“Well, that’s nice,” growled the captain.
“I thought them knots wouldn’t hold,” drawled Jack Penny. “He’s been wriggling and twisting his arms and legs about ever since he lay there. I thought he’d get away.”
“Then why didn’t you say so, you great, long-jointed two-foot rule?” roared the captain. “Here, now then, all together. I’m skipper here. Rush him, my lads; never mind his skewer.”
The captain’s words seemed to electrify his little crew, and, I venture to say, his passengers as well. Every one seized some weapon, and, headed by the skipper, we charged down upon the savage as he stood brandishing his weapon.
He stood fast, watchful as a tiger, for some moments, and then made a dash at our extreme left, where Jack Penny and I were standing; and I have no doubt that he would have cut his way through to our cost, but for a quick motion of the captain, who struck out with his left hand, hitting the Malay full in the cheek.
The man made a convulsive spring, and fell back on the edge of the bulwarks, where he seemed to give a writhe, and then, before a hand could reach him, there was a loud splash, and he had disappeared in the sea.
We all rushed to the side, but the water was thick from the effects of the storm, and we could not for a few moments make out anything. Then all at once the swarthy, convulsed face of the man appeared above the wave, and he began to swim towards the side, yelling for help.
“Ah!” said the skipper, smiling, “that’s about put him out. Nothing like cold water for squenching fire.”
“Hi—wup! hi—wup!” shouted Jimmy, who forgot his wound, and danced up and down, holding on by the bulwarks, his shining black face looking exceedingly comic with a broad bandage of white linen across his brow. “Hi—wup! hi—wup!” he shouted; “bunyip debble shark coming—bite um legs.”
“Help!” shrieked the Malay in piteous tones, as he swam on, clutching at the slippery sides of the schooner.