As the unfortunate piscator rose this time with a jerk to the surface, the shark, having had momentary scope to sink, kept his own so resolutely, that _clip_, as a climax to the fun, the old cook himself was torn from his hold, and away _he_ went next, still clinging to the purser's leg, however, so that if his own had not been seized by Lennox and myself, he would have been overboard also. I was now like to die with laughter. I could scarcely keep my hold; as for speaking, it was out of the question, for the shark, and purser, and cook, like a string of Brobdingnag sausages, were floundering in the calm water, close under our counter, all linked together, not quite "ladies' chain," by the way, although, from the half-suffocated exclamations of two of the links, it might not inaptly have been called, "Chaine des _Dames_." Oh, fie! Benjie Brail. However, the matter was now getting serious. "Mr Peak, that boathook there--quick, bring the boathook."--Little Joe was no admirer of Weevil's, and, as he made believe to hook him by the waistband of the breeches, as he struggled in the water, he contrived to dig the sharp point of the instrument into his stern-frame more than once; and at length when he did catch him, it was by nothing that would hold, but by one of the pockets of his coat, which instantly _gave_, and out flew into the water his snuff-box, pocket-handkerchief, and a nondescript pouch of sealskin, rolled up. "Lord save us! dinna drown the spleuchan," exclaimed Lennox, as it dropped into the sea. "Hook him again," shouted Lanyard. "Oh, Lord! captain, haul me in, haul me in, or I must let go Mr Weevil's leg," sung out cookey.