“Got her!” cried Smith, suddenly, as he made a quick dip down and seized one of the turtle’s flippers with both hands. “Hi! one on yer. Help!”
Wriggs made a snatch at and caught the man’s leg, as there was a sudden tug and jerk, a tremendous splash, and then, as the boat rocked, Smith’s leg was dragged from its holding and he disappeared beneath the surface.
“Gone!” cried Wriggs, “and I did git tight hold on him, too.”
“Pull!” shouted the mate, and as the oars dipped sharply the boat followed a little wave of water, which ran along in front, and out of which Smith’s head suddenly appeared, and directly after his bands grasped the gunwale of the boat.
“Where’s the turtle?” cried Oliver, laughing.
“I did get a hold on her, sir,” panted Smith; “but she went off like a steamer, and dragged me underneath. Ah! there she goes,” he continued, as he looked toward where the little wave showed that the turtle was swimming rapidly through the troubled water.
“Here, quick, in with you!” cried Oliver, excitedly, as Smith made a jump and climbed—or rather tumbled in—over the side, and none too soon, for the back fin of a shark suddenly appeared a few yards away, and as the man slowly subsided into the boat there was a gleam of creamy white in the water, and a dull thud up against the bows.
“The brute!” cried the mate, as the shark glided out of sight, and then displayed its back fin again above water. “A warning that against bathing.”
“Yes, and a very narrow escape!” cried Panton.
“Sarves me right, sir,” said Smith, standing up in the bows to wring himself as much as he could without stripping. “Comes o’ trying to make turtle soup of t’other thing.”