"'It's because ye'r' towin' a sword-fish under yer keelson,' says I. 'He's pierced the craft in the night, an' this 'ere yaller mast ain't nothin' short of his cussed nose.'
"Well, they were all taken aback at this, yer see, an' now began to crowd up an' examine the thing. It was perfectly round, about two feet through, an' the eend of it was as taperin' an' sharp as a needle. Sure as yer live, it was all true. Well, it was a question what to do with the thing. Most on 'em was in favor of goin' down inter the hold, and cuttin' off the snout, in order to let the thing float; for, as it was, if we should come anywhar whar the water was less'n fifteen fathoms, we should be stranded by the cussed critter afoul of us.
"'Not at all,' says I. 'We don't git a good tough mast for nothin' every day in the week, and I'm in favor of cuttin' clear of the fish on the outside.'
"They were all kinder astonished at this 'ere, but I didn't give 'em breathin'-time, but says again:
"'Now which one on yer'll volunteer to dive under the keel with a handsaw and cut loose from the varmint on the outside?'
"Would yer believe it, not one on 'em wanted to go. So I says:
"'If ye'r' all so pesky skeered, why, I'll go myself. Carpenter, bring me yer handsaw, an' jist sharpen her up while I'm disrobin' my graceful form.'
"So the carpenter brings his handsaw, with a piece of bacon-fat to grease her with, and, when I gits ondressed, overboard I goes with the saw between my teeth. I dove right under the keel in a jiffy, and thar, sure enough, lays the sword-fish, with his nose hard up ag'in' the timbers, and his body danglin' down through the brine about seventy-five feet.
"'What are you goin' ter do?' says he.
"Says who?" broke in Tony.