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Upon these the hungry eyes of the prowling monster were now fixed; but only for a moment: for in the next he was charging down among them with a velocity that caused the water to spray upwards against his dorsal fin, while the rushing sound made by his body could be heard afar off over the ocean, "Look, Will'm!" cried Ben, anxious that his protege should not miss seeing the curious spectacle.
"See!" cried the sailor. "The wind is a fetchin' them this way. Yonder's more o' the same sort risin' up in the west, an' that's the direction from which it's a-blowin'. Ho! As I live, Will'm, there's rain. I can see by the mist it's a-fallin' on the water yonder. It's still far away, twenty mile or so, but that's nothing; an' if the wind holds good in the same quarter, it must come this way."
If we only pull a couple of hours afore the sun gets hot, I think we'll be in no danger o' meetin' them any more. So let's set to, little Will'm! Another spell, and then you can rest as long's you have a mind to." The sailor seated himself close to the edge of the raft, and dropped his oar-blade in the water, using it after the fashion of a canoe-paddle.
"You needn't trouble to throw out your line, little Will'm," said he, "that ere takes no bait, not it." "Why?" asked the boy. "Because it's something else to do than forage for itself. I dare say its master an't far off." "What is it?" "That be the pilot-fish. See! turns away from us. It gone back to him as has sent it." "Sent it! Who, Ben?" "A shark, for sarten. Didn't I tell ye? Look yonder.
"Dear Ben," cried the boy, "you are so good, you've risked your life to save mine. Oh! how can I ever show you how much I am sensible of your goodness?" "Don't talk o' that, little Will'm. Ah! lad, I fear it an't much use to eyther o' us. But if we must die, anything before a death like that. I'd rather far that the sharks should get us than to be eat up by one's own sort.
O God, hear the prayer little Will'm ha' just spoken and I ha' repeated, though I've been too wicked to expect bein' heard, `Give us this day our daily bread'! Ah! another day or two without it, an' we shall both be asleep forever!" The soliloquy of the despairing sailor ended in a groan, that awoke his young comrade from a slumber that was at best only transient and troubled.
He had slewed himself round, and was making a hurried effort to get to his feet, when the boy, flung with violence upon his stooping back, once more brought him to his knees. As William was chucked right over him into the chest the sailor soon recovered from the shock, and rising erect, cried out in a half-confused manner, "Overboard! Who? Where? Not you, Will'm! What is't, boy?" "O Ben!
"I did," replied the boy. "Yes, Ben; I'm sure I did, not loud, but muttered like. But I don't know whether if was Le Gros. O, if it was!" "Thee have good reason to know his ugly croak, the parleyvooin' scoundrel! That thee have, Will'm! Let's hope we are both mistaken: for if we're to come across them ruffins on the big raft, we needn't expect mercy at their hands.
"I think I ha' got it, Will'm," said he; "I think I've found a way to stow the water even without a cask." "You have!" joyfully exclaimed William. "How, Ben?" "Well, you see, boy, the tarpolin holds water as tight as if 'twere a glass bottle. I tarred it myself, that did I, an' as I never did my work lubber-like, I done that job well. Lucky I did, warn't it, William?" "It was."
"What is it, Will'm?" eagerly inquired the sailor, hoping the lad might have made out a sail. William had himself entertained this hope. A whitish disk over the horizon had come under his eye; which for a while looked like spread canvas, but soon disappeared, as if it had suddenly dissolved into air.
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