close as though for warmth, they
appeared to surrender themselves to the inevitable and to accept the
worst; when, rising up out of the near sea, the first octopus showed
himself, and a great tentacle, sliding over the rock, drew one of the
mutineers screaming to the depths. Thereafter, in an instant, the whole
terror was upon them. Leaping up together, they uttered piercing cries,
turned upon each other in their agony, hurled themselves into the sea,
to reach the boats again. God! how few of them touched the befriending
prows! The whole water about the reef was now alive with the devilish
creatures; a hundred arms, crushing, sucking, swept the unsheltered
rocks and drew the victims down. So near were they, some of them, that
I could see their staring eyes and distorted limbs as, in the fishes'
embracing grip, they were drawn under to the gaping mouths or pressed
close to that jellied mass which must devour them. The sea itself
heaved and splashed as though to be the moving witness of that horrible
attack; foam rushed up to our feet; a blinding spray was in the air;
eyes protruded even in the green water; great shapes wormed and
twisted, rending one another, covering the whole reef with their filthy
slime, sending blinding fountains to the highest pinnacles, or sinking
down when their prey was taken to the depths where no eye could follow
them. What sounds of pain, what resounding screams, rent the air in
those fearful minutes! I draw the veil upon it. For all the gold that
the sea washes to-day in Czerny's house, I could not look upon such a
picture again. For death can be a gentle thing; but there is a death no
man may speak of.

* * *

At twelve o'clock the clouds broke and the rain began to fall upon a
rising sea. The vapours still lay thick upon Ken's Island, but the wind
was driving them, and they rolled away in misty clouds westward to the
dark horizon.

I went below to little Ruth, and in broken words I told her all my
story.

"Little Ruth, the night is passed, the day is breaking! Ah, little
Ruth!"

She fell into my arms, sobbing. The sleep-time was past, indeed; the
hour of our deliverance at hand.

CHAPTER XXV

IN WHICH THE SUN-TIME COMES AGAIN

I have told you the story of Ken's Island, but there are some things
you will need to know, and of these I will now make mention. Let me
speak of them in order as they befell.

And first I should record that we found the body of Edmond Czerny, cold
an