“Here, send out one of the sailors,” said the doctor. “I’ll go too.”
One of the men returned to the deck, looking rather glum, and the doctor took his place, while I sympathised with that sailor and wished that the doctor had not spoken, for I felt sure that he had come down into the boat to take care of me, and it made me feel young and childish.
But I did not show my annoyance, I am glad to say; and a minute later the men gave way, and the boat glided slowly towards where the shark had drifted—I all the while standing up in the bows, lance in hand, full of the desire to make use of it, and feeling a cruel, half savage sensation that it would be exceedingly pleasant to drive that lance right home.
“Now my water Saint George the Second,” cried the doctor banteringly; “mind you slay the sea-dragon.”
“Mind what you’re after, youngster,” said the captain. “Give it him close below the gills; a good dig and then draw back sharp.”
“All right!” I cried back to the captain, for I was offended by the doctor’s chaff; it made me feel small before the men. Then, recalling what I had read that a harpooner would do under such circumstances, I shouted: “Give way, boys!”
I’d have given something to have been back on board the schooner just then, for a roar of laughter greeted my command, and I felt that I was very young, and had made myself rather ridiculous, while to add to my discomfiture the men obeyed my order with such energy that the boat gave a jerk, and I was nearly sent back in a sitting position on the foremost man.
There was another laugh at this, and the doctor said drily:
“No, no, my lad; the lance is for the shark, not for us.”
I recovered my balance without a word, and planting my feet firmly wide apart, remained silent and looking very red, while I held my weapon ready.