The shark slaughterer

It was midday.

The ferry docked and the tourists sat, eating packed lunches.

Jack was sweating in the hot sun. Mr. Watson grinned. 

“Enjoying the hot sun, Jack?” he asked.

“Not really,” replied Jack. “I wish Ernie was in my place.”

After a while the break was over and the ferry was on its fishing tour again.

As Jack was in his seat he asked his father: “Do you think I made the tour guide angry?” 

Before his father could answer, the ferry moved, and they were off again.

Later, the guide called. 

“Around these parts lived a famous character called Mr. Wetherall. He set off fishing one day with his friends. After a few days no one had heard of them, and so it became the talk of the town.

One day, around here, a small boat rocked up. On it was Mr. Wetherall, though his clothes were ragged and his flesh was bloodied.

He told his story.

He had peacefully started fishing with his friends and he was facing north going into the lake when his line caught a shark. It knocked him-” 

the tour guide flailed, acting out- 

“and his friends backwards. It jerked him left. His friends had gone overboard and he was the only one left. He fought at night, then looking up to see the sunrise, then he had fought off the shark and he drifted off course for days before seeing land. 

For some reason, after a few hours, a couple of men went and got Mr. Wetherall and no one had seen him again. No one knows why he was captured.” His eyes were straying to Jack. 

Jack cleared his throat and spoke. 

“He was captured because-”

Of what?