“Mebbe it is, mebbe it isn’t,” said the captain surlily. “All I know is that I’ve brought lots back to life that way, and rolling ’em on barrels.”
I shuddered and shivered, and the men laughed at my drenched aspect, a breach of good manners that the captain immediately resented.
“There, make fast that shark to the ring-bolt, and lay hold of your oars again. Pull away, there’s a hurricane coming afore long.”
As he spoke he looked long at a dull yellow haze that seemed to be creeping towards the sun.
“Had we not better let the fish go?” said the doctor anxiously.
“No, I want the oil,” said the captain. “We’ve had trouble enough to get him, and I don’t mean to throw him away. Now, my lads, pull.”
The men tugged steadily at their oars, but the dead fish hung behind like a log, and our progress was very slow. Every now and then it gave a slight quiver, but that soon ceased, and it hung quite passively from the cord.
I was leaning over the stem, feeling rather dizzy and headachy when, all at once, the captain shouted to me to “cut shark adrift; we’re making too little way. That schooner’s too far-off for my liking.” I drew my knife, and after hauling the fish as closely as I could to the side I divided the thin line, and as I did so the boat seemed to dart away from its burden.
It was none too soon, for the yellow haze seemed to be increasing rapidly, and the wind, which at one minute was oppressively calm, came the next in ominous hot puffs.
“Why, the schooner’s sailing away from us,” cried the captain suddenly. “Hang me if I don’t believe that scoundrel of a Malay has got to the helm, and is taking her right away out of spite.”