“It will be a lesson to us in future not to swim away from the side,” observed Tom.
“It will be a lesson for me not to go overboard at all,” said Billy. “I’ve no fancy to become food for a shark.”
Another night passed. Tom found at noon the next day that, instead of thirty, they had not made good twenty miles. The fact was that at times they were not rowing at all; at others only two oars were going, when not more than one mile an hour was made, and even when four were rowing, they had to exert themselves to move the boat at the rate of two knots an hour. Still progress was being made. They should in time reach the most northern of the Ladrones, where they might venture on shore without fear of being killed and eaten, as would certainly be their lot on any of the islands further to the south-west. Rowing all day under a burning sun is not conducive to health, and though none of the party were actually ill, they began to long for a breeze, which would send them more rapidly on their course; while their spirits, which had hitherto been kept up, also flagged considerably. Each day, too, they made less progress than on the former one, a sign that their strength was somewhat failing. They had hitherto had an ample supply of food. The salt junk found on board the wreck had been kept to be used only in case of necessity. Of their turtle, one had been killed, and they had feasted on it for a couple of days, until the remainder grew bad, and they were compelled to throw it overboard. One morning Pat, who had taken charge of the animals, announced that the other was dead, having died during the night, and that unless it was quickly eaten it would be lost. This proved to be the case, especially to Billy’s regret, who saw the tempting morsels swallowed by the shark, which had, since its first appearance, followed the boat. The still more alarming announcement was that several of their hams, which they had fancied so well cured, were also getting bad. Some were consigned to the maw of the voracious shark, though others, which were only slightly tainted, were kept until the continued heat rendered them uneatable. Pat could not make it out, but it was discovered on examination that neither the smoke nor salt had penetrated to any depth, and that they would have done better to have cut the meat in thin strips and attempted thus to preserve it.
“Well, we shall have fish enough and roots, before we attack the junk; we must husband the biscuit and other things,” observed Tom.
He accordingly put all hands on an allowance. It was with no small anxiety that he examined the cured fish, which he was grieved to find emitted far from a pleasant odour; still, as it was at present eatable, he continued to serve it out.
“It is not often I have known a calm last so long as this,” exclaimed Jerry, when a whole week had passed, and not a breath of air had filled their sails. “We would have been better off on shore had we known what was coming.”
“We should not grumble,” observed Tom. “We have got upwards of a hundred miles to the southward; when a breeze does come we shall have so much less distance to make.”
“But the food and the water, sir?” exclaimed Jerry.
“We must touch at the nearest island we sight and obtain a fresh supply,” was the answer.
Day after day the shark had followed the boat, and while his hideous snout was seen, or that triangular fin of his, it would have been useless to put over a fishing-line, as it would certainly have been carried off. When, however, the fresh provisions ran short, Gerald and Tom determined to try and get rid of their fearful foe. The three men and Billy, who, though fat and short, pulled a very good oar, were rowing as men do who have been at the task many hours, in a sort of mechanical fashion, when Tom exclaimed—