“Very well,” said the mate; and as the shark was drawn close up, lashing about a good deal, he cried, “Now!”
The doctor thrust, and his stroke was this time so true that the creature gave a few sharp struggles and turned up dead.
“There, Jack,” cried the doctor, “what do you say to that?”
Two more were killed in the course of the next hour, and then one of the men drew the mate’s attention to different objects out toward the opening in the reef, and in turn the mate pointed them out to the doctor and Jack.
“I can count at least ten,” he said.
“What! sharks?”
“Well, their back fins, and they’re all heading up this way. Why, they must swarm on the outside of the reef. We might go on killing them all day.”
“We didn’t see any hardly before,” said Jack.
“Seems as if the more we kill, the more they come to the funeral,” cried the doctor.
“Oh, the reason is plain enough,” said the mate; “they scent the blood, which is carried out by the tide, and the more we kill, the more will come.”