They were
about ready to quit the ship when their attention was attracted by a
terrific uproar among the natives alongside. Two or three canoes
had been upset and in the water half a dozen Kroomen were splashing
about like big, black fish.
"They'll drown," gasped Harry, as he watched the furious water
battle.
"Not them," sniffed Ben, "they are as much at home in the water as
they are ashore. Hello!" he exclaimed, suddenly pointing, "there's
your field-glasses again, Frank."
Sure enough, from the hands of a spluttering, half-drowned native,
the Krooman who spoke English had just wrested a dripping pair of
black morocco-covered field-glasses. He held them aloft in triumph,
treading water while he held the other's head under the sea as a
punishment for his thievery.
"I catch 'um, boss, I catch um," he kept shouting triumphantly. A
few seconds later, having half drowned the unfortunate thief, he
stood dripping like a figure cut out of black basalt before the boy.
As he received his recovered property Frank presented its rescuer
with the sovereign. If it had been a fortune the man could not have
been more overcome with gratitude. He sank on his knees.
"You come ashore my boat?" he begged. "Cost nothing to United
States boys."
The adventurers assented and, having seen their baggage properly
stowed on the lighter, they landed through the surf a short time
later and found themselves on the flat, yellow beach facing the
rather dreary looking row of Europeans' houses.
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