“Yes, father,” answered the child promptly.
“But maybe there are sharks,” suggested O’Rook.
There was a momentary silence. In the excitement of the occasion every one had forgotten sharks. What was to be done? The raft was utterly destroyed. Only a few of the logs which had formed it lay on the reef; the rest were floating on the lagoon at various distances, none nearer than fifty yards.
“There’s nothing for it, then, but to reconstruct our raft,” said the captain, throwing off his coat and shoes; “so these logs must be secured.”
He had only taken two steps towards the water when Philosopher Jack grasped his arm.
“Stop, sir, it is your duty to look after Polly. Now lads, those who can swim come along!”
Another instant and he was in the sea, regardless of sharks, and striking out for the floating wreckage, closely followed by O’Rook, Corkey, Burr, and Watty Wilkins. Strange to say, eight other men of the crew could not swim, although they had managed somehow to scramble on the reef. Whether it was that the sharks were not there at the time, or that the number and energy of the swimmers frightened them, we cannot tell, but each man reached a log or plank in safety, and began pushing it towards the reef. It was when they drew near to this that the trial of their courage was most severe. The excitement and gush of daring with which they had plunged in was by that time expended, and the slow motion of the logs gave them time for reflection. O’Rook’s lively fancy troubled him much.
“If the baists would only attack a man in front,” he muttered, “it’s little I’d mind ’em, but to come up behind, sneakin’ like—hooroo!”
At that moment a branch of coral, which projected rather far from the bottom, touched O’Rook’s toe and drew from him an uncontrollable yell of alarm. Baldwin Burr, who swam close behind, was humorously inclined as well as cool. He pushed the plank he was guiding close to his comrade’s back, dipped the end of it, and thrust it down on O’Rook’s legs.
The effect was even more powerful than he had hoped for.