THE ATTACK.
To waken Turk and Brand was the work of a moment. Both sprang up to
hear Harry's explanation.
"We have no arms!" said Brand, "and so we had better be scuddin' off
as soon as possible!"
Turk thrust his hand in his pocket, and pulling forth his flask of
grog, eyed it wistfully and anxiously.
"Sooner than this should fall in the hands of them savages," he
exclaimed, "I had better put it, do you see where by rights it
belongs, meanin' the stomach of Tom Turk!"
Up went the bottle, and the old tar seemed about drinking, when it
struck him that the liquor might, after all, come in use for Mary, in
case they should contrive to make their escape. With a heavy sigh he
thrust the bottle back into his pocket.
Meanwhile the steps drew nearer.
Harry waked Mary, and at once escorted her to the raft. Not a moment
too soon, for, with a sudden yell, a large party of fierce-looking
islanders, tattooed from head to foot, and looming up like demons in
the faint radiance of the moon, burst forth from a clump of shrubbery,
about fifty yards distant.
Waving war clubs and spears, while their long hair streamed in
red, fiery clouds down their backs and shoulders, the wild fellows
certainly formed a hideous spectacle!
Before the raft could be unfastened, a shower of spears came whizzing
round the heads of the little party.
"Shove off! shove off!" screamed Brand, as he seized the raft-pole to
push the floating platform away from the beach.
"Not yet!" cried Mary, noticing that her lover, who had paused to
collect the jackets left in the huts, and also a few of the biscuits,
was not upon the raft.
In a moment the young man came panting to the beach.
Brand, however, not heeding the girl's exclamation was about shoving
off, when Turk caught his arm.
"Avast there, captain! Don't be in too much of a hurry!"
Enraged, the latter glared upon the speaker, but this was no time for
quarreling.
Harry now sprang from the raft. At the same moment two of the savages,
ahead of their companions, arriving, seized the rope attached to the
floating platform, which they endeavored to pull ashore.
To prevent their doing so, Harry stepped to the edge of the raft, and
with the pole endeavored to strike them on the head.
One of them seizing the pole, gave it a sudden jerk, thus pulling the
young man off into the water!
With a fierce yell, they then pounced upon him, dragging him to the
beach!
Feeling that there was not a moment to lose, the young man, by a
sudden movement, disengaged himself from their clutches; then, picking
up a spear, drove it through the body of one who had lifted his
war-club to beat out the sailor's brains!
The other now aimed at Harry's head a furious blow, which must have
killed him, had it taken effect.
Not so, however, for old Tom Turk, seeing his friend's peril, had
sprang ashore, and picked up another spear, which he thrust through
the back of the native!
The scream of the dark-skinned fellow, as, throwing up his arms, he
fell backward, rang down the sky with startling distinctness, while
his friends, hearing that scream, and eager for vengeance, came
dashing on, yelling like a pack of wild hyenas!
With a single bound through the water, Turk and Harry now gained the
raft, and were soon helping Brand, who had not even left his place,
push the floating platform out to sea.
Luckily there was an outer current tending towards the reef, and which
drew the raft rapidly along towards the rocks. This soon was reached,
while the baffled yells of the savages continued pealing along the
waters.
As the raft was drawn through an opening in the reef, and the party
put out to sea, Turk again drew forth his beloved grog, and eyed it
wistfully.
"Ay, ay, bless your eyes!" said he, "you are too good to grease the
gullets of them blueskins."
"Put up your grog, Turk," said Harry, "we have more important matters
to think of."
"Ay, ay," said Brand, gruffly, "we've to think that we may be food for
fishes!"
"Do you not believe we can reach the volcanic island, now?" inquired
Mary, as she glanced towards the red light, gleaming, far away, along
the waters.
"It's hard tellin'," answered Brand. "If there's no heavy sea and we
can make head against the southern tendency of the current, we may
contrive to reach the island."
With their poles which were not flat enough for paddles, the party
made slow progress.
An hour had passed, when, suddenly, Mary pointed far astern towards a
long, dark object, apparently shooting out from the shore.
"What is that?"
"A canoe, by ----!" ejaculated Brand. "We may as well give up, now!"
"No!" exclaimed Harry, resolutely. "We will not give up! If I mistake
not," he added, pointing towards a dark mass, floating through the air
to windward of them, "there is a fog coming up! This will screen us
from our pursuers!"
"I am glad of that," said Mary, thankfully.
"I'm not so sure it will screen us!" said Brand, "them savages are
cunnin' rascals!"
"Where there's hope," remarked Turk, "there's no use of throwin'
clouds over the same."
The fog came fast, and finally thickening around the party, they
seemed enclosed in a wall of darkness.
"Hark!" said Harry, suddenly, as the dip of the canoe's paddles were
heard. "We must get the raft round, and try another course!"
This, with some difficulty was done, when the clumsy vessel was urged
along to the southward.
"Now, then, still as mice!" said Harry.
He was obeyed, those on the raft scarcely breathing.
A moment later something dark, indistinctly seen, was observed gliding
along past the raft and within twenty fathoms of it!
It was the canoe!
The weary hours of night wore away.
Poor Mary had slept but little, although Turk and Harry had made her
a comfortable couch with their jackets.
Now, as the gray dawn stole upon the waters, the young girl looked
round her with a weary sigh.
The fog had cleared, the faint rays of the sun were beginning to tinge
the east, but, far and wide, nothing but sky and water were visible.
Sky and water, and nothing aboard the raft--not even a morsel of bread
or a drop of fresh water.
Already the girl began to feel the cravings of thirst. With powerful
effort, she endeavored to forget that she felt this want, but in vain.
The day wore away, the sun went down, night began to settle upon the
waters.
The men strained their eyes vainly for land or sail.
Next morning the sufferings of all from thirst were intense. Brand,
pulling forth his bottle of gin, drank deeply, not offering a drop to
the rest.
Then Turk presented his grog to Harry.
"Give some to the poor lass!"
Harry did so. She tasted a few drops, but could not be prevailed upon
to take more.
Turk looked wistfully at the flask, then thrusting it back, muttered:
"No--no! it must all be saved for that poor little girl, God bless her
eyes!"
One--two--three days passed. Still adrift on the wilderness of ocean.
No sail--no land--no fresh water.
God help the castaways!
Brand was almost mad. His eyes gleamed like a tiger's--he gnashed his
teeth!
Harry, too, was scarcely sane! Turk alone remained cool and careful,
although his sufferings were terrible.
And Mary?
Alas! poor girl--the flush on her sunken cheek burned deep and
red--her eyes were feverish--her panting breath came thick and
fast--she was too weak to sit up.
There was no more liquor in Turk's flask. He had given all--every drop
to the young girl.
So there they all were, still drifting along, a burning sun over their
heads, the water almost steaming around them.
Gradually a sickly, yellowish mist went over the sun.
Harry watched it a moment, then sprang to his feet, shrieking out:
"Land, oh!"
"Where? where?" queried Brand wildly.
It was pointed out to him, all present saw it now.
There was surely a misty line--a headland, extending away to the south
and west.
"God be praised," murmured Mary, faintly; "oh Harry! Harry! we shall
get some fresh water now, and some beautiful fruit!"
The poor creature smacked her lips and clapped her hands as the spoke.
How tediously slow were the movements of the raft.
On it went, however, apparently nearing the land every moment.
At length it seemed scarcely a mile distant.
"We will soon be there, now," exclaimed Mary.
Suddenly a wail went up from the raft, a long, mournful wail--a half
shriek of astonishment, and bitter disappointment.
The supposed land had suddenly vanished--blown away by a mere puff of
air.
Alas! it was nothing but a fog bank!