CRUISING DAYS
There was a sudden rush to see the tiger of the deep, of which Cora
had had a glimpse. Walter, who was at the wheel, cried to Joe to
steer while he, too, ran to the rail.
"I don't see him," said Bess, as she peered down into the deep, blue
water.
"You'll see him in a minute," was Cora's opinion. "He had just taken
the hook, I think, and he didn't like it. He'll come into view
pretty soon."
Hardly had she spoken, than, while the others were looking at the
line, which was now unreeling from a spool on which it was wound, the
shark came suddenly to the surface, its big triangular fin appearing
first.
"There it is!" cried Cora. "See it, Bess!"
"Oh, the monster! I don't want to look at the horrible thing!"
screamed Bess, as she covered her eyes with her hands.
The shark swam close to the motor boat, and then with a threshing of
the water, and by wild leaps and bounds, sought to free himself from
the sharp hook. But it had gone in too deep.
"No, you don't, old chap," cried Jack, as he took hold of the slack
of the line.
He regretted it the next instant, for the shark darted away with a
speed that made the tough string cut deep into Jack's palm.
"Oh!" he murmured, as he sprang back from the rail.
"Better be careful!" warned Joe. "They're mighty strong."
"Oh, cut him loose!" urged Cora. "Do, Walter! We don't want him
aboard here."
"He'd be quite a curiosity," observed Jack's chum, as he helped
Cora's brother tie a rag around his cut and bleeding hand. "We could
sell the fins to the Chinese for soup, and you might have a fan made
from the tail."
"No, thank you! It's too horrible!" and Cora could not repress a
shudder as the big fish, once more, made a leap partly out of the
water, showing its immense size.
"Whew!" whistled Walter, for this was the first good view he had had
of the sea-tiger. "We never can get him aboard, Jack. Better do as
Cora says, and let him go."
"Oh, I didn't intend to have him as a pet," was the rueful answer of
Jack. "I just wanted to see if I could catch one. I'm satisfied to
let him go," and he looked down at his bandaged hand.
"Too bad to lose all that good line," mused Walter, "but we probably
won't want to do any more shark-fishing, so I'll cut it."
"I've seen enough of sharks," murmured Belle, who, with Inez, had
taken one glance, and then retreated to the cabin.
"These aren't regular man-eating sharks," affirmed Jack, after
Walter, with a blow from a heavy knife, had severed the line, letting
the shark swim away with the hook.
"Ah, but zey are, Senor!" exclaimed the Spanish girl. "You should
hear the stories the natives tell of them."
"But I saw a bigger one not far from the harbor," insisted Jack, "and
it seemed almost tame."
"They are, near harbors," explained Cora. "One of the ladies at the
hotel explained about that. The harbor sharks live on what they get
near shore, stuff thrown overboard from boats, and they grow very
large and lazy. But, farther out to sea, they don't get so much to
eat, and they'll take a hook and bait almost as soon as it's thrown
into the water. The men sometimes go shark-fishing for sport."
"It might be sport, under the right circumstances," said Jack, with a
rueful laugh. "Next time I'll know better, than to, handle a shark
line without gloves."
"So shall I," agreed Cora, as she looked at her skinned knuckles.
They had made a good catch of food fishes and the boys now proceeded
to get these ready for their first meal aboard, the girls agreeing to
cook them, and to set the table.
The meal was rather a merry one, in spite of the grief that hung over
the party--a grief occasioned by the fear of what might have befallen
Mrs. Kimball, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Robinson.
And yet, with all their sorrow, there was that never-failing ray of
hope. Without it, the days would have been dismal indeed.
Joe ran the boat while the others were eating, and presently he
called into the dining compartment.
"Cape San Juan!" was his announcement.
"Have we sighted it?" asked Jack, referring to the north easternmost
point of Porto Rico.
"Just ahead of us," replied Joe, who was a skillful navigator of the
West Indian waters. "You said you were going to change the course
there."
"Oh, yes. We'll round the cape and go south, I think," went on Jack.
"A little more of that red snapper, Cora. Whoever cooked it knew how
to do it," and he looked at Ben, while the others laughed.
"What's the joke?" Jack demanded, as he ate on, seemingly
unperturbed, though his cut hand made it rather awkward to handle his
knife and fork.
"Honor to whom honor is due," quoted Cora.
"It was Inez who cooked the fish. It's in Spanish style."
"Good!" exclaimed Jack, as he flashed another look at Bess, with whom
he seemed to have some understanding. "Whatever style it is, I'm for
it. I don't care whether it has gores down the side, and plaits up
the middle, with frills around the ruffles, or whatever you call
them--it's good."
The others laughed, while Inez looked very much puzzled at Jack's
juggling of dressmaking terms.
"Is it zat I have put too much paprika on ze fith?" asked the Spanish
girl.
"No, Jack is just trying to be funny," explained Cora. "He thinks
it's great--don't you, Jack?"
"What, to be funny?"
"No, to eat the fish," said Walter.
There was more laughter. Little enough cause for it, perhaps, and
yet there seemed to come a sudden relaxation of the strain under
which they had all been laboring the last few days, and even a slight
excuse for merriment was welcomed.
So the meal went on, and a good one it was. The motor girls, from
having gone on many outings, and from having done much camping, were
able to cook to satisfy even the sea-ravenous appetites of two young
men, although Jack was not exactly "up to the mark."
Then, too, the novelty of shifting for themselves, after being used
to the rather indolent luxury of a tropical hotel, made a welcome
change to them. Joe had his meal after the others had finished, as
it was necessary for some one to stay at the wheel, for the Tartar
was slipping along through the blue water at a good rate of speed.
Cape San Juan was rounded, and then the prow of the powerful motor
boat was turned south, to navigate the often perilous passage between
Porto Rico and Vieques.
"Do you think we'll find any news at St. Croix?" asked Cora, of Jack,
in a low voice, when, after the meal, they found themselves for the
moment by themselves.
"Hard to say, Sis," he answered. "I'm always living in hope, you
know."
"Yes, I suppose we must hope, Jack. And yet, when I think of all
they may be suffering--starving, perhaps, on some uninhabited island,
it--it makes me shiver," and Cora glanced apprehensively across the
stretch of blue water as though she might, at any moment, sight the
lonely isle that served as a refuge for her mother, and for Mr. and
Mrs. Robinson.
"Don't think about it," advised the practical Jack. "There are just
as many chances that the folks have been picked up, and taken to some
good island, as that they're on some bad one."
By the course they had laid, it was rather more than a hundred miles
from San Juan harbor to St. Croix, the Danish island, and as they
were going to make a careful search, and husband their supply of
gasoline as much as possible, they had set their average speed at ten
miles an hour.
"That will bring us to St. Croix early this evening," said Jack, for
they had started in the morning. "We'll stay there all night, for I
don't much fancy motoring after dark in unknown waters."
"Neither do I," said Cora.
"And then there are the sharks!" murmured Belle.
"I won't let them get you!" said Walter, it such soothing tones as
one might use to a child. "The bad sharks sha'n't get little Belle,"
and he pretended to slip an arm about her.
"Stop it!" commanded the blonde twin, with a deep blush as she fairly
squirmed out of reach.