Jem was about to lean over the side and wring the swab, when Don sprang astern and dragged him back.
“Look! Look!” he cried, pointing.
Jem followed the direction of the pointing finger, and shrank away with a shudder.
“What? A shark!” he exclaimed.
“Yes; it rose at me out of the water, and struck me in the chest, and I fell back, and so did he.”
“Ugh!” ejaculated Jem, as he seized the boathook, and rested it on the gunwale.
“Don’t touch, it,” whispered Don; “it may spring out of the water at you.”
“It had better not,” said Jem. “Hah!”
He drove the boathook down with all his might, striking the great fish just as it was slowly rising toward the surface, close to the boat; and so well aimed was the stroke, that there was a tremendous swirl in the water, the side near Jem resounded with a heavy blow from the fish’s tail, and the boathook seemed to be snatched out of the striker’s hand to go slowly sailing away oceanward.
“Look at that!” cried Jem. “Why, I must have driven it right into him. How are we to get it back?”