There was the slightest bit of a breeze on; just enough and no more to fill the mainsail, and keep the boat moving along at the rate of about five knots an hour. But there certainly was no occasion for hurry, and the wind was rather disadvantageous than otherwise, for it roughened or rippled the water, thus distorting the vision very much when they attempted to look at anything under it.
While sail was on her, Quambo stood in the bows on the outlook, Frank managed the sheet, and Fred had the tiller.
They had sailed half way round the island, on tack and half tack, and were preparing for a run the other way, and standing more out to sea, when suddenly Quambo's great bulk was seen to rise more erect and to quiver about, as he grasped his harpoon. He looked indeed like a tiger about to spring on his prey. Without turning round he motioned with his left hand to Fred which way he should steer, and next moment, with a whirring sound, the harpoon flew seaward from his right.
There was the sound of a dull thud; Frank grasped the gunwale of the boat, prepared, as he afterwards said, for anything.
In a few seconds Quambo drew in his line, and bursting into a loud laugh at his own expense, turned about and showed his shipmates the harpoon broken right across the centre.
"No good, then," said Frank, "after expecting such wild sport and such a capital dinner?"
"No, sah," answered Quambo, "not much good. I think I see one big stingaree, and let fly. All de same, sah; I strike the back ob one big turtle."
Fred and Frank both laughed.
"Better luck next," said the former.
"Perhaps," said Quambo; "but I not like de wind. He make too much bobbery on de water all de time, and I not can see."