He was nearly spent. In a paroxysm of despair he resolved to give way,
and with one mad effort seek to bury the axe in the monster's brain.
But ere he could execute this fatal project--for the cuttle would have
instantly swept him into the trailing weeds--five revolver shots rang
out in quick succession. Iris had reached the nearest rock.

The third bullet gave the octopus cause to reflect. It squirted forth a
torrent of dark-colored fluid. Instantly the water became black,
opaque. The tentacle flourishing in air thrashed the surface with
impotent fury; that around Jenks's waist grew taut and rigid. The axe
flashed with the inspiration of hope. Another arm was severed; the huge
dismembered coil slackened and fell away.

Yet was he anchored immovably. He turned to look at Iris. She never
forgot the fleeting expression of his face. So might Lazarus have
looked from the tomb.

"The rope!" she screamed, dropping the revolver and seizing the loose
ends lying at her feet.

She drew them tight and leaned back, pulling with all her strength. The
sailor flung the axe to the rocks and grasped the two ropes. He raised
himself and plunged wildly. He was free. With two convulsive strides he
was at the girl's side.

He stumbled to a boulder and dropped in complete collapse. After a time
he felt Iris's hand placed timidly on his shoulder. He raised his head
and saw her eyes shining.