Mesty threw down his musket in his hand, of which he had several all ready loaded, in case the men should have gained the boats.
“By the powers, dat no use now!”
Jack had covered his face with his hands. But the tragedy was now complete: the other men, who were in the water, had immediately turned and made for the shore; but before they could reach it, two more of those voracious monsters, attracted by the blood of the coxswain, had flown to the spot, and there was a contention for the fragments of their bodies.
Mesty, who had seen this catastrophe, turned towards our hero, who still hid his face.
“I’m glad he no see dat, anyhow,” muttered Mesty.
“See what?” exclaimed Jack.
“Shark eat ’em all.”
“Oh, horrid, horrid!” groaned our hero.
“Yes, sar, very horrid,” replied Mesty, “and dat bullet at your head very horrid. Suppose the sharks no take them, what then? They kill us, and the sharks have our body. I think that more horrid still.”
“Mesty,” replied Jack, seizing the negro convulsively by the arm, “it was not the sharks—it was I—I who have murdered these men.”