“That’s a true word, Billy Wriggs,” said Smith, in a grumbling tone, as he began to rub himself. “If I’d my way, I’d chuck the beggar overboard.”
“What’s the good o’ that, matey, when there arn’t no water? You can’t drown sarpents in dry earth.”
“Hi! Look out!” shouted the men in a chorus, for the reptile began to beat the deck again, as it twisted and twined and flogged about with its muscular tail, which quivered and waved here and there, sending the men flying. One minute the creature was tied up in a knot, the next gliding here and there, as if seeking a way to escape.
Gun after gun was raised to give it a shot, but its movements were so eccentric, that the best marksman would have found it a difficult task by daylight; there in the shadowy darkness it would have been impossible.
No one present had any hesitation about giving the brute a wide berth, and at the end of a minute or two it uncoiled itself and lay in undulations, showing its length pretty plainly.
“That was its flurry,” said the mate, advancing now, and the men came down from the shrouds, the top of the galley, and out of the boats where they had taken refuge; “but perhaps we had better pitch it over the side till morning.”
A low murmur arose from the men.
“What’s that?” cried the mate sharply. “Are you afraid of the thing?”
“Well, sir, not exactly afraid,” said Smith respectfully, “only you see it arn’t like handling a rope.”
“Yah!”