The boat’s way was checked, and every eye was now fixed upon the second mate as he prepared and threw out another artificial bait. At the same moment the sail was allowed to fill, and the boat glided on once more.
“They don’t get this line,” said Lynton confidently, “for I’ll hold it all the time. Let her go, Dan: take a pull on that sheet.”
The boat answered to the drag as if she had been a spirited horse resenting a touch at the curb rein, and away they went, with the water surging up towards the gunwale as she careened over.
They had sailed on for a few minutes when a loud cry came from the mate.
“Ahoy there! Oh, murder!” he yelled. “Throw her up in the wind, or I shall have my arms dragged out of their sockets.”
For just when least expected there was a tremendous jerk as some fish or reptile snatched at the flying bait, and Lynton was scarcely able to keep his hold of the line.
“Let him run,” cried Brace. “Give him plenty of line.”
For the moment the mate was too much taken by surprise to act, but, recovering himself while one of the men snatched up and loosened more line from the winder, he let out yard after yard of the stout cord, and, the boat’s way being checked, it became possible to do something in the way of playing the seizer of the bait.
“It pulls like a whale,” panted the mate, as he endeavoured to control the line.
“Never mind,” said Briscoe; “give him time, and you’ll tire him out.”