The Adventures of Don Lavington Part 51

"Fish," said Jem in a whisper, "trying to climb up into the ship, and then tumbled back into the sea."

"Nonsense!" said Don, shortly. "Now you look to the left, and I'll look to the right."

"Right, my lad. I'll look, but she won't come."

The searching scrutiny went on, and to Don, as he strained his eyes, it seemed as if all kinds of uncouth-looking monsters kept looming up out of the sea and disappearing; and though from time to time he told himself that it was all fancy, the various objects that his excited vision formed were so real that it was hard to believe that they were only the coinage of his fancy.

He turned and looked on board at the various lights, faintly-seen, with the result that his eyes were rested, while he listened to the monotonous talking of the watch and an occasional burst of laughter from the gunroom, or the regular murmur from the forecastle.

Then he watched sh.o.r.eward again for the faint golden flash made by the paddles of Ngati's canoe.

No lambent glow, no sound of paddling, not even a murmur from the sh.o.r.e, where the native huts were gathered together, and the great _whare_ stood with its singularly carved posts representing human form over human form in strange combinations, with grotesque heads, pearly sh.e.l.l eyes, and tongues protruding from distorted mouths.

Then Jem caught Don's arm in turn, for there was a splash far away to the left, below where, faintly-seen, a great sugar-loaf mountain rose high into the heavens.

The splash was not repeated, but, just as they had given up listening for it, once more the dull sawing sound came out of the darkness, but this time, instead of being forward it was away aft--how far they could not tell, for in the darkness sounds, like lights, may be close at hand or a couple of hundred yards away--it is hard to tell which.

The faint sawing went on for some time, ceased, and was renewed, to finish as before with a curious rustling and a splash.

"What can that be, Jem?" whispered Don.

"Not going to wenture an observation again," replied Jem, sourly.

Then all was still save the murmurs of voices inboard, and Don stood pressed against the bulwark listening intently, and thinking that before they went below to their hammocks they must haul up the lines again and coil them down, or their appearance would betray that something had been going on.

How long they had been waiting since the last sound was heard, Don could not tell; but all was so wonderfully still that the silence was oppressive; and after arriving at the conclusion that the canoe would not come, as from the utter absence of light or movement ash.o.r.e it was evident that none of the natives were stirring, he turned to Jem.

"Asleep?" he whispered.

"I arn't a horse, am I?" was the surly reply. "Nice place to go to sleep standing up, Mas' Don.--Think he'll come?"

"I in afraid not, now."

"What shall us do?"

Don was silent.

"Say, Mas' Don," whispered Jem, after a thoughtful pause, "seems a pity to waste them ropes after--"

"Hist!"

Don's hand was on his lips, for voices were heard from aft, and directly after they heard the captain say,--

"Yes; extremely dark. Think we shall have a storm?"

"No," said the first lieutenant, "the gla.s.s is too high. Very dark indeed."

Then two faint sparks of light could be seen, indicating that the speakers were smoking, and the low murmuring of their voices suggested that they were chatting carelessly together.

"Keep your hand down, Mas' Don," said Jem in a whisper, after removing it. "They can't hear us, and if they did they'd think it was the watch.

Say, look here, seems a pity to waste them ropes after we've got 'em down ready."

"Yes, Jem, it does."

"Such a short way to slide down, and no fear o' their breaking, same as there was in that c.o.c.k-loft. What d'yer say?"

"What to?"

"Let's slide down and swim for it. 'Tarn't quarter of a mile. You could do that easy."

"Yes, Jem; I think so."

"And I'd help you if you got tired. Let's go."

"But the sharks."

"There I goes again. I always forgets them sharks; but look here, my lad, it's dark as pitch."

"Quite, Jem."

"We can't see twenty yards afore us, not clear."

"Not ten, Jem."

"Well, that's through the air. We couldn't see an inch through water."

"What of that?"

"More couldn't the sharks."

"Think not, Jem?"

"I feel 'bout sure on it. Look here, Mas' Don, I arn't got any money, but if I had, I'd wager half-a-guinea that all the sharks are at home and fast asleep; and if there's any of 'em shut out and roaming about in the streets--I mean in the sea--it's so dark that they couldn't see more than an inch before their noses; so let's open our knives ready, in case one should come, so that we could dive down and stab him, same as the natives do, and then swim on ash.o.r.e. I'll risk it: will you?"

Don was silent for a few moments.

"Don't say _yes_, my lad, if you'd rayther not," said Jem, kindly. "I don't want to persuade you."

"I'm ready, Jem. I was thinking whether it was right to let you go."

"Oh, never you mind about me, my lad. Now, look here, shall us one go down each rope, or both down one?"

"Both down this one close here, and whoever goes down first can wait for the other. Yes, Jem; I'll go first."

"When?"

"Now, at once."