It was suffocating in the damp inclosure, as the discarded pith began to fill the opening. Tiny apertures let in just enough air, but Piang was panting and dripping with sweat. As he struggled on toward the hole, he could feel the water under him, as it swayed the log gently. Only a little further!
The moonlight bathed Piang in its soft light; a cool breeze blew across his face. One of the watching lepers stood up suddenly.
“There are many crocodiles to-night,” he finally said, pointing toward the log where a slight ripple, widening into vanishing rings, closed over a dark form.
“That’s a queer kind of fish!”
The sailors on the patrol-boat crowded around the speaker, glad of any excitement to break the monotony of their vigil. A thin stream of water had spurted up, disturbing the perfect calm of the surface, and a small black object could plainly be seen, hurrying through the water.
“Now what the deuce?” said the captain. Two bells were loudly sounded, and the boat bounded forward.
“Look out, don’t run it down. Steer to one side.”
The search-light, turned full upon the strange object, revealed to the puzzled sailors a slim bamboo tube, sticking upright, propelled by a strong force from below.
“Now, why don’t that stick float, instead of sailing along like a periscope?” pondered the captain.