In the course of my squirming, however, I
rolled over upon a heap of clam-shells--the remains, evidently, of
some yachting party's clam-bake. This gave me an idea. My hands
were tied behind my back; and, clutching a shell in them, I rolled
over and over, up the beach, till I came to the rocks I knew to be
there.
Rolling around and searching, I finally discovered a narrow
crevice, into which I shoved the shell. The edge of it was sharp,
and across the sharp edge I proceeded to saw the rope that bound my
wrists. The edge of the shell was also brittle, and I broke it by
bearing too heavily upon it. Then I rolled back to the heap and
returned with as many shells as I could carry in both hands. I
broke many shells, cut my hands a number of times, and got cramps
in my legs from my strained position and my exertions.
While I was suffering from the cramps, and resting, I heard a
familiar halloo drift across the water. It was Charley, searching
for me. The gag in my mouth prevented me from replying, and I
could only lie there, helplessly fuming, while he rowed past the
island and his voice slowly lost itself in the distance.
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