The leader writhed alike at the ignominy of defeat and at the irony of his followers. Drawing a knife, as he gained his feet, he flew at Mendoza, despite warning cries even from the ranks of his own men.
The weapon drove straight out with murderous intent. A hush fell over both officers and mutineers.
It seemed an age before the blow came.
It struck on empty air, for the youth, as before, had deftly stood aside. As the other was driven past by his own momentum the boy seized him by the waist and neckband, raised him from the deck, and whirling him over his head, flung him headlong from the taffrail to the sea below.
A man-eating shark which had been following the ship swam toward its prospective prey. Its back fins swirled through the water, as it came dashing up. The poor wretch shrieked in agony. He tried to climb the slippery wood of the ship's side. Time after time he struck deep into the planks the knife which he still held, in vain endeavor to raise himself out of the water by this leverage.
"Help! help, friends, in the Virgin's name!" he entreated.
The shark had nearly reached him and was already turning on its side in preparation for its stroke of death.
Helplessness seemed to possess all.
A figure fell from the taffrail to the side of the desperate man. It was none other than Lieutenant Mendoza. Balancing himself lightly in the water, he wrenched the knife from his enemy's hand, and, as the shark came up, he buried it to the handle in the monster's brain. Its jaws snapped sullenly not the inches of a span away from the head of the screaming bully. Floundering helplessly the creature rolled away. Other man-eating sharks came to the scene. Some of them seized on their helpless brother and tore at his flesh while he still lived. Others swam straight for the human beings at the side of the ship.
By this time the spectators had recovered power of action. A boat was quickly lowered. Muskets and pistols in numbers were fired at the onrushing school of sharks.