But the adventure of this evening quite cleared up the mystery, of Cassia-bud's "debbil with nuffin but his head on."
CHAPTER XXIII.
A SWIM FOR DEAR LIFE—PURSUED BY SHARKS.
As long as the moonlight lasted the evenings were very pleasant indeed, and every night Fred, Frank, and Quambo went out for a row and a song. Hurricane Bob begged so earnestly to be excused that it was thought best to leave him on shore.
Magilvray and Cassia-bud also expressed themselves as perfectly content to take a back seat at the evening concert, or, in other words, to lie on the beach and listen there. Probably they thus had the best of it; for the sound of the singing floating over the water was weirdly tremulous and beautiful.
The singers, however, thought it safest to keep well away from the reef. There was something decidedly uncanny in the sight of that black and terrible apparition springing over the reef. Besides, as Frank said, if that was the brute's usual way of coming home of an evening, the wisest plan was to give him a wide berth. Explorations of the island, which was many miles in extent, took place every day. These little excursions formed a very pleasant way of spending the greater portion of the day, there was so much that were strangely foreign and beautiful to be beheld, and so many pretty peeps of scenery. The whole island, indeed, and everything in it, was as different from anything that Fred and Frank had seen before, as if it had been part and parcel of some other planet.
Sometimes it was Cassia-bud who came with them, at other times Quambo or Magilvray, and sometimes it was Hurricane Bob only. Whoever stayed at home had to cook the dinner, and just as often as not had to catch it also.
Cassia-bud was the fisher-boy par excellence. He was never better pleased than when out on the water all by himself, armed with rod and reel, or with hand-line only! His whole evenings used to be devoted to the study of bait, and when he went fishing he seemed to know the very spot at which to sink his line in order to procure some particular kind of fish.
He found several species of skates and rays, a huge kind of conger-eel—the first he caught frightened poor Cassia-bud, and almost as much as "de debbil fish" had—many other nameless and curious fishes, all good to eat, and mackerel. These last were not such as we in England are used to, but cooked as Quambo cooked them they were very delicious indeed. They were very numerous too in some parts of this reef-locked bay, and Quambo's plan was to start Cassia-bud out to catch two or three just half an hour before dinner, and pull on shore with them immediately. The fish were killed and cleaned, then cut up the back after the fashion of kippered salmon, and roasted before a clear fire. Served hot then with the acid juice of a species of lemon that grew on the Isle of Good Hope, they made a dish that might have graced the table of a king.
About every second day a visit was paid to the top of Beacon Hill, and the horizon eagerly scanned for sight of some passing vessel. Had any such appeared a huge pile of brushwood, both withered and green, would have been kindled in hopes of attracting attention. But days and weeks flew by and no sail was ever sighted.