Under his very nose, just at the moment when Jean-Marie Le Floch was about to throw his harpoon, the white spot suddenly disappeared; the sea had swallowed the dead dolphin in an instant.
At that moment of bitter disappointment I foresaw the sad dénouement of the venture: our shameful return empty-handed to the little harbour amid the sneers of the old fishermen, who would inquire eagerly:—
"What about the porpoises, gentlemen? How many dolphins are you bringing in?"
Assuredly there must be a special Providence which looks after hunters—especially amateur ones. Just as I was about to sit down, in a fit of despair, a flash caught my eye. Less than sixty yards from the bow, where I was standing, and at about half that distance from the dinghy, a school of dolphins had suddenly appeared!
With a quick motion I seized my gun, and as I raised it to my shoulder my friend's admonitions were clean forgotten.
Bang! bang! bang! A positive frenzy of slaughter appeared to have taken hold of me, and I kept on shooting just as long as the magazine of my rifle held out. Meanwhile the two spectators in the dinghy were frantic with joy. Never in my life have I heard so thick a rain of flattering words as they showered upon me then.
THE CABIN-BOY WITH THE LAST DOLPHIN SHOT BY THE AUTHOR.
From a Photograph.
It is quite likely that several of my victims sank while breathing their last, for I really cannot believe that a single one of my dozen shots missed its mark. Be this as it may, however, I had undoubtedly broken the record in dolphin-hunting, for, as a matter of fact, Desmond and the boy succeeded in harpooning and bringing back half-a-dozen of the creatures.