CHAPTER XIII.—CAPTAIN MANGO “GOES ALOFT.”
Self-preservation is the first law of life, and no sooner did Don feel that iron grip compressing his throat, and dragging him down into the depths of the creep, than he struck out to such good purpose that the hold of his unknown assailant quickly relaxed. As he shot up to the surface he found himself confronted by the dripping head and shoulders of a native. A brief cessation of hostilities followed; each glared at the other defiantly, the native's tense breathing and watchful eye indicating that, though baffled for the moment by his opponents prompt defensive measures, he was in no two minds about renewing the struggle.
Suddenly, by a lightning-like movement of the hand, he dashed a blinding jet of spray into Don's eyes, instantly followed up the advantage thus treacherously gained, grappled with him, and pinioned his arms tightly at his sides. Then, to his horror, Don felt his head thrust violently back, felt the fellow's hot, quick breath on his neck, and his teeth gnashing savagely at his throat.
Luckily for himself Don was no mean athlete, and knew how to use his fists to advantage when occasion demanded. Wrenching his arms free, he seized the native by the throat, and in spite of his eel-like slipperiness and desperate struggles, by an almost superhuman effort forced him slowly backwards until he had him at effective striking distance, when, suddenly loosing his hold, he let him have a tremendous “one-two” straight from the shoulder, that stretched the native senseless and bleeding on the water.
“You would have it!” he panted, surveying the native's sinewy proportions with grim satisfaction. “Next time you won't wait to be knocked out, I reckon. But 'twon't do to let you drown, though you richly deserve it; so come along, you black cub!”
Seizing the black by the convenient tuft of hair at the back of his bullet-head, he towed him to the strip of beach, and there hauled him out upon the sand, directly into a patch of moonlight, as it happened, that came slanting down through a rift in the canopy of palm-leaves overhead. Something in the appearance of the upturned features caused him to drop on his knees at the natives side.
“Hullo!” he cried, peering into the fellow's face, “Jack's lascar, as I'm alive! By Jove, you are a prize! We'll keep you with us longer than we did last time, my friend. Ha, ha! won't the captain chuckle, though!”
With his belt he proceeded to strap the lascar's hands securely behind his back; but when it came to fastening his legs, a difficulty cropped up. That is to say, the strap could not be used for both, and he had no substitute. Fortunately the lascar wore about his loins the regulation length of strong country cotton—his only covering—and this Don was in the act of removing when a knife fell out of its folds.
“Lucky thing I didn't run against you in the water,” he soliloquised, picking the weapon up. “Why, it's the very knife the lascar shot at Jack from the schooner's deck; the one he let the fellow have back for sending the boathook through the cutter's side; and that we afterwards found lying in the ballam here. And yet Jack certainly had it on him when those niggers carried him off. So, old chap,” apostrophising the insensible owner of the much-bandied knife, “so you had a hand in kidnapping him too, had you? All the more reason for caring for you now that we've got you.”
Following up this idea, he knotted the cloth tightly about the lascar's legs, dragged him well up the beach, and went in search of the canoe. This, fortunately, had not been molested in their absence; in a few minutes he had it in the water. Then, seizing the paddle, he propelled the light skiff swiftly in the direction of the rock platform, where he found the old sailor stumping his beat in a terrible state of uneasiness over his prolonged absence.