“A shark!—a sha-a-a-rk!” howled O’Rook, and dived under the broken main-yard, which he was piloting ashore. Coming up on the other side, he tried to clamber on it, but it rolled round and dropped him. He went down with a gurgling cry. Again he rose, grasped the spar with his left arm, glared wildly round, and clenched his right hand as if ready to hit on the nose any creature—fish, flesh, or fowl—that should assail him.
“Take it easy, messmate,” said Burr in a quiet tone; “sorry I touched you. Hope it didn’t hurt much.”
“Och! it was you, was it? Sure, I thought it was a shark; well, well, it’s plaised I am to be let off so aisy.”
With this philosophic reflection O’Rook landed with his piece of timber. Enough of material was soon collected to form a raft sufficiently large to ferry half of the party across the lagoon, and in two trips the whole were landed in safety on the island.
“You don’t mean to tell me, Jack,” said Baldwin Burr, “that this island was made by coral insects?”
“Yes, I do!” said Jack.
“From the top to the bottom?” asked Burr.
“From the bottom to the top,” said Edwin.
Baldwin asked this question of the philosopher during a pause in their labours. They were, at the time, engaged in constructing a new bower for Polly among the flowering shrubs under the cocoa-nut palms. Polly herself was aiding them, and the rest of the party were scattered among the bushes, variously employed in breaking down branches, tearing up long grass, and otherwise clearing ground for an encampment.
“How could insects make an island?” asked Polly, sitting down on a bank to rest.