The pain was intense when they put the line to a tackle, and he gave up. Throwing the bar clear to make away with the last evidence of his work, he let them haul him feet foremost into the air and hang him dangling over the rail.
"A nigger, by all that's holy!" exclaimed the long mate. "Now, how in the name did——"
"The mate of the wrecker," said Smart, slacking the giant down upon the deck and gazing at him. "Hooked in the ankle, all right and seamanlike. Is he drowned?"
"Naw, I ain't drowned," said Bill, staggering to his feet, the iron from the harpoon still transfixing his leg. "Yo' put a stopper on that barb, and pull that iron out. Cayn't a man take a swim without you fellows huntin' him like a bloody fish?"
The mate offered his apologies, somewhat tinged with humour, for the mistake, and, being entirely without suspicion, went below to get a stiff drink for his victim. The giant black stood gazing down at the yacht captain for a moment, and as the wound did not bleed to any extent, he refused to have any further fuss made over it.
"Aren't you afraid of sharks—to be swimming about this harbour in the night?" asked Smart.
"No, I ain't scared o' much," said Bill, "an' I takes it all in good part, yo' ketchin' me the way yo' did. I don't mind the little hole in mah laig, but I do mind bein' h'isted up feet fo'most. I don't allow no liberties wid me body, 'n' ef yo' had dun it a purpose, I sho' would have tu wake yo' up some—but I takes no offence."
The long mate appeared with the liquor, and the wrecker drank it down.
"Ah'm goin' now," said Bill, and without further ado he made a plunge over the rail and was gone. A faint trail of fire showed his rapid progress toward the Sea-Horse, and his captors were left alone again on deck.