All hands ran to the line. Casey made a bowline round the line, ready to slip over the shark’s head as soon as it should appear above water. Could it once be got round its body, its capture would be certain.
Peter, in the mean time, got another ready to slip over its tail. The mate and some of the Malays came to the assistance of the midshipmen. Keeping a steady pull on the line, they soon brought the head of the big shark to the surface. It had bolted the hook, and was biting away at the chain secured to the shank.
“He’ll be through it if we don’t make haste!” cried Tom. “Quick, quick, Casey! slip the bowline round him!”
The seaman managed dexterously to do this, and the rest of the crew, hauling away, at length got its body out of the water. It was a huge creature, ten feet long. It struggled desperately, beating the water into foam alongside, so that it was some time before Peter could get a rope round its tail. That done it was a close prisoner.
“Keep all the lines taut, or he’ll be wriggling through them and carry off the hook and line!” cried Tom. At last it was got up flush with the bulwarks, when down it came, knocking over poor Billy and two of the native crew. Had not Tom and Desmond rushed forward and hauled Billy out of the way, he would have been beaten into a mummy by the furious lashing of the creature’s tail. For several moments it had possession of the deck, until at length Casey and Peter, having got hold of an axe apiece, rushed up and each dealt him a blow across the tail, springing back the next instant out of its way. Again and again they had to repeat their blows. It was some time before the struggles of the monster ceased.
“I shouldn’t like to be in the way of that fellow’s jaws,” exclaimed Billy, as he examined the shark’s head.
Just then the creature gave a heave, and Billy sprang back, knocking over Peter, who, in his turn, tumbling against the skipper, brought him sprawling to the deck. Captain Stubbins, getting up, furiously attacked poor Peter, as if he had tumbled against him intentionally, and, seizing a rope, began to belabour him severely. This excited Tom’s and Desmond’s indignation.
“You’ve no business to treat the poor fellow in that way,” exclaimed Tom; “and I’ll not allow it!”
“Who are you?” said the skipper. “This is mutiny, and I’ll clap you and your companions in irons as soon as look at you.”
“We are Queen’s officers, and cannot allow a man under our charge to be treated as you have this poor fellow,” answered Tom, in a determined tone.