Every now
and then near Cassia-bud's boat the ominous-looking fins of a huge
shark could be seen protruding from the water. The very sight made
Frank's spine feel cold.
Suddenly, to their horror, they noticed that in leaning over the
gunwale of the gig and hauling in his line, to which it appeared
afterwards a huge conger was attached, the boat was capsized, and
with a frightened scream Cassia-bud was precipitated into the water.
Probably there is not an English boy who lives that would have done
what this negro child did then. He seized his stick of fish, and
commenced swimming rapidly shorewards. For a moment or two perhaps
the sharks were frightened off, but they were speedily in pursuit of
the boy. One, two, three, four great fins could be counted in his
rear.
Both Fred and Frank started to their feet, and stood staring,
speechless and aghast. They would have given a good deal could they
have turned away their eyes from watching the threatened tragedy. On
and on came the black, round head, with the frightened face and
rolling eyes, and on and on came the sharks.
The onlookers marvelled, however, to notice that every now and again
the pursuing sharks paused, and their heads seemed to be turned
towards each other. But only for a moment or two; then they speedily
took up the chase again, but only to pause as before.
Nearer and nearer comes Cassia-bud. Greater and greater becomes the
suspense of Frank, Fred, and the others.
Will he be saved? Can he be saved? Is it possible he can elude his
fiendish pursuers?
But now a new feature is added to the terrible interest of the scene.
With a howl of rage and terror, Hurricane Bob comes dashing down the
beach, and with a plash springs far into the sea.
Cassia-bud is not twenty yards away when the dog meets him, and tries
to seize him by the shoulder. But the boy throws his arms around
Bob's great neck, and in half a minute more both are safe and sound
on the silvery sand.
And Hurricane Bob shakes gallons of water out of his hide, the spray
of which makes a circular rainbow in the sunshine; and Cassia-bud
stands there all white teeth, smiles, and dimples, holding up a
solitary mackerel.
"On'y one po' fish," he says, "left out ob all dat lubley stickful!
On'y one, sah, but I stick to he!"
"But how could you have escaped, my poor boy?" said Fred, who was
trembling all over.
"Simply dis," said Cassia-bud coolly, "I feed de sharks all de time I
keep swimming, one fish at a time, you see, massa. De shark say all
de time day chasee me, 'Go on, little nigger-boy, gib us anoder fish,
and we won't eat you.' Soon's all dey fish is done den de sharks
gobble de poor boy up plenty quick."
"But weren't you dreadfully frightened, Kashie?"
"I dessay," said Kashie, "I'se looking radder pale, cause I 'llow
I'se a kind o' sceered."
The idea of Cassia-bud turning pale with fear was so ridiculous, that
both Fred and Frank burst into a fit of hearty laughing, and so
happiness was restored once more.
After shaking another gallon of water out of his splendid coat, and
making another rainbow, it seemed suddenly to occur to the noble dog
that his little friend Cassia-bud really was saved, that the sharks
had not eaten him up; and he was so overjoyed that, after taking his
tongue across the nigger-boy's ear, he set off to allay his feelings
in a mad circular gallop all around the silvery sands. Round and
round he flew, and when he was too tired to run any longer, he sat
down beside Cassia-bud and barked at the sea.
It really looked as though he was barking defiance at the sharks, for
between every volley of "wowffs" he turned round and licked
Cassia-bud's face, as much as to say, "Those awful fishes were going
to eat my little Cassia-bud; but they haven't got him yet, nor won't."
It is needless to say that the negro lad was one of the heroes at
dinner that day, and Hurricane Bob another. For it was evident that
Cassia-bud had meant to hold on to the last fish; and it is just as
evident that this resolve on his part would have cost him his life,
had not Hurricane Bob dashed bellowing into the water at the moment
he did.
However, all's well that ends well.
About an hour afterwards the boat and the oars also were picked up on
the sands.