“Now is your time,” cried the mate; and rushing out, grasping the handspikes with which we were armed, we got between them and the sea, and turned them over on their backs, where they lay kicking their legs, unable to move. We had brought ropes to assist us in dragging them down to the water and hauling them on board. We had turned a dozen or more, when I said to Jim.
“We mustn’t let that big one go we first saw land.”
She and the other turtles still on their feet, had taken the alarm, and were scuttling down the beach. We made her out and attempted to turn her, but that was more than we could do.
“She’ll be off,” cried Jim.
We hove the bight of a rope over her head.
“Hold on, Peter!” he cried; and he and I attempted to haul the turtle back, all the time shouting for help, for she was getting closer and closer to the water. At last in she got, dragging us after her. We could not stop her before, and there was very little chance of our doing so now.
“Let her go, Jim,” I cried out.
“We shall lose the rope,” he answered, still holding on.
We were already up to our middles in the water.
“It’s of no use. Let go! Let go!” I cried out, “or we shall be dragged away to sea!”