Mate Storms stood motionless, watching him until he was perhaps a hundred feet from the craft, when he said, just loud enough to be heard:
“Sharks are mighty plenty hereabout, and I saw a big one yesterday. Shouldn’t wonder if he has a leg bit off before he gets back.”
Pomp heard the words, and they “disturbed” him, to put it mildly. Evidently he had forgotten the peril to which all persons are exposed in tropical waters, and, as the truth was impressed upon him with such suddenness, he uttered a “whiff” like a porpoise and began swimming with fierce energy toward the shore. In fact, he never put forth so much effort in all his life. The expectation of feeling a huge man-eating monster gliding beneath you when in the water is enough to shake the nerves of the strongest swimmer. He kept diving and swimming as far as he could below the surface, and then came up and continued his desperate efforts until he reached the land, where he joined his companions.
Abe Storms stood looking and listening, his face expanded in a broad smile, when he heard a light laugh at his elbow. Turning his head, he found the captain there.
“I heard your summons to him,” said the captain, by way of explanation, “and I came up to hear what it meant. I must admit, you managed the case well.”
“It might have been worse. My only fear is that the imps won’t believe we honestly intend to hold the conference with them, and offer a compromise.”
“They will find it out at daylight, and meanwhile they can’t help themselves. It is useless for me to 131 stay below, Abe,” added the nervous captain. “There’s too much on my mind to sleep.”
Therefore, the two remained on watch until the sun rose, at which time there was nothing to be seen of the mutineers.
“They’re suspicious,” concluded the mate, who called out, in a loud voice that reached every portion of the island: