“There’s Uncle Paul, and the skipper, in one!” he cried.
“Ay, ay, my lad; that’s our old man,” shouted Joe.
“And there’s the Count, and eight men rowing hard, in the other, but—but—oh, I say, Morny isn’t there!”
“Oh, he’s being skipper and taking care of the brig, sir,” cried Joe sharply, as he noted the boy’s disappointed tone of voice.
“No, he isn’t,” shouted Rodd, signalling with his pole, as he saw one of the rowers rise up in the brig’s boat and begin waving an oar; “he’s pulling with the men!” And his voice sounded hoarse and choking, while, realising this fact, the boy coughed loudly and forcibly, as if to clear his throat.
“Here, you’ve ketched a cold, Mr Rodd, sir,” cried Joe. “But never mind them behind in the boats. They’ll ketch us up soon. There’s another of them beauties coming at us. The beggars do seem hungry this morning. We hardly seed any of them when we were coming up yesterday. Why, of course, this is their breakfast-time, and the sight of us has made them peckish. Now then, all together, lads! Let him have it.”
Four poles were thrust together, with somewhat similar effects to those on the last occasion, for the onset of the great reptile was diverted, the boat’s head turned aside, and the blows aimed at them by the creature’s tail fell short, though to the men’s dismay their efforts had driven them towards another of the monsters, which was gliding towards them from their left.
But here again they successfully turned the creature aside, and Rodd exclaimed—
“Suppose we missed!”
“Oh, the beggars are too big to miss, sir,” cried Briggs. “But suppose we did; what then, sir?”