“It seems to me his legs move,” muttered Webster. “My God! what is that below him?”
To the straining looks of the excited crew there flashed for a moment a speck of white at the side of the ship, followed by a faint toss of spray against the black hull.
“’Tis a shark!” shouted Dick.
Another pause succeeded, and from the doors there peered out the grim faces of half a dozen stokers, who had, down below, felt the contagion of excitement.
“There has been foul play,” said the Captain; “no live man would remain within a yard of those gaping jaws and not struggle to escape.”
“Fire a blank charge, Mr Webster.”
The twelve-pounder roared its summons, loud enough to wake the dead, but no white face was lifted over the bulwarks of the vessel, and no movement came from the two still forms.
“Make ready to launch the boat.”
There was a rush of naked feet, four men tumbled into the boat with Webster; the ropes were loosened, and the davits swung out.
“Captain, what is that dark cloud beyond the ship?” asked Miss Anstrade, who had been standing on the bridge with a look of wonder in her face.