“Very well then. Let’s start. And first of all, let’s strip.”
“I’ll take the pistol, Bart,” said Phil, as Bart laid it down before taking off his belt; “and if anything happens, I’ll fire.”
“All right, my son,” said Bart.
They all went down then to the beach below, where they stripped, and the adventurous five went into the water, although only three were going on board; for Tom and Phil, felt bound in honor to share the possible peril of the others.
The water had risen a little up the steep declivity of the pebbled beach, and the vessel was some distance nearer than she had been when they first climbed the bank. It was a favorable time for starting, but not so much so as it would be in the course of half an hour. But they were too impatient to delay, and so they started. As it was, they had not more than fifty yards to go.
The bottom was not muddy just here, but composed of hard’ sand, like the sand-spit on which they had landed. The water was quite smooth, only disturbed by a gentle ripple, which, farther out, rose into small waves. The descent, like that farther out, was but very gradual, and it was only by almost imperceptible degrees that the water deepened.
Bruce and Bart went first, with their poles held in their hands in such a way that they were able to splash the water before them, so that if there should chance to be any more “shovel-mouth sharks” near by, they might take notice and govern themselves accordingly. For they firmly believed that all fish are frightened by any splashing, and deterred, just as wild animals are frightened and deterred, by the flashing of flames.
Tom and Phil followed more slowly, the former armed with a boat-hook, and the latter with the pistol. The distance was quickly traversed. The water grew deeper and deeper, until it was up to Bruce’s armpits and Bart’s shoulders. By that time they touched the schooner’s bows.
At that instant a splash was heard close by them, and the movement of some body was felt amid the waters.
“Up! Quick!” cried Bruce.