“Yes,” said the captain, “that’s the fin of a shark, ten-feet long I should say.”
“And I a dozen,” said the mate.
“Like to see him a little closer?” said the captain.
“Yes,” cried Mark eagerly; and then he wished he had said “No,” for the oars were, after a pull or two, laid inboard, while the captain took hold of the sharply-pointed hitcher, and held it balanced in his hand.
The impetus given to the boat was sufficient to drive it onward, so that it was evident that the back fin of the shark and the bows of the gig would arrive at the same point together, and Mark rose eagerly to see what would follow, when the captain made him a sign.
Mark sat down, and suddenly saw the shark’s fin stop some three or four yards from the boat, change its position, and come end on towards where he was seated; and his eyes were fixed so firmly on this that he quite started, as he saw before it, and very close to where he sat, a dark-looking body, with a rounded snout and two pig-like eyes.
“Don’t know what to make on us, Mr Mark, sir,” said Billy Widgeon, grinning. “See his old shovel nose?”
“Yes,” said Mark, “but I can’t see his mouth. I thought they had great gaping mouths, full of sharp teeth.”
“He keeps his rat-trap down underneath him, sir, so as not to frighten the fishes.”
“Hand me that gun, Mark,” said the mate.