Interest in the buccaneering vessel was for the time being entirely lost, all our crew watching the efforts of the swimmer, as with tireless stroke he quickly lessened his distance from the Gannet.
In obedience to an order from the captain our men cast loose a pair of swivel guns, for it was evident that the buccaneer was getting out of range, and her shots no longer disturbed the water. Far from destroying the man, the discharge of her ordnance had proved his salvation; so our captain resolved to act likewise and plant shot after shot close to him, so as to frighten off these tigers of the deep, while our men waved encouragingly to the swimmer.
Through the drifting smoke from our ordnance I caught momentary glimpses of the fugitive. He was swimming strongly, yet easily, and without any sign of either physical or mental discomfort. By this time he was so close that I could see the flash of his eyes between the matted clusters of dark hair that covered his brows.
The sharks still kept off; our gunners ceased to fire, and the running bowline was dropped from our catheads for the man to be hauled on board, when, within fifty yards from us, he suddenly disappeared, and over the spot darted yet another huge shark that, unobserved, had lurked under our bows.
We could see the monster turn on its back to seize its prey. There was a snapping of jaws, and the sea around it was discoloured with blood. An involuntary cry of horror broke from us; then, to our surprise, we saw the man reappear, brandishing a sheath-knife, while the shark, in its last throes, floated belly uppermost, a skilful thrust of the knife having practically disembowelled it.
In another minute the man had grasped the bowline, and with the knife between his teeth he was drawn up to the fo'c'sle.
He was a short, ungainly personage, probably a Dago, judging by his dark, olive skin and raven hair. Unconcernedly he drank a dram which was given him; then, with the moisture draining from his clothes as he hobbled across the deck, he was led off to be questioned by our captain.
During this episode the buccaneer had shown us a remarkably clean pair of heels, so that nothing short of an accident to the crowd of canvas she was carrying could ever make us hope to overhaul her.
But in spite of enquiries Captain Poynings gathered little from the rescued man.
"Me Portugee, me Portugee; me honest; me no rogue. Me see Senhor Capitan alone, den me tell him ebberything," he reiterated.