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Updated: June 8, 2025
"We have saved him! But do you think he is alive? For unless he is, MY chance, OUR chance, is gone forever!" I bent over and felt his pulse. As far as I could make out, it still beat feebly. I will not trouble you with details of those three terrible days and nights when we drifted helplessly about at the mercy of the currents on our improvised life-raft up and down the English Channel.
But see! they manage to swim to the life-raft, which had been fastened by a long rope to the Merrimac and is now floating on the waves. They cling to the raft, only heads and hands above water. They keep quiet, for the Spaniards are out in small boats now, looking to see what damage has been done. The Spaniards do not see our men clinging to the flat raft.
Chipperton had helped his wife into the boat, and had expected to turn round and take Corny. No doubt he had told the men to be perfectly cool, and not to hurry. And while we were shouting to him and lowering Corny, the other boat had put off. There was a little crowd of men amidships, hard at work at something. We ran there. They were launching the life-raft. The captain was among them.
That they did not obey was because of the unflinching steadiness of the young pirate's gaze, which they realized would detect their slightest forward movement. All at once Ridge caught a glimpse of a man on the roof of the deck-house, just as he dodged from sight behind the life-raft. He thought he had also seen a gun in the man's hand.
Neither spoke, but West still clasped the hatchet, peering anxiously about for some signs of the life-raft. He located it at last, securely fastened to the side of the deck house, and, leaving the girl to hold herself upright as best she could, began to hack it loose.
There was no answer, and when I attempted to rise I found myself roughly lashed to the life-raft by several turns of a line so tightly drawn that the sensory nerves in my legs gave no response to my movements. My support was rocking in its lodgment between two weed-trailing boulders, stained like verdigris and licked smooth by the lapping of the sea.
"Are you sure you can rescue us, Russ?" she demanded. "Where's your boat?" Russ pointed to a long lifeboat covered with canvas which lay some distance from the life-raft. "That will be my boat," he said eagerly. "Rose, you must be in command of the raft. Of course, you have been drifting about a long time and you are all hungry and thirsty."
He decided to elude them. He was aboard the Olivia when the ship struck on the bar, and resolved to take a desperate chance and come ashore on a life-raft. He did, and Larry and Bailey rescued him. Then followed his shaving off of his moustache in the fisherman's hut to make a good disguise, and Larry's subsequent chase after him. Once Larry had been close on Mr. Potter's trail.
Then, in the little circle of light cast from the glass bullseye, Larry saw, running down the stairs, the smooth-shaven man he had helped pull from the angry sea on the life-raft. "There he goes! Catch him!" cried Storg, as he clattered down the stairs after the fugitive. "Hold on! Stop!" yelled Higgins, running from the room. "Halt, or I'll shoot!"
By a Machiavellian stratagem the primary larva of the Oil-beetle or the Sitaris has penetrated the Anthophora's cell; it has settled on the egg, which is its first food and its life-raft in one. What becomes of it once the egg is exhausted? Let us, to begin with, go back to the larva of the Sitaris.
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