“I don’t know about eating him, Roy,” said Syd; “but as I’m captain I pass sentence of death on the brute.” Then to the men—“How can you tackle the wretch?”
“Oh, we’ll soon tackle him, sir,” said Rogers; “eh, messmets?”
There was a growl of assent at this, and the men looked at their young leader full of expectancy.
“Well,” he said, “be careful. What do you mean to do?”
“Seems to me, sir,” said the man, “as the best thing to do would be to fish for him.”
“No, no,” cried Roylance; “fetch a line with a running knot, and see if you can’t get it round him, and have him out.”
Rogers gave his leg a slap.
“That’s it, sir. Pity you and me can’t be swung over him like we was off the rocks. Easily run it across his nose then.”
Roylance could not help a shudder, and he glanced at Syd to see if he was observed.
“I get dreaming about that thing sometimes,” he said. “I wonder whether this is the one.”