“We are being boarded,” was the thought that shot through the boy’s mind as he struggled to his feet.
But what was this? There came a second splash, another, and yet another.
“The chicle!” he exclaimed out loud, unthinking. “They are throwing it overboard!” The deck was piled high with gunnysacks filled with chicle. Was the sack of the green thread among them? He had come aboard too late to know. Were these boarding ruffians Diaz’s men, or were they of another sort? Had they somehow learned of the treasure? Were they after that?
“How could they know?” he asked himself.
His head whirled. What was to be done? He took a step forward and instantly collided with some bulky object.
At once he found himself grappling with the oily body of a native. Over and over they rolled on the deck. They bumped first into a heap of chicle, then into the gunwale. This last appeared to stun his opponent. Seizing the opportunity, he grasped him by an arm and leg to send him overboard.
He caught the call of Tuan, heard the Caribs swarming up from below, listened for a second to blows that fell all about him; then, finding himself within a circle of sudden light, staggered backward to fall clumsily, and to at last pitch backward into the sea.
He struck out in the direction he hoped was right for the ship. The sea was warm as dish water. Sharks and crocodiles lurked everywhere. He must get aboard.
“And then what?” he asked himself.
About him sounded cries, calls, blows, signs of wild confusion. Then came the creak of oarlocks.