Майн Рид
The Ocean Waifs: A Story of Adventure on Land and Sea

Chapter Thirty One.
Face to Face

By this change in the position of the parties, the zygaena had lost its advantage. Instead of having for the object of its attack an exhausted swimmer encumbered with a weight, without a weapon, or even an arm free to wield one, it would now have for its antagonist a strong man, – fresh and vigorous, – armed with a long-bladed knife; one, moreover, who from earliest youth had lived a half-amphibious life, and who was almost as much at home in the water as the shark itself. At all events, the Coromantee could calculate on keeping himself above water for several hours without rest, and under it as long as any other animal whose natural element was the earth or the air.

Snowball, however, had no intention to go wider, – not an inch deeper than he could possibly help: for therein would lie his danger, and he knew it. As we have already said, it was not the first time for him to encounter a shark in its own element; and though, perhaps, not so familial with the hammer-head as with the white shark, he was not altogether unacquainted with the habits and peculiarities of the former species.

He knew that the zygaena, like others of its congeners, in seizing an object, requires to have that object under it; otherwise, it is compelled to turn upon its back or side, just in proportion as the prey it would seize lies high or low in the water. If altogether on the surface, the shark is forced to make a complete roll, belly upward; and this necessity, – arising from the peculiar position of the animal’s mouth, and the conformation of its jaws, – is well-known among mariners, and better among true shark-fighters, who use it to their advantage. Among the pearl-divers of the Vermilion Sea (Gulf of California), the attack of the common shark is but little dreaded. The only weapon used by them is a piece of stick (the estaca), sharpened at both ends, and hardened by fire. Provided with this simple weapon, which they carry, stuck through a loop in their leathern belt, they dive without fear among the sharks that frequent the waters of the pearl-oyster fishery. When attacked by one of these voracious creatures, they wait for the moment when the shark makes its semi-somersault, and opens its cavernous mouth. Then, with an adroitness drawn from practice, and a fearlessness which only great confidence can give, they thrust the estaca, gag-fashion, between the creature’s jaws, leaving it no alternative but to retreat with its jaws wide open, or to close them to its own certain destruction. Among these pearl-fisheries, however, a species of shark occasionally shows itself that cannot be destroyed in such a simple fashion. It is known as the tintorera, and is as much dreaded by the pearl-divers as the common shark is by the ordinary mariner.

Fierce as is the zygaena and dreaded above all others of its tribe, – half the dread no doubt is attributable to its hideous configuration. Snowball knew that before it could injure him, it must make the half-turn, and, therefore, approached it with the determination to keep well upon the surface of the water, and not let it get above him.

The conflict was now inevitable: for the shark, although apparently a little put about by the transposition that had taken place, had determined upon having a meal of human flesh. Its white victims had escaped it for the time, but it was not particular as to the colour of the skin, and Snowball might be as sweet to its palate as Ben Brace or Lilly Lalee.

We are not going to assert that it reasoned after this fashion, or that any thoughts whatever passed through its huge mallet-shaped skull. Indeed, there was not much time for reflection: for as Snowball interposed his body between the zygaena and its intended victims, the woolly head of the Coromantee and the hammer-head of the shark were scarcely three lengths of a handspike from each other.

It was a fearful situation for a human being to be in; and any other than an old shark-fighter would, at such a moment, have succumbed from sheer terror.

Not so Snowball, who appeared to enter the lists with as little dread and as much confidence as if his fetisch had given him full assurance of victory.

Little William, standing upon the stern of the Catamaran with suspended breath, noting every turn of the spectacle, could see Snowball drawing the knife from his belt. Not for long, however, did he hold it clutched in his hand. For greater convenience, and to give his hands free play, while evading the attacks of his finny antagonist, he transferred the knife to his mouth, where it was seen set transversely across his cheeks, the blade tightly held between his teeth. In this strange fashion did Snowball meet his enemy, – the truculent tyrant of the deep.

Chapter Thirty Two.
A Ring Performance

It might be supposed that the shark would have rushed instantaneously upon its antagonist, regardless of aught save making a meal of him. But no, the zygaena, notwithstanding its great voracity, like the rest of its tribe, is endowed with certain instincts of caution. The sea-tiger, as well as that of the land, can tell instinctively whether the object of its attack is likely to become an easy prey, or turn out a dangerous adversary.

Some such – shall we call it an idea? – seemed to enter the unshapely skull of the hammer-head, – suggested no doubt by the bold attitude which Snowball had assumed. In all likelihood, had the negro been making away, instead of swimming towards it, and showing signs of a desire to escape, its onset would have been made on the instant.

As it was, the shark saw itself vis-à-vis to an adversary nearly as large as itself and quite as courageous; and it is possible also that its pilot-fish, – a brace of which had advanced close to Snowball’s snout, and after submitting his dusky carcass to a brief examination returned to their master, – it is just possible that these emissaries had reported to their patron, that the game he was in pursuit of must be approached with caution.

At all events something had been communicated that produced a sudden change in the tactics of the zygaena. Instead of rushing recklessly on to the attack, – or even keeping up the swimming pace by which it had hitherto been making its approach, – on arriving within some half-score fathoms of Snowball’s face, it gradually slackened speed, until its brown, fan-like fins, gently oscillating along its sides seemed no longer to propel its body through the water.

Moreover, on drawing nearer, it swerved slightly from its course, – as if with the design either of attacking its adversary in the rear, or passing him altogether!

Strange enough, the two parasites appeared to direct this movement: for both kept swimming alongside the zygaena, one of them opposite each of its huge eyeballs.

The negro seemed slightly perplexed by this unexpected manoeuvre. He had anticipated an instantaneous attack, and had made every preparation to receive and repel it. He had even taken the knife from his teeth, and was holding it tightly clutched in his right hand, ready to deal his deadly blow.

The shyness of the shark produced a disappointment.

Something besides: for it now occurred to Snowball that the cunning zygaena was trying to pass him, with the design of making a razzia towards the helpless party in his rear.

The moment this suspicion arose to him he turned short in the water, and struck out in a direction that would enable him to head the shark, and, if possible, intercept it.

Whether the creature intended to pursue his original plan of attacking the sailor and his charge, or whether he was manoeuvring to turn the Coromantee, it mattered not. In either case Snowball was pursuing the correct strategy. He knew that if his supple antagonist could once get round to his rear, his chances of safety for himself or the others would be sadly diminished. Should the zygaena once get past him and continue on towards the sailor, swift swimmer as Snowball was, he could have no chance of overtaking a fish.

At this crisis a thought occurred to him which promised to avert the calamity he most dreaded, – that is, the shark getting past him, and continuing on to the others. The thought found expression in speech.

“Ho! Massa Brace!” he cried, once more taking the steel from between his teeth. “Swim roun’ to de right. Keep a-gwine in de circle. For de Lord sake, keep ahind me, or you loss fo’ sartin!”

The sailor scarcely needed the counsel. He saw the danger before Snowball had spoken, and had already commenced the movement which the Coromantee was requesting him to make.

Once more the tableau changed. The dramatis persona in their relative positions first formed an isosceles triangle, then a scalene, afterwards a right line. Now all were moving in a circle, or rather in three circles concentric to one another; the sailor, with his charge, revolving round the centre, Snowball in mid radius, while the shark, flanked by his satellites, went gliding along the outer circumference, his lurid eyes glaring continually inward, as if watching for an opportunity to break the line so carefully guarded by the Coromantee!

For full five minutes was this “ring” performance kept up, without any great alteration occurring in the relative positions of the parties. But it was a game in which the outside player had all the advantage; for, although the zygaena had by far the greater distance to traverse, what was but sport to it was fatigue and the danger of drowning to its adversaries.

Had its skull been of a different formation, and filled with a better set of brains, it would have endeavoured to keep up that game, without in the least degree changing the mode of playing it. In due time, its chief antagonist, Snowball, must have cried quarter or gone to the bottom; and far sooner must have sunk the weighted swimmer in his wake.

But sharks, like other creatures both aquatic and terrestrial, have their moments of impatience and anger; and the zygaena, yielding to these passions, common to both piscine and human nature, at length determined to break through the rules of the game, and bring the play to an abrupt termination.

In obedience to this impulse, it suddenly swerved from its circular course, and, heading towards the spot where Ben Brace, with Lilly Lalee clinging to his shoulder, was performing his shorter revolutions, it made a reckless and determined rush for the centre, – equally regardless of the admonition of its brace of monitors and the cold steel of the Coromantee, gleaming clear under the water through which it would have to make its way. So near had it to pass to the negro’s flat nose that its glutinous skin would be almost in contact with his prominent lips, and with his outstretched hand he need have no difficulty in striking his slippery antagonist.

Had Snowball been anticipating this change of tactics, he could not have acted more adroitly, or with greater promptness. As the zygaena was gliding onward, and just as its rough pectoral passed within an inch of his nose, he suddenly returned the knife between his teeth, and, simultaneously using both hands and limbs, he sprang upward in the waiter, and, with a vigorous effort, launched himself on its back!

In the next instant he was seen, – or might have been seen, – with one hand, the left, firmly grasping the bony protuberance of the zygaena’s left eye, his muscular fingers deeply imbedded in the socket, while his right, clutching the long knife, was inflicting a series of stabs against the side of his adversary, now flashing high in the air, now gleaming under water, going up and down with all the measured regularity of a trip-hammer.

When it pleased the Coromantee to dismount from his slippery saddle, the zygaena floated by his side, – a carcass stained with its own blood, that for fathoms around encrimsoned the azure waters of the ocean!

Chapter Thirty Three.
The Chase of the Catamaran

As we have said, little William, standing near the stern of the Catamaran, had watched the spectacle with suspended breath. It was only after seeing the zygaena float lifeless on the water, and becoming satisfied that Snowball had come out of the struggle safe as well as victorious, that the boy gave utterance to a shout. Then, unable longer to restrain himself, he raised a cry of joyful exultation.

It was neither prolonged nor repeated. It had scarce passed his lips, ere it was succeeded by another of very different import. This was the very opposite to a shout of joy: rather was it a cry of consternation. That little drama of the ocean, of which he had been the sole spectator, was not yet over. There was another act to come of equally thrilling interest with that just ended, – an act in which he himself would be called upon to play an important part along with the others.

It had already commenced; and the wild cry which escaped from the lips of the sailor-lad announced his first perception of the new phase into which the drama had entered.

Absorbed in the contemplation of the combat between Snowball and the shark, he had hitherto remained unobservant of a circumstance of the most alarming character, – one that threatened not only the destruction of the Coromantee, but Ben Brace as well, and Lilly Lalee, and in time little William himself, – in short, of the whole party.

The lives of all were at that moment in the hands of the sailor-lad, or if not in his hands, then were all of them doomed to certain destruction.

You may be wondering what strange circumstance this was, fraught with such a terrible contingency. There was nothing mysterious in or about it. It was simply that the Catamaran, carrying its large spread sail, was drifting to leeward, and rapidly increasing the distance between itself and the swimmers.

Relieved from the anxiety with which he had regarded the conflict, little William at once became aware of this new danger, – hence his cry of consternation. Ben Brace either perceived it at the same instant, or else the shout of his protégé had drawn his attention to it; for, quick succeeding the latter, the voice of the sailor went rolling across the water in words of direction intended for the ears of little William.

“Will’m! Will’m!” shouted he, raising his lips above the surface so as to enunciate more distinctly. “For marcy’s sake, lad, lay hold on the steerin’ oar. Try to tack round, or we’re lost one an’ all o’ us!”

At the same instant Snowball sputtered out some very similar orders; but being sadly out of breath from his exertions in the long-continued struggle with the zygaena, what proceeded from his mouth less resembled words than the snorting of a porpoise; and was, in truth, altogether unintelligible.

Little William needed no instructions, – neither to hear nor understand them. He had perceived the danger, and, with intuitive promptness, had commenced taking measures to avoid it. Partly guided by his own thoughts and partly by the directions of Ben Brace, he sprang suddenly towards the steering-oar; and, grasping it in both hands, he worked with all his might to bring the Catamaran about. After a time he succeeded in getting her head as close to the wind as such a craft was capable of sailing, but it soon became evident to him that the manoeuvre would be of little or no avail. Although the raft did not make leeway quite as much as before, still with its great sail, rudely bent as it was, she made sufficient to preserve the distance from the swimmers; and, as William anxiously observed, still slightly increasing. Even Snowball, who, after giving the coup de grâce to the zygaena, had struck direct towards the Catamaran, – even he, unencumbered by aught save his wet shirt and trousers, although easily passing the others in his course, did not appear to gain an inch upon the runaway raft.

It was an anxious time for all parties; and the anxiety reached its height when they perceived, as one and all soon did, that the unmanageable craft was keeping its distance, if not gaining a greater.

That state of things could not continue long. Both the swimmers had already begun to show signs of flagging. Snowball, sea-duck that he was, might have held out a good while; but the sailor, weighted with Lalee, must soon “go under.” Even Snowball could not swim forever; and, unless some incident should arise to change the character of this aquatic chase, and arrest the Catamaran in her leeward course, sooner or later must the Coromantee become also the prey of the all-swallowing ocean.

For several minutes – they seemed hours to all – did the struggle continue between man and Catamaran, without any very great advantage in favour of either. It is true some change had taken place in the relative positions of the parties. The Coromantee, at starting in pursuit of the raft, had been some fathoms in the wake of Ben Brace and his protégé. They were now in his wake, falling, alas! still farther behind him. Unfortunately for all, Snowball, while increasing his distance from them, was not lessening it from the Catamaran; and therefore the advantage he was gaining over the sailor could be of no use, so long as the raft proved swifter as a sailer than he was as a swimmer.

Snowball’s original idea in striking out in pursuit of the Catamaran was to get aboard; and, by making a better use of the steering-oar than he had hitherto done, to bring the craft back within saving distance of the exhausted swimmer. Confident in his natatory powers, he had at first believed this feat to be not only possible, but probable and easy. It was only after several minutes spent in the pursuit, and the distance between him and the Catamaran seemed to grow greater instead of less, that the negro really began to feel anxiety about the result.

This anxiety kept increasing as the minutes passed, and the broad stretch of blue water between him and the Catamaran appeared to grow no narrower, strike out as he would with all the strength of his sinewy arms, and kick as he might with all the muscular energy that lay in his stout legs.

His anxiety became anguish, when, after one of his most vigorous efforts, he believed, or fancied, that all had been in vain, and that the Catamaran had actually gained upon him. Whether fancy or not, it produced conviction in his mind that to overtake the craft was impossible; and all at once he discontinued the attempt. He did not, however, remain stationary in the water. Far from that. On abandoning the pursuit of the Catamaran, he turned like an otter, and looked back in the direction from which he had come. In this direction, nearly two hundred fathoms distant, two dark objects, so close together as to seem one, were visible over the “curl” of the water.

They were just visible to an eye elevated several inches above the surface; and Snowball was obliged to buoy himself into an erect attitude, – like a seal taking a survey of the circle around it, or a dog pitched unexpectedly into a deep pond, – before he could see them.

He saw them, however; he knew what they were; and, without a moment’s pause or hesitation, he recommenced cleaving the water in a line leading directly towards them.

The mind of the Coromantee, hitherto distracted by conflicting emotions, had now but one thought. It was less purpose than a despairing instinct. It was to support the child who had been intrusted to him – the Lilly Lalee – above water as long as he should have strength; and then to go down along with her into that vast, fathomless tomb, that leaves no trace and carries no epitaph!

Chapter Thirty Four.
The Sail out of Sight

The sea-cook and the sailor were now swimming towards each other. It is true that Ben was not making very rapid way, nor did Snowball return on his course with any great alacrity. Despair had rendered the latter somewhat irresolute; and he scarcely knew why he was swimming back, unless it was to be drowned in company with the others; for drowning now appeared their inevitable fate.

Slowly as both swam, they soon came together, – the countenances of both, as they met, exhibiting that fixed, despairing look which bespeaks the utter extinction of hope.

The Catamaran was now at such a distance, that even could she have been suddenly arrested in her course, and brought to an anchor, it was doubtful whether either Snowball or the sailor could have reached her by swimming. The raft itself and the water-casks lashed around it were no longer to be seen. Only the white sail, that like a bit of fleecy cloud, equally fleeting, was fast lessening to a speck upon the distant horizon. No wonder that hope had forsaken them!

The sailor wondered that the sail was still set. During the first moments, while endeavouring to come up with the craft, he had shouted to William to let go the halliards. He had kept repeating this order, until his voice, already hoarse and faltering, grew almost inarticulate from sheet exhaustion of breath, and the rail, moreover, had drifted to such a distance that it was not likely the lad could hear him. Under this impression he had at length discontinued his feeble cries, and swam on in slow and gloomy silence, wondering why William had not obeyed his injunctions, feeling chagrin at his not doing so, and with good reason, since the lowering of the sail might have still given them some chance of overtaking the craft.

It was just as the sailor had given over calling out, and relapsed into sullen silence, that Snowball was seen returning towards him. It was an additional argument for despair this abandonment of the chase on the part of the Coromantee. When such a swimmer had given it up, Ben knew it was hopeless.

In a moment after they met face to face. The glance exchanged between them was mutually understood without a word spoken by either. Each tacitly read in the eyes of the other the dread destiny that awaited them, – near, and soon to be fulfilled, – drowning!

Snowball was the first to break the terrible silence.

“You nigh done up, Massa Ben, – you muss be! Gib me de lilly gal. You Lally! you lay hold on ma shoulder, and let Massa Brace ress a bit.”

“No, – no!” protested the sailor, in a despairing tone. “It bean’t no use. I can carry her a bit longer. ’Tain’t much longer as any o’ us ’ll be – ”

“Sh! Massa Brace,” interrupted the negro, speaking in a suppressed whisper, and looking significantly towards the child. “Hope dar ’s no danger yet,” he added, in a voice intended for the ear of Lalee. “We oberhaul de Catamaran by ’m by. De wind change, and bring dat craff down on us. ’Peak in de French, Massa Ben,” he continued, at the same time adroitly adopting a patois of that language. “De pauvre jeune fille don’t understan’ de French lingo. I know it am all ober wi’ boaf you an’ me, and de gal, too but doan let her know it to de lass minute. It be no use to do dat, – only make her feel wuss.”

“Eh bien! all right!” muttered Ben, indiscriminately mingling his French and English phrases. “Pauvre enfant! She shan’t know nothin’ from me o’ what be afore her. Lord a marcy on all o’ us! I don’t see the raft any more! Whar be it? Can you see it, Snowball?”

“Gorramity, no!” replied the black, raising himself up in the water to get a better view. “Gone out o’ de sight altogedder! We nebba see dat Catamaran any more, – no, nebba!”

The additional accent of despair with which these words were uttered was scarce perceptible. Had there been a hope, it would have been shattered by the disappearance of the raft, – whose white sail was now no longer visible against the blue background of the horizon. But all hope had previously been abandoned; and this new phase of the drama produced but slight change in the minds of its chief actors. Death was already staring them in the face with that determination which promised no prospect of avoiding it, and none was cherished. The only change that occurred was in the action. The swimmers no longer directed themselves in a particular course. There was none for them to follow. With the disappearance of the sail they no longer knew in what direction to look for the raft. For all they now knew of it, it might have gone to the bottom, leaving them alone upon the bosom of the limitless ocean.

“No use swimmin’ on’ards!” said Ben, despairingly. “It’ll only waste the bit of strength that be left us.”

“No use,” assented the negro. “Less lay to, and float on de water. Dat be easier, and we can keep up de longer. Do, Massa Ben, – gib me de gal. You mo’ tired dan I. Come, lilly Lally, you grasp hold on ma shoulder! Dat’s de bess way. Come, now, – come, dear lilly gal.”

And as Snowball spoke, he swam close alongside the girl and, gently detaching her hand from the shoulder of the sailor, transferred its feeble grasp to his own.

Ben no longer offered resistance to this generous action on the part of his old comrade: for, in truth, he stood in dire necessity of the relief; and, the transfer having been effected, both continued to float upon the water, sustaining themselves with no more effort than was absolutely necessary to keep their heads above the surface.