It was an old rusty affair, with a stiff pole about eight feet long, and was used by the captain for killing those curious creatures which no doubt gave rise to the idea of there being such things as tritons or mermen—I mean the manatees or dugongs that in those days used to swarm in the warmer waters of the Eastern Australian coast.
“Keep it up, my lads; pull!” said the captain, who had an oar over the stern to steer. “We must get back soon.”
I thought this was because the shark, which had ceased to swim round and round, was now laboriously making its way with the current at the rate of pretty well two miles an hour; but as the captain spoke I could see that he was scanning the horizon, and I heard the doctor ask if anything was wrong.
“Looks dirty,” he growled; and I remember wondering half-laughingly whether a good shower would not wash it clean, when the skipper went on: “Gets one o’ them storms now and then ’bout here. Now, my lads; with a will!”
The water surged and rattled beneath my feet, and I was forgetting my annoyance and beginning to enjoy the excitement of my ride; and all the more that the shark had once more stopped in its steady flight, and was showing its white under parts some fifty yards away.
“Ready, my lad!” cried the captain. “I’ll steer you close in. Give it him deep, and draw back sharp.”
I nodded, and held the lance ready poised as we drew nearer and nearer, and I was ready with set teeth and every nerve tingling to deliver the thrust, when whish! splash! the brute gave its tail a tremendous lash, and darted away, swimming along with its back fin ploughing the water, and apparently as strong as ever.
“Only his flurry, my lad. Pull away, boys; we’ll soon have him now.”
The men rowed hard, and the boat danced over the swell, rising up one slope, gliding down another, or so it seemed to me.
“He’ll turn up the white directly,” cried the captain. “Take it coolly and you’ll have him. I’ll put you close alongside, and don’t you miss.”