The big man was Chang, and as Raft approached harpoon in hand, she saw Chang draw himself up to his full height and stand waiting. Then she heard Raft’s voice and saw him pointing at her and inland and then at the ship.
Chang stood dumb. Then all at once he exploded, shouting and gesticulating. She could not make out what he said, but she knew. He was ordering them off. He seemed to be ordering them off the earth as well as the beach. And Raft stood there patient and dumb like a chidden child.
Then she saw Raft nod his head and turn away.
He came back crunching up the shingle. “Sit down,” said he.
She sat down and he took his seat beside her. He had dropped the bundle just there, and as he sat for a moment before speaking he noticed that the fish line securing the mouth of the sack was loose, he carefully retied it.
“You saw how that chap carried on,” said he, “I had to put a stopper on myself. He’s the chap; them little yellow bellies don’t count. He’s the chap, and I’ve got to get him aside from the others.” He spoke rapidly and she saw that his eyes were injected with blood.
A new fear seized upon her, a fear akin to the dread she had felt that dark night in the cave when she had caught the sound of La Touche dragging himself close to her, the dread of imminently impending action.
“Let us go away,” said she, “another ship may come; anything is better than having a fight with those men.”
“Have you got that knife safe?” asked Raft. She still wore the fisherman’s knife round her waist. She put her hand on it.
“Yes, the knife is safe.”