“And some music,” said Bob.
“And some music,” said the lieutenant. “What’s the matter with your monkey?”
“What’s the matter, Charcoal?” said Bob; for the little animal had suddenly grown excited, chattering, and changing its place, coming down the stay, and then leaping on to the bulwark.
“He sees something in the water,” said the lieutenant.
“Crocodile,” said Bob; “they like monkey. Look out, Charcoal, or you’ll be overboard.”
This was on dimly seeing the monkey run along the bulwark, chattering excitedly.
“Help!” came in a hoarse tone from somewhere ahead.
“There’s a man overboard,” cried the lieutenant. “Pass the word there. Lower down the gig.”
There was the sharp pipe of a whistle, and a scuffling of feet, for the hail had electrified the men; but meanwhile the cry was repeated.
“It’s some one from the island swimming down to us,” said the lieutenant. “Hold on, my lad,” he cried, as the cry was repeated nearer and nearer, and then just ahead.