“But how?”
“You’ve plenty of line on the winch, sir; let him have some loose to play about and tire himself.”
“Oh yes, I see; but it’s jerking dreadfully.” The man picked up the big wooden winch upon which the line was wound and held it fast.
“Now, sir, hold on tight with your left hand, while you untwist the line from your right. That’s the way. Now catch hold tight and let the wheel run slowly. There’s a hundred yards more here. It will let him tire himself. That’s it, he won’t go very far; then you can wind in again—giving and taking till he leaves off fighting.”
“Hallo! here, Mr Meadows,” cried the mate; “this is hardly fair. Why you’re the best fisherman after all. That’s it, let him go every time he makes a dart like this: now he’s slacking again. Wind up, sir, wind up.”
Jack obeyed very clumsily, for it wanted practice to hold the big wooden winch steady with one hand while he wound with the other, and before he had recovered ten yards the fish made a fresh dart, not astern, but away nearly at right angles with the course of the ship, tiring itself by having to drag the now curved line through the water.
“Now again,” cried the mate; “wind—wind.”
Jack’s inclination said, “Give the line over to the man who understands it,” but pride said “No”; and he wound away till the wheel was nearly jerked from his hands by a fresh dart made by the captive.
And so it went on for some minutes, till the fish began to show symptoms of becoming exhausted; so did Jack, upon whose face the perspiration was standing in beads.
“Here, Lenny,” cried the mate, “go and get the big gaff-hook. We shall have this fellow.”