“No, sir; they’re cruel fish, sharks, but a Greenland shark’s about the stupidest, most cowardly fish there is. He could break away easily enough, but when he’s hooked and feels the line tight up he comes as quietly as possible, just as if he came to the top to ask what we wanted by hooking him like that.”
“And do you tell him?” said the doctor, laughing.
The Norseman shook his head.
“No, sir, we don’t play with him. As soon as the bit of chain appears that’s fastened to the bottom of the line on account of the shark’s teeth—because, if it wasn’t for that, he’d bite through the thin line—some of us stand ready with a big hook at the end of a pole like a spar—a good sharp hook with a rope that runs through a block up aloft rigged to the spar; then, as the shark comes to the top—click!—the big hook’s into him, the rope’s tightened, he’s hoisted on board, and before he has time to struggle much he’s whipped up on to the deck, where two of us are ready for him.”
“And what do they do?” cried Steve,—“kill the shark?”
“Yes, sir, and pretty quickly; for when the sharks are biting there’s no time to spare. One of us gives him a crack on the head with a handspike, and the other cuts open his side with a big knife and drags out his great liver; then we use the pipe.”
“Yes, go on,” said Steve.
“And blow the dead shark full of wind and throw it overboard.”
“To keep it from sinking?”
“Yes, sir, that’s quite right; for if we didn’t he’d sink, and all the other sharks would begin feeding on him and wouldn’t bite any more at our bait. Then we get the hook ready, and down it goes again, while the sea-birds get a good feast of shark instead of the fish.”