The very moment the shark was going to snap the unhappy fisherman
in two, he perceived his new adversary, and, turning over,
made straight towards him.
I can still see Captain Nemo's position. Holding himself well together,
he waited for the shark with admirable coolness; and, when it rushed at him,
threw himself on one side with wonderful quickness, avoiding the shock,
and burying his dagger deep into its side. But it was not all over.
A terrible combat ensued.
The shark had seemed to roar, if I might say so. The blood
rushed in torrents from its wound. The sea was dyed red,
and through the opaque liquid I could distinguish nothing more.
Nothing more until the moment when, like lightning, I saw
the undaunted Captain hanging on to one of the creature's fins,
struggling, as it were, hand to hand with the monster,
and dealing successive blows at his enemy, yet still unable to give
a decisive one.
The shark's struggles agitated the water with such fury that the rocking
threatened to upset me.
I wanted to go to the Captain's assistance, but, nailed to the spot
with horror, I could not stir.
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