THE PIRATE SHARK
During the days that followed, the boys saw little of Captain Hollinger.
He was largely occupied with getting everything running smoothly aboard
ship, during his watches on deck, and except at mealtime he kept to his
stateroom at work over maps and papers.
Mart's work was extremely nominal, although necessary. He had few
messages to send out and invariably directed that answers be sent at a
given time of day, so that he had little more than four hours of work
each morning. Bob usually stuck close to the wireless house at this
time, and in fact the boys made it a sort of headquarters during the
day. It stood back of the chart house on the lower bridge, and the
second mate or old Jerry Smith would spend many a "watch below" with
them. Swanson, however, kept surlily to himself.
"Liverpool" Peters, the second mate, was a pleasant young Britisher who
had been at sea practically all his life, while old Jerry was full of
odd ways and tales which delighted both boys, though it was seldom that
he would open up to them. He seemed to take a great fancy to Mart, and
often when the boys were alone he would wander up, fill his cutty pipe,
and settle down for a chat.
The crew was a strange lot. Of the nine men, five were brown-skinned
Kanakas, but the other four were white, and seemed to be all old men,
though they moved about spryly enough. Dailey was wrinkled and leathery,
Birch had only one very black and sparkling eye, Yorke's mouth was
twisted into a perpetual smile, and Borden was a quiet little man like
old Jerry, gray-haired and respectful.
"They're a queer lookin' bunch," observed Bob one morning, as they left
the wireless house and went forward to the bridge, watching the men
sluicing down the decks forward.
"You bet," nodded Mart, laughing with sheer enjoyment of the blue sky
and bluer ocean. "Where'd you pick 'em up, Jerry?"
Both boys turned to the quartermaster, who was at the wheel in the
little house behind them. He smiled, as watches were changed and Dailey
came up to relieve him.
"Where'd I find them, Mart? Oh, I just ran across 'em. Dailey, here,
used to be on a ship wi' me, once." He looked around, and the leathery
seaman grinned slightly.
"Who'll do the diving?" asked Bob, as they walked back to the wireless
house and flung themselves into deck chairs, while old Jerry filled his
pipe.
"Two o' the Kanakas, lad. They're main good at that."
"Are you goin' hunting with us?" shot out Mart. "Tiger hunting?"
"That depends, lad, that depends," and Jerry wagged his head solemnly.
"I never killed a tiger yet. I've killed whales, though, aye, and tiger
sharks! Think of the mystery of the sea, lads--wave after wave, with the
fish down below and us up here above! Fish tell no tales, lads, fish
tell no tales. There's strange things out where we be bound for."
"What?" asked Bob eagerly. "Sharks?"
The quartermaster nodded. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then
turned to Mart and laid a hand on the boy's knee.
"Lads, did you ever hear tell o' the Pirate Shark?"
Mart thrilled at the name, and the tone of the old man's voice gave him
a creepy feeling, as it often did.
"No!" he exclaimed delightedly, scenting a yarn. "What about him?"
"Well, I've heard as he's livin' in the very place we're going to--that
Kuala Besut, off Tringanu."
"Huh?" grunted Bob, sitting up quickly. "And us going to dive? Not
much!"
Jerry laughed softly, gazing out at the sparkling waters.
"The Kanakas ain't afraid, lad. Only they don't know--they don't know.
You see, this here Pirate Shark is pretty famous down through the Chiny
Sea. But old Jerry Smith, he's the only one that knows. He's the only
white man, lads. The Chinks know, and the Malays know, but they wouldn't
go near the place. The mystery o' the sea, lads--wave after wave! The
gold down below, and us up above--and fish tell no tales, lads--"
He fell silent, still gazing at the horizon. Mart glanced at Bob, and
caught a significant wink as Holly tapped his forehead. Mart frowned.
"What do you mean?" he asked sharply. "Is there a shark by that name?
What kind o' stuff are you handing us, Jerry?"
The old man turned and looked square at him, and his gentle face seemed
suddenly changed into a swift vehemence that was amazing. But it
vanished instantly, and he was himself again--as if he had put on a
mask, thought Mart quickly.
"The Pirate Shark," answered old Jerry slowly. "Yes, I'll tell you about
it, lads. There ain't many as knows where the Pirate Shark is, but old
Jerry Smith, he knows. He's a big shark, he is--mighty big, an' a
man-killer. He come up first at Thursday Island, years ago, an' caught
half a dozen Jap pearlers. Then he showed up in the Flores Sea, an' for
a year the fishers didn't dare visit the pearlin' beds. After that he
went over to the Sulu Islands, down to Java, back to the Chiny
Sea--always killin' men, natives or white. Then he vanished for a
while--mystery o' the sea, lads, wave after wave--"
Again the old man paused, dreaminess on his gentle face. The boys were
leaning forward eagerly, and Bob brought him back abruptly to the
subject.
"But what about this place we're goin' to? Is he there now?"
Once more that peculiar look flitted across the wrinkled face--a look of
swift suspicion, that vanished as quickly as it came. Jerry smiled
softly.
"Why, yes! See here, lads, you promise you'll say nothing? I likes you
fine, but I don't want news leakin' out. I'm an old man--fish tell no
tales, lads--"
"Of course," agreed Mart instantly. "We'll keep quiet, Jerry." Bob
nodded.
"Well, this is a yarn as a Chink told me, lads. But it's true, gospel
true! A long time ago there was only Portugees an' Dutch in the Chiny
sea, an' they carried on somethin' awful, fightin' an' robbin'. Once
there was a big battle--"
"Yes!" volunteered Bob eagerly. "I was readin' about it last night--that
time back about 1600 when the Dutch fought a Spanish armada for a week
an' licked 'em!"
"It was a big battle," went on old Jerry. "One o' the ships drifted up
to the coast of Tringanu an' sunk. Some o' the men got away, but she's
there still--right where we're goin', lads, in Kuala Besut Bay. She's
got treasure aboard, gold an' pearls an' such, an' the Pirate Shark's
guarding her."
"Oh, rats!" laughed Mart, to whose practical mind treasure stories were
all absurd. "If there'd been any treasure there it'd be gone long ago."
"So?" Jerry looked at him, and Mart felt suddenly afraid, so strange was
the look in the bleared old eyes. "So? This Chink had been there wi'
some Chink divers, after pearls, lads. O' course, folks know the wreck
is down there, eight fathom down, lads. The Dutch has been there, the
Japs, the Chinks--but they didn't get the gold, lads! 'Cause why? The
Pirate Shark is there, keepin' watch. The divers went down, but he cut
their air lines--he cut their air lines, lads! And they didn't come up.
He's got a black fin, a big black back fin, which is one reason why he's
called the Pirate Shark.
"But there's another reason, lads. That's because he went from one pearl
fishery to another, cuttin' air hose, killin' men, keepin' the pearlers
off the grounds. They were scared of him all through the south seas.
When the big black fin cut the water, not even a Jap would go down. Fish
tell no tales, lads, fish tell no tales! Man after man he ate, Malay an'
Chink an' Britisher an' Arab, and now he's got the old galleon an' her
gold, and no one knows where it is but the old quartermaster. The fish
down below, lads, and us up above--"
"I guess you're mixed up, Jerry," said Bob quickly. "A little while ago
you said that lots o' people know the wreck is there, but just now you
say no one knows where it is except you. How 'bout that?"
Jerry chuckled, rising slowly to his feet.
"She's inside the lagoon, lad, eight fathom down, an' no one knows but
old Jerry Smith where she is _now_. She used to be under the sand, but
the tide and the river dug her out and she drifted, drifted, down with
the fish. Fish tell no tales, lads--fish tell no tales! Now she's wedged
up among the rocks, eight fathom down, wi' the Pirate Shark's flag over
her. Lads, ye won't tell the cap'n or Joe Swanson that old Jerry told ye
about the Pirate Shark, will you?"
"Sure not, Jerry," chorused the two together. Jerry nodded and turned.
"Well, I got to get down an' see to gettin' that cable flaked." And he
shuffled away, muttering still of "wave after wave--the fish down below
and us up above!"
The two boys stared at each other, their eyes sparkling. Incredible,
wild and fantastic as the yarn sounded, something about the old
quartermaster's manner had impressed them both with the fact that he
believed it firmly.
"Do you s'pose it's true, Holly?" asked Mart.
"Blamed if I know," returned Bob slowly, for he seldom gave any direct
opinion on a subject. "O' course it isn't true, because if he knew about
that place and the gold and the wreck, he'd get after that shark in
short order. It's prob'ly a sea yarn."
"I ain't so sure," returned Mart. "It sounds fishy," and Bob grinned.
"Well, it does, for a fact. But Jerry believes it himself, that's sure.
I tell you what, Holly, if that Pirate Shark's really there, and them
Kanakas get to diving, we're goin' to see something! Some idea, though!
A big shark cruising around the pearling beds, killing men, and finally
taking possession of an old wreck full o' treasure! Why, it reads
like--like a Jules Verne story! Say--you remember that dynamite your dad
said Jerry wanted put aboard?"
Bob looked up, startled, and gave a nod.
"Well, I bet a cookie Jerry's goin' after that Pirate Shark with it!"
"What!" Bob's blue eyes widened and his face lost its careless
expression. "By juniper! Mart, do you s'pose he's after the gold? Let's
ask dad--maybe that's what he meant all along by gold mining--"
"Hold on there," cried Mart, hauling back the eager Holly. "We promised
we wouldn't say anything to your dad or the mate, remember? Hello, here
comes Birch with a message I've got to send, prob'ly."
"I'll ask him," began Bob, then the one-eyed seaman entered and touched
his brow.
"Cap'n's compliments, Mr. Judson," he said in his ever-respectful way,
"and he wants you to send this here message."
"All right, Birch," and Mart took the note. "Just a moment! Did you ever
hear of the Pirate Shark?"
For a moment both boys were frightened by the effect of those words. The
old seaman whirled about, his one black eye blazing weirdly and his face
contorted. Then he collected himself with a little laugh.
"Beg pardon, sir. That there word 'pirate' allus gets me, 'count of a
brush I oncet had with pirates in the Sulu Sea. Why, sir, I've heard
summat o' that there fish; they say he's a monster shark with a black
fin, that he's a man-eater, an' haunts the pearl fisheries. Beggin' your
pardon, sir, but where might you have heard of him?"
"Oh, we just heard some of the men talking," answered Bob carelessly,
and Birch touched his forelock again and was gone. For a second time the
boys' eyes met.
"Holly, this doesn't look right to me," said Mart finally, his gray eyes
hard. "Birch knows more'n he said. That explanation of his don't go down
with me, not a bit! I wouldn't wonder if there was such a fish--right
where we're going, too!"
"By juniper!" Holly's face was troubled. "Of course, it's likely; such a
fish would hang around the pearl beds, 'cause that's where he'd most
likely meet up with divers. If he's a man-eater, he'd do that. The story
sticks together pretty well, Mart! Of course we've got to remember that
sailor yarns generally are stretched."
"Well, you lay low," cautioned Mart, reaching for his key and sending
out a crashing spark in call, over and over. Then he leaned back and
waited for an answer. "We can't go to your dad with this, and anyway,
Bob, there ain't much behind it. Here--I'll tell you! Mebbe that shark
is there, and old Jerry got the dynamite to have some fun with on his
own hook. If there was any wreck or treasure, he'd have kept his mouth
shut."
"That sounds more like it, Mart. Still, he's a talkative old guy, and he
likes us a heap, you in particular. There's somethin' queer about it,
though. Jerry said that Dailey--the leathery old scoundrel--had sailed
with him before; then there was that talk between him and Swanson. And
have you noticed anythin' queer about the way those men hang together?"
Mart sent him a quick look, as he adjusted his headpiece.
"Huh? Well, I've noticed that they obey Swanson a heap quicker than they
do Peters. Peters got mad yesterday an' knocked that grinnin' Yorke
galley-west! But they're old men, Bob."
"That's just it," returned Holly earnestly. "So's Jerry old, and Swanson
ain't a spring chicken by any means. They hang together, that's all. And
remember, Jerry was the one that signed 'em all on. I'll get dad to
mention the _Coralie_ one o' these days."
"Well, you go slow," cautioned Mart again. "Hello--there's a call--" he
leaned forward. "TTY--that's the _Tenyo Maru_. She's just out o' San
Francisco, so she can relay a message, I guess. Golly, your dad's
keepin' close watch on the stock market!"
He grinned as he sent out the message and Bob watched the blue spark
leaping in fascinated silence. After all, this story of the Pirate Shark
was a wild fancy, and these were the prosaic days of wireless and steam
power; the whole tale was doubtless one of those strange and utterly
improbable yarns that some intoxicated sailor cooks up and other sailors
improve upon and embellish. At least, that was the opinion of the two
boys as they left the wireless house and joined Captain Hollinger, who
had just come to take the bridge. Mart wished they had not made Jerry
that promise, however.