Captain Flint took another step or two, until he was at the very end of the plank, high over the water.
“Mercy,” he begged. “Mercy!”
“Walk,” shouted Nancy, “or … !”
Captain Flint stepped desperately forward, taking a long stride into thin air. Head over heels he fell. There was a colossal splash that even wetted the Swallows and Amazons on the deck of the houseboat. Captain Flint had disappeared, and the white sun helmet floated alone, tossing lightly on the ripples.
“Perhaps he can’t swim,” said Titty. “I never thought of it.”
But just then the big bald head of Captain Flint rose out of the water. He blew and spluttered mightily, tore the handkerchief from round his eyes, and sank again.
He came up once more, this time close to the sun helmet. He grabbed it and threw it, spinning, up on the deck of his ship.
“He can swim all right,” said Titty.
Suddenly he let loose a yell. “Sharks, sharks!” he shrieked, and, splashing as hard as he could, swam to the houseboat’s big mooring buoy. He climbed on to it, though it upset him once or twice. At last he was sitting astride on the top of it.
“This place is stiff with sharks,” he called. “One of them’s nibbling at my foot.”
He slipped sideways off the buoy, and swam to the side of the houseboat, splashing tremendously.