Foiling the Sharks.
SLOWLY the tide crept in upon the spit, and the strip of sand grew
narrower. Those grimly patrolling black fins drew nearer and nearer as
the bar became smaller. The gusts of wind grew more and more capricious,
sometimes seeming as if they would actually swing the _Dido_ over to the
rescue of the despairing prisoners; but this they refrained from doing.
“She’ll swing over to us yet,” asserted Reube, confidently. “She isn’t
going to desert us in such a horrible scrape as this!”
But Will made no reply. He was studying his tactics for the struggle
which he felt was now close at hand.
“You’d better give that stake, or picket, or whatever it is, to me,
Reube,” he suggested. “You’ll have enough to do just swimming. I, being
perfectly at home in the water, will be able to make the best use of it,
don’t you think? If I can manage to give each of those brutes a solid
jab in the belly, maybe they’ll get sick of their undertaking and
depart.”
“All right,” agreed Reube, though with some reluctance. And he handed
over the sharp stick.
“You’ll have to fight for yourself and me too, that’s all,” he
continued.
“I’ll make a fight anyway,” said Will. “And I dare say I can drive them
both off. In these well-stocked waters they can’t be very hungry or very
fierce.”
At last the strip of sand was not more than three or four feet wide and
six inches above water. But though so narrow it was more than a hundred
yards in length, extending like a sort of backbone up the entrance to
the creek. About the middle it looked a foot or two broader than where
the captives were standing.
“Come up there where it is wider,” said Reube.
As they went those black fins kept scrupulously abreast of them, and
they shuddered at the sight.
At this point the opposite shore of the creek jutted out somewhat
sharply toward the sand spit. Will cast his eye across the narrow
channel.
“What fools we are all this time!” he cried. “Why, we can easily swim
across to land on this side before the sharks can get all the way around
the shoal.”
“Can we?” inquired Reube, doubtfully.
“Yes,” said Will, “and the sooner the better. But now look, Reube; keep
cool. Don’t try to hurry too much. Take the long, slow strokes. And
remember, I’ll keep behind, and, if the brutes do get around too quick
I’ll keep them busy a minute or two, never fear. Then you can come to my
rescue with one of those fence stakes yonder. Come on, now!” And side by
side they slipped swiftly into the water.
With long, powerful strokes they sped across the narrow channel that
divided them from safety. Will, swimming at much less than his full
speed, dropped almost a yard behind as soon as they were fairly started,
and swam on his side so as to command a view of the water behind. The
narrow ridge of yet uncovered sand, however, prevented him from seeing
what took place when he and Reube slipped noiselessly, as they thought,
into the water. Those black fins had turned on the instant, and were
darting with terrific speed for the lower end of the sand spit.
[Illustration: “I think we’ll make it,” he said to himself.]
By the time our swimmers were fairly half way across, or perhaps a shade
better, Will saw the fins come round the foot of the sand spit.
“I think we’ll make it,” he said to himself, measuring the distance with
cool eye. But he refrained from telling Reube what he saw. A moment
later, however, as he marked the terrible speed of the approaching
peril, he could not help saying, in a voice which he kept quite steady
and casual:
“You’re doing finely, Reube. Don’t hurry your stroke, but put a little
more power in it for a spurt and we’re safe.”
Reube wasted no breath for a reply. He knew this adjuration of Will’s
meant that the danger was drawing very near; but his companion’s anxiety
as to his nerves was quite unneeded. He struck out as steadily as ever,
but with all the force which his muscle and his will power together
could create, and went ahead so fast that Will had to really swim to
keep up with him. In half a minute more—to them it seemed a long
time—Reube struck bottom in shallow water and dragged himself to land.
The sharks were now so near that for an instant Will hesitated. Would he
have time to get out, or must he turn and defend his legs? But his
decision was instantaneous. With a mighty thrust of his legs and one
free arm he flung himself forward, felt the mud beneath his hands,
jerked his feet under him, and stood up just in time to turn and deal
the nearest shark a desperate blow with the pointed stake as it half
turned over to seize him. Astonished and daunted, the great fish
recoiled, and before its fellow could join in the attack Will had sprung
out of reach.
“It’s a blessed thing,” said Will, “to get ashore with a whole leg,
isn’t it?”
His light manner was but the froth on the surface of his deeper
emotions. He was trembling from the long strain and stern
self-repression.
Reube drew a deep, slow breath.
“Verily,” said he, with a grave face, “that was pretty nearly as bad as
the cave while it lasted!”
“O, surely not,” objected Will. “We had the free air and sun, and a
chance to fight for our lives. But it makes me mad to think what fools
we were in the first place.”
“How so?” asked Reube.
“Why,” answered Will, “if we’d come, this way on the first arrival of
those beastly leviathans we would not have had half so far to swim, and
our pursuers would have had nearly twice as far to go. It would have all
been as simple and easy as falling off a log, and our hearts wouldn’t be
going like trip hammers now, the way they are.”
“That’s so,” agreed Reube, in a tone of disgust. “But now I’m wondering
what other scrapes we can manage to get into between here and home. I
never realized till now the truth of the proverb—generally I despise
proverbs—which says ‘It never rains but it pours!’ It seems to me I
have been at steady high pressure the last few days, and lived more and
felt more than in all the rest of my life put together.”
“My idea is that fate’ll let us alone for a while now,” remarked Will,
with the air of a philosopher. “The law of probabilities is all against
any further excitement on this trip.”
“So be it!” said Reube. “But let’s get to the _Dido_—and our clothes!”
Trotting up the lonely shore of the creek for half a mile, they came to
an _aboideau_, and crossed to the other shore of the stream. Following
down the bank, they soon came opposite the _Dido_. The sharks were
nowhere to be seen, and the _Dido_ presently swung so near that a short
plunge put them safely on board. Dressing hastily, they got up the
anchor and sailed out of the creek with their bowsprit pointing
homeward. As they did so the sharks appeared again, pursuing them. Will
tied a piece of pork to a dry block, tossed it overboard, and snatched
up his rifle. The bait floated a moment unmolested, then the nearest
shark, darting upon it, turned over and engulfed it in his murderous
mouth. At the same moment Will fired. The ball, with deadly precision,
entered the brute’s mouth and pierced its brain. With a convulsive
flurry it rolled over stone dead.