They hacked off its tail. It still floundered. They battered its head; plunged their knives deeply into its stomach until the deck planks were slippery with gore.
When the shark was dead the pirates cut off its fins, which they esteem a special delicacy. Then the captain, with an uncanny grin, showed his captives two objects that had been removed from the creature’s stomach. One was a boot, the other a silk sunshade, the handle and wires bent but still recognizable.
“No makee swim,” he observed ominously. “Plenty big fish allee time!”
Having taken what portions they required, the men heaved the rest of the carcass overboard. There were splashes that were not accounted for by the impact of the pieces upon the water. Other sharks were fighting fiercely in their cannibalistic feast!
Raxworthy had to admit that the doctor’s warning carried considerable weight.
Shortly afterwards he fell asleep, in spite of the sultry air and the foetid stench from the unwashed decks of the pirate junk.
At frequent intervals he awoke. It was difficult to sleep with his arms bound behind his back and nothing to support his head. Every time the junk heeled, his body swayed from hip and shoulder. Yet after a considerable time, fatigue sent him into a heavy slumber.
He was awakened by two of the pirates lifting him by his shoulders and feet.
It was now dawn. The sun had risen above the horizon, and the short twilight had given place to broad daylight.
Two others were carrying his fellow-captive aft. All the crew were in a state of commotion. Many of them had armed themselves with rifles. A machine-gun had been placed on the poop, and its crew were engaged in fitting the ammunition belt. Everyone seemed to be taking more than ordinary interest in something away on the starboard beam.