DESCRIBES A TREMENDOUS BUT BLOODLESS FIGHT
Proverbial philosophy tells us and
every one must have learned from personal experience that
“there is many a slip ’twixt the cup and
the lip.” Heroes in every rank of life
are peculiarly liable to such slips, and our
hero was no exception to the rule.
Finding that the vessel in which he
sailed was now little, if at all, better than a pirate,
he had fondly hoped that he should make his escape
on the first point of South America at which they touched.
Land was at last in sight. Hope was high in
the breast of Will Osten, and expressive glances passed
between him and his friends in captivity, when, alas!
the land turned out to be a small island, so low that
they could see right across it, and so scantily covered
with vegetation that human beings evidently deemed
it unworthy of being possessed.
“There’s niver a sowl
upon it,” remarked Larry O’Hale, in a tone
of chagrin.
“Maybe not,” said Griffin,
who overheard the observation; “but there’s
plenty of bodies on it if not souls, and, as
we are short of provisions, I intend to lay-to, and
give you a chance of seeing them. Get ready to
go ashore; I’m not afraid of you wandering
too far!”
Griffin wound up this speech with
a low chuckle and a leer, which sent a chill to the
heart not only of Will Osten but of Larry and Muggins
also, for it convinced them that their new master
had guessed their intention, and that he would, of
course, take every precaution to prevent its being
carried out. After the first depression of spirits,
consequent on this discovery, the three friends became
more than ever determined to outwit their enemy, and
resolved to act, in the meantime, with perfect submission
and prompt obedience as they had hitherto
done. Of course, each reserved in his own mind
the right of rebellion if Griffin should require them
to do any criminal act, and they hoped fervently that
they should not fall in with any vessel that might
prove a temptation to their new captain.
A few minutes after this, the order
was given to lower one of the boats, and a crew jumped
into her, among whom were Larry and Muggins.
Will Osten asked permission to go, and Griffin granted
his request with a grin that was the reverse of amiable.
“Musha! what sort o’ bodies
did the capting main?” said Larry, when they
had pulled beyond earshot of the ship.
“Ha, paddy,” replied one
of the men, “they’re pleasant fat bodies
amusin’ to catch and much thought of by aldermen; turtles
no less.”
“Ah! then, it’s jokin’ ye are.”
“Not I. I never joke.”
“Turthles is it green fat an’
all?”
“Ay, an’ shells too.”
“Sure it’s for the coppers they’re
wanted.”
“Just so, Larry, an’ if
you’ll ship your oar an jump out wi’ the
painter, we’ll haul the boat up an’ show
you how to catch ’em.”
As the sailor spoke, the boat’s
keel grated on the sand, and the Irishman sprang over
the side, followed by his comrades, who regarded the
expedition in the light of a “good spree.”
The party had to wait some time, however,
for the anticipated sport. It was near sunset
when they landed, but turtles are not always ready
to deliver themselves up, even though the honour of
being eaten by London aldermen sometimes awaits them!
It is usually night before the creatures come out
of the sea to enjoy a snooze on the beach. The
men did not remain idle, however. They dragged
the boat a considerable distance from the water, and
then turned it keel up, supporting one gunwale on
several forked sticks, so that a convenient shelter
was provided. This look-out house was still
further improved by having a soft carpet of leaves
and grass spread beneath it.
When these preparations had been made,
those men, who had never seen turtle-turning performed,
were instructed in their duties by an experienced
hand. The process being simple, the explanation
was short and easy.
“You see, lads,” said
the instructor, leaning against the boat and stuffing
down the glowing tobacco in his pipe with the point
of his (apparently) fireproof little finger “You
see, lads, this is ’ow it is. All that
you’ve got for to do is to keep parfitly still
till the turtles comes out o’ the sea, d’ye
see? then, as the Dook o’ Wellin’ton
said at Waterloo Up boys an’ at ’em!
W’en, ov coorse, each man fixes his eyes on
the turtle nearest him, runs out, ketches him by the
rim of his shell an’ turns him slap over on
his back d’ye understand?”
“Clear as ditch wather,” said Larry.
“Humph!” said Muggins.
“Well, then, boys,” continued
the old salt with the fireproof little finger, “ye’d
better go an’ count the sand or the stars (when
they comes out), for there won’t be nothin’
to do for an hour to come.”
Having delivered himself thus, he
refilled his pipe and lay down to enjoy it under the
boat, while the others followed his example, or sauntered
along the shore, or wandered among the bushes, until
the time for action should arrive.
Will Osten and his two friends availed
themselves of the opportunity to retire and hold an
earnest consultation as to their future prospects and
plans. As this was the first time they had enjoyed
a chance of conversing without the fear of being overheard,
they made the most of it, and numerous were the projects
which were proposed and rejected in eager earnest
tones at least on the part of Larry and
Will. As for Muggins, although always earnest,
he was never eager. Tremendous indeed must have
been the influence which could rouse him into a state
of visible excitement! During the discussion
the other two grew so warm that they forgot all about
time and turtles, and would certainly have prolonged
their talk for another hour had not one of the men
appeared, telling them to clap a stopper on their
potato-traps and return to the boat, as the sport
was going to begin.
The moon had risen and commenced her
course through a sky which was so clear that the planets
shone like resplendent jewels, and the distant stars
like diamond dust. Not a breath of air ruffled
the surface of the sea; nevertheless, its slumbering
energies were indicated by the waves on the outlying
coral reef, which, approaching one by one, slowly and
solemnly, fell with what can only be called a quiet
roar, hissed gently for a moment on the sand, and
then passed with a sigh into absolute silence.
“Don’t it seem as if the
sea wor sleepin’,” whispered one of the
men, while they all lay watching under the boat.
“Ay, an’ snorin’ too,” answered
another.
“Whisht!” exclaimed a
third, “if old Neptune hears ye, he’ll
wake up an’ change his tune.”
“Och, sure he’s woke up
already,” whispered Larry, pointing with great
excitement to a dark object which at that moment appeared
to emerge from the sea.
“Mum’s the word, boys,”
whispered the old salt who had charge of the party;
“the critters are comin’, an’ England
expec’s every man for to do his dooty, as old
Nelson said.”
In the course of a few minutes several
more dark objects emerged from the sea, and waddled
with a kind of sigh or low grunt slowly up the beach,
where they lay, evidently intending to have a nap!
With breathless but eager interest, the sailors lay
perfectly still, until fifteen of the dark objects
were on the sands, and sufficient time was allowed
them to fall into their first nap. Then the word
“Turn” was given, and, leaping up, each
man rushed swiftly but silently upon his prey!
The turtles were pounced upon so suddenly that, almost
before they were wide awake, they were caught; a bursting
cheer followed, and instantly ten splendid animals
were turned over on their backs, in which position,
being unable to turn again, they lay flapping their
flippers violently.
“That’s the way to go
it,” shouted one of the men who, after turning
his turtle, dashed after one of the other five which
were now hastening back to the sea, with laborious
but slow haste. His comrades followed suit instantly
with a wild cheer. Now, to the uninitiated, this
was the only moment of danger in that bloodless fight.
Being aware of his incapacity for
swift flight, the turtle, when in the act of running
away from danger, makes use of each flipper alternately
in dashing the sand to an incredible height behind
and around him, to the endangering of the pursuer’s
eyes, if he be not particularly careful. Sometimes
incautious men have their eyes so filled with sand
in this way that it almost blinds them for a time,
and severe inflammation is occasionally the result.
The old salt Peter Grant
by name, but better known among his shipmates as Old
Peter was well aware of this habit of the
turtle; but, having a spice of mischief in him, he
said nothing about it. The consequences were
severe on some of the men, particularly on Muggins.
Our sedate friend was the only one who failed to
turn a turtle at the first rush. He had tripped
over a stone at starting, and when he gathered himself
up and ran to the scene of action, the turtles were
in full retreat. Burning with indignation at
his bad fortune, he resolved to redeem his character;
and, with this end in view, made a desperate rush at
a particularly large turtle, which appeared almost
too fat for its own shell. It chanced that Larry
O’Hale, having already turned two, also set
his affections on this turtle, and made a rush at it;
seeing which Muggins slyly ran behind him, tripped
up his heels, and passed on.
“Have a care,” cried Will Osten, laughing,
“he’ll bite!”
“Bad luck to yez!” shouted
Larry, leaping up, and following hard on Muggins’
heels.
Just then the turtle began to use
his flippers in desperation. Sand flew in all
directions. The pursuers, nothing daunted, though
surprised, partially closed their eyes, bent down their
heads, and advanced. Larry opened his mouth
to shout a shower of sand filled it.
He opened his eyes in astonishment another
shower shut them both up, causing him to howl while
he coughed and spluttered. But Muggins pressed
on valorously.
One often reads, in the history of
war, of brave and reckless heroes who go through “storms
of shot and shell” almost scathless, while others
are falling like autumn leaves around them.
Something similar happened on the present occasion.
While Larry and several of the other men were left
behind, pitifully and tenderly picking the sand out
of their eyes, the bold Muggins covered
with sand from head to foot, but still not mortally
wounded advanced singlehanded against the
foe rushed at the turtle; tripped over
it; rose again; quailed for a second before the tremendous
fire; burst through it, and, finally, catching the
big creature by the rim, turned him on his back, and
uttered a roar rather than a cheer of triumph.
This was the last capture made that
night. Immediately after their victory the men
returned to the boat, where they kindled an immense
bonfire and prepared to spend the night, leaving the
turtles to kick helplessly on their backs till the
morning light should enable them to load the boat
and return with their prizes to the ship. Meanwhile
pipes were loaded and lit, and Doctor Will, as Old
Peter called him, looked after the wounded.