“Where?” asked William, still ignorant of the object to which his attention was thus forcibly directed.
“Don’t you see somethin’ queery stickin’ to the belly of the shark,—eh, lad?”
“As I live,” rejoined William, now perceiving “somethin’”, “there’s a small fish pushing his head against the shark,—not so small either,—only in comparison with the great shark himself. It’s about a foot long, I should think. But what is it doing in that odd position?”
“Sticking to the shark,—didn’t I tell ’ee, lad!”
“Sticking to the shark? You don’t mean that, Ben?”
“But I do—mean that very thing, boy. It’s as fast theer as a barnacle to a ship’s copper; an’ ’ll stay, I hope, till I get my claws upon it,—which won’t take very long from now. Pass a piece o’ cord this way. Quick.”
The boy stretched out his hand, and, getting hold of a piece of loose string, reached it to his companion. Just as the snare had been made for the shark with the piece of sennit, and with like rapidity, a noose was constructed on the string; and, having been lowered into the water, was passed around the body of the little fish which appeared adhering to the belly of the shark. Not only did it so appear, but it actually was, as was proved by the pull necessary to detach it, and which required all the strength that lay in the strong arms of the sailor.
He succeeded, however, in effecting his purpose; and with a pluck the parasite fish was separated from the skin to which it had been clinging, and, jerked upwards, was landed alive and kicking upon the raft.
Its kicking was not allowed to continue for long. Lest it might leap back into the water, and, sluggish swimmer as it was, escape out of reach, Ben, with the knife which he still held unclasped in his hand, pinned it to one of the planks, and in an instant terminated its existence.
“What sort of a fish is it?” asked William, as he looked upon the odd creature thus oddly obtained.