In our disturbed state we were absolutely paralysed by his
incredible action. It seemed impossible to drive him away. Even Archie
at last lost his composure. "If ye don't clear oot I'll drive the
crowbar thro' your head," he shouted in a determined voice. He meant
what he said, and his earnestness seemed to make an impression on Jimmy.
He disappeared suddenly, and we set to prising and tearing at the planks
with the eagerness of men trying to get at a mortal enemy, and spurred
by the desire to tear him limb from limb. The wood split, cracked, gave
way. Belfast plunged in head and shoulders and groped viciously. "I've
got 'im! Got 'im," he shouted. "Oh! There!... He's gone; I've got
'im!... Pull at my legs!... Pull!" Wamibo hooted unceasingly. The
boatswain shouted directions:--"Catch hold of his hair, Belfast; pull
straight up, you two!... Pull fair!" We pulled fair. We pulled Belfast
out with a jerk, and dropped him with disgust. In a sitting posture,
purple-faced, he sobbed despairingly:--"How can I hold on to 'is
blooming short wool?" Suddenly Jimmy's head and shoulders appeared. He
stuck halfway, and with rolling eyes foamed at our feet.
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