The men came nearer and nearer, and ventured out a little way along the rocks. Presently they heard a voice at some distance away shout in Spanish: “Ha, you, Gomez, go out to the end of that ledge and see if the water is deep enough for boats to lie alongside the rocks.”
A voice replied: “Ay, ay, Captain!” from a point so close to them that its owner must have come almost to their hiding-place without the fugitives either seeing or hearing him.
The three looked at one another, and then, as if the same thought had come to each of them at the same moment, they with one accord advanced cautiously and stationed themselves behind a rock by which the man must pass to reach the edge of the ledge. Here, where they now were, everything that might transpire would be screened from the others, unless some of them were following Gomez out along the ledge. But they must risk that. Crouching low, and as silent as watching cats, they waited for the man Gomez.
In a moment or two they heard his footsteps on the rocks, and his heavy breathing. Nearer and nearer he came, and now he was almost on them! Then with a spring they had him, and he was down among the rocks before he could utter a sound. Quick as lightning Jake pushed a handful of sand and sea-weed into the Spaniard’s mouth, and clapped his hand over it to prevent its ejection, Roger and Bevan at the same instant seizing the man’s arms and legs. The eyes of Gomez were staring and starting out of his head with mortal terror at this utterly unexpected attack. Jake drew his knife. Roger shook his head violently in dissent, but Jake whispered hastily: “It must be, sir; we can’t help it; it is his life or ours!”
Roger turned his head away, and the next moment he heard a horrible choke and gurgle, while the body writhed violently as he held the arms. A flood of something hot rushed over his hands and arms, and he felt quite sick.
“Now, sir, quick!” said Jake. “It’s our only chance. There’s an overhanging ledge of rock here. We must take the provisions, and this ’ere corpse, and git into the water, floatin’ under the ledge until they goes; for when this chap Gomez is found to be missin’, they’ll search and find us if we don’t do as I say. We must risk the sharks!”
There was clearly nothing else for it; so they slipped in, taking the corpse with them, and all got under the ledge—which quite concealed them—and supported the dead body, that it might not float away and betray them.
The proceeding was fraught with danger, as sharks swarmed in those waters, and the blood that was oozing from the Spaniard’s body would be almost certain to attract those monsters of the sea,—their scent for blood being very keen. The flesh of the fugitives crept, and the knowledge that one of them might be seized kept them in a state of perfectly agonising suspense. They had been in for some time, and the position was becoming unendurable when: “Gomez, Gomez, where are you? Hasten, man; we do not want to wait here all day!” came from the very ledge underneath which they were floating, and holding, meanwhile, the corpse of the man who was then being called by name.
“Where can he be, curse him?” growled the same voice. “What has become of the lazy hound? Carrajo, I will flog him when we get on board! Gomez!”
There was, of course, no reply.