You can't do anything with that spike.
It needs three or four men with levers.

Run! The tide's up to my waist, now! There isn't room between these rocks to crawl out." For one moment Timoteo stood still and looked at Herbert.

Then the Spanish boy turned and flew over the rocks.

Leaping from one slippery foothold to another, he rushed toward the cliffs, up the cliff road, on to the clusters of Chinese huts that made a little fishing-village by itself on the edge of the bay.

Whatever Spanish or English vocabulary Timoteo used, he aroused two or three Chinamen to forsake their frames of drying fish and cease tossing over the other small fish that lay drying on the ground.
Seizing the long, heavy iron rods with which the Chinese were wont to go abalone-hunting, the three Celestials followed in Timoteo's wake toward the place where Herbert anxiously awaited rescue.