“Music: must be,” said the mate. “There’s an instrument called a serpent. Perhaps it’s one of them playing itself.”
“I don’t know what it is,” said Oliver. “Shall we pull ashore and see?”
“No, no, not to-day,” said the mate. “Let’s get back.”
“There’s a turtle just ahead, sir,” said Smith, from the bows.
“A turtle?—a dove!” cried Oliver. “Perhaps it was that.”
“I meant a turtle souper, sir,” said Smith, with a grin. Then to the mate, “If you’ll steer for her, sir, I’ll try and catch her, she’s asleep in the sunshine.”
They all looked to where the olive green hued shell of the floating reptile could be seen, and with two of the men dipping their oars gently to keep the boat in motion, and Mr Rimmer steering, they softly approached, while Smith leaned over the gunwale with his sleeves rolled up over his brawny arms ready to get hold of one of the flippers.
“Hadn’t you better try a boat-hook?” said Oliver, softly.
“Too late; let him try his own way, sir,” whispered the mate. “Turn it over if you can, Smith.”
The man dared not answer, but leaned out as far as he could, anchoring himself by passing one leg under the thwart as they went on nearer and nearer, every eye strained, lips parted, and a feeling of natural history or cooking interest animating the different breasts.