Close to the islet what I took to be the tip of a shark's fin appeared.
It seemed to be cutting quick circles, rising and dipping as does the
dorsal fin when a shark is closely following, or actually bolting its
prey. As the boat approached, the insignia of a voracious shark changed
to the spent Ulysses, making forlorn and ineffectual efforts to rise.
Once again, however, the fearsome presence of man inspired a virile
impulse. Ulysses rose, flapping wildly and unsteadily but with gallant
purpose. The islet was barely twenty yards away. Would the brave and
lovely emblem of gaiety reach it and rest? It rose higher and higher in
lurching spirals, and having gained the necessary elevation, swooped
superbly for the sanctuary of the tree-lined beach.

Rest and safety at last! But at that moment ironic Fate--having twice
averted drowning, twice waved off the hand of man--flashed out in the
guise of a twittering wood swallow. In the last stage of exhaustion no
evading swerve was possible.

Two blue wings on the snow-white coral marked where the wanderings of
Ulysses had ended, while at the corner of the little cove a dozen
heedless Cassandras rioted amongst the rays of the umbrella-tree in curves
and swoops of giddy flight.




CHAPTER XI



FIGHT TO A FINISH