My first look was ahead, first with the naked eye, and then with the glass; but not a speck could I discern to break the monotony of the blue-grey of the sea, except an occasional curling foam-crest. I next carefully swept the ocean from forward round to windward, thinking I might have run too far off the wind.
Once or twice I thought I detected a flickering of something white, but it instantly disappeared again; and I was obliged to believe it was only the foam of a breaking wave. I was about to descend once more to the deck, when it occurred to me to take a glance to leeward. I once more levelled my glass, and swept it over the surface of the sea; but again I could see nothing. I reluctantly closed it, slung it over my shoulder, and swung myself off the cross-trees to go down by the mast-hoops, when my eye was arrested for a moment by what I knew at once to be the flag.
Almost as I caught sight of it, I lost it again; and as the craft was constantly falling off or coming up again into the wind, I hardly knew exactly in what point to look for it. However, I regained my position upon the cross-trees, levelling my glass, rather inconveniently, on the fore side of the topmast, to clear the topsail, and presently I caught it again.
Yes, there it was, sure enough, about three miles dead to leeward; and what was more, I could not only see the flag, but also the buoy, and Bob in it. He seemed to be waving his arms about in a most frantic manner, and making a tremendous splashing, doubtless, I thought, with the view of making his position more apparent, as, of course, he could see the cutter, and knew I must be looking for him.
I slipped down on deck, quick as lightning, triced up the main tack just high enough to enable me to see under the foot of the sail, and squared dead away before the wind.
Ten minutes afterwards I caught a glimpse of the flag right ahead, as the boat rose on a sea; and then I edged away, taking room to run up alongside him on the port tack with my head-sheets to windward. I could now see Bob away on the port bow, every time the Lily rose on the top of a wave, and he was still, to my great surprise, splashing away furiously; and now I caught the sound of his voice, shouting.
“Surely,” thought I, “the poor fellow has not become insane through the dreadful strain to which his nerves have been subjected!”
A minute later the cause of his strange behaviour became apparent.
A dark object of triangular shape appeared, moving in narrow circles round the spot where poor Bob was floating, disappearing at frequent intervals, and then the splashing became more frantically vigorous than ever. It was a shark that was thus blockading Bob, and the splashing was resorted to, to frighten the creature from attacking him.
I carefully measured my distance, and exactly at the right moment jammed my helm hard down, hauling in the main-sheet as I did so.