“But what bad luck!” cried Brace. “Never mind. Stick on another hook, Lynton. I say, that must have been an alligator. There couldn’t be fish that size out here.”
“Pulled like a sea-cow,” said Briscoe.
“Cow! Went through the water like a steam launch,” said Lynton.
“Well, whatever it was, it has gone now, and we must hope for better luck next time,” said Brace.
They rested for a few minutes in silence; then Lynton turned to Brace and said:
“Just put your hand in the locker over there, Mr Brace, and get out the largest spoon you can find. I’m afraid it won’t be big enough, and I expect this beggar has got the swivels. I say, though, this is something like fishing. When we get back I’ll rig up some tackle with the lead-line. Let the boat go again.”
The sail was allowed to fill, the boat careened over and began to glide away again before the wind, when suddenly the line tightened once more, and the mate yelled to the steersman and the sailor holding the sheet.
“Ease her!” he roared; “the beggar only turned and came towards the boat. I’ve got him still, and he’s as lively as ever.”
There was silence then, and for the next few minutes the battle went on, the fish or reptile towing the boat this way and that way in some of its fierce rushes.
In spite of the hard work Lynton manfully refused to surrender the line, but let it run or hauled it in according to the necessities of the moment, till there was a cheer, started by Brace, for the captive’s strength was plainly failing, and at the end of another five minutes it ceased its struggles, and yielded sullenly to the steady drag.