“Whenever you are,” said Jack, taking his place in the canoe, while Billy followed his example. The two native lads shoved off and sprang on board with wonderful agility, driving the canoe through the surf and up onto the summit of a huge wave, where it hung poised for an instant like a bird. The next moment they had shot with powerful strokes through the rollers and were out beyond the danger line of the surf.
They passed through a noisy fleet of fishers, all of whom greeted them, and then the canoe was headed for a green headland some distance down the coast. The sun glowed fiercely overhead, the surf boomed unceasingly on the beach and the reef beyond, the water hissed along the sides of the canoe as the two athletic young natives urged forward amid shouts.
Looking over the side, Jack could see the coral bottom as clearly as if an inch instead of many feet of water separated it from the frail canoe. It was almost as if they were floating in the air. Fish of brilliant colors darted about and once a dark, sinister shade appeared beneath the canoe. The Kanaka boys shouted and beat the water with their paddles. The dark shadow melted away.
“Him very bad shark,” said Anai. “White men call him tiger shark. Worst kind of all shark.”
“I’d hate to bathe around here,” observed Jack.
“Oh, him all right, most generally scare him away, kick, splash, makee big noise, he go 'way.”
“Yes, but suppose he refused to be scared,” objected Billy.
“Then maybe he takee off leg, arm, maybe swallow you all up.”
The long, curved point soon hid the fishers in front of the village from view. Rounding it, they found themselves skimming along a coast of surpassing beauty. Steep, majestic cliffs arose from the clear water and long green creepers from the forest above trailed over them.
At last the prow of the canoe was turned and the boys saw that the furious paddlers were heading at top speed for the cliffs.