This opportune deliverance from the most fearful of deaths had inspired
the sailor with a hope that they might still, by some further
interference of Providence, escape from their perilous position.
Relying on this hope, he resolved to leave no means untried that might
promise to lead to its realisation. They were now furnished with a
stock of water which, if carefully hoarded, would last them for weeks.
If they could only obtain a proportionate supply of food, there would
still be a chance of their sustaining life until some ship might make
its appearance,--for, of course, they thought not of any other means of
deliverance.
To think of food was to think of fishing for it. In the vast reservoir
of the ocean under and around them there was no lack of nourishing food,
if they could only grasp it; but the sailor well knew that the shy,
slippery denizens of the deep are not to be captured at will, and that,
with all the poor schemes they might be enabled to contrive, their
efforts to capture even a single fish might be exerted in vain.
Still they could try; and with that feeling of hopeful confidence which
usually precedes such trials, they set about making preparations.
The first thing was to make hooks and lines. There chanced to be some
pins in their clothing; and with these Ben soon constructed a tolerable
set of hooks. A line was obtained by untwisting a piece of rope, and
respinning it to the proper thickness; and then a float was found by
cutting a piece of wood to the proper dimensions. And for a sinker
there was the leaden bullet with which little William had of late so
vainly endeavoured to allay the pangs of thirst. The bones and fins of
the flying-fish--the only part of it not eaten--would serve for bait.
They did not promise to make a very attractive one; for there was not a
morsel of flesh left upon them; but Ben knew that there are many kinds
of fish inhabiting the great ocean that will seize at any sort of
bait,--even a piece of rag,--without considering whether it be good for
them or not.
They had seen fish several times near the raft, during that very day;
but suffering as they were from thirst more than hunger, and despairing
of relief to the more painful appetite, they had made no attempt to
capture them. Now, however, they were determined to set about it in
earnest.
The rain had ceased falling; the breeze no longer disturbed the surface
of the sea. The clouds had passed over the canopy of the heavens,--the
sky was clear, and the sun bright and hot as before.
Ben standing erect upon the raft, with the baited hook in his hand,
looked down into the deep blue water.
Even the smallest fish could have been seen many fathoms below the
surface, and far over the ocean.
William on the other side of the raft was armed with hook and line, and
equally on the alert.
For a long time their vigil was unrewarded. No living thing came within
view. Nothing was under their eyes save the boundless field of
ultramarine,--beautiful, but to them, at that moment, marked only by a
miserable monotony.
They had stood thus for a full hour, when an exclamation escaping from
the lad, caused his companion to turn and look to the other side of the
raft.
A fish was in sight. It was that which had drawn the exclamation from
the boy, who was now swinging his line in the act of casting it out.
The ejaculation had been one of joy. It was checked on his perceiving
that the sailor did not share it. On the contrary, a cloud came over
the countenance of the latter on perceiving the fish,--whose species he
at once recognised.
And why? for it was one of the most beautiful of the finny tribe. A
little creature of perfect form,--of a bright azure blue, with
transverse bands of deeper tint, forming rings around its body. Why did
Ben Brace show disappointment at its appearance?
"You needn't trouble to throw out your line, little Will'm," said he,
"that ere takes no bait,--not it."
"Why?" asked the boy.
"Because it's something else to do than forage for itself. I dare say
its master an't far off."
"What is it?"
"That be the _pilot-fish_. See! turns away from us. It gone back to
him as has sent it."
"Sent it! Who, Ben?"
"A shark, for sarten. Didn't I tell ye? Look yonder. Two o' them, as
I live; and the biggest kind they be. Slash my timbers if I iver see
such a pair! They have fins like lug-sails. Look! the pilot's gone to
guide 'em. Hang me if they bean't a-comin' this way!"
William had looked in the direction pointed out by his companion. He
saw the two great dorsal fins standing several feet above the water. He
knew them to be those of the _white shark_: for he had already seen
these dreaded monsters of the deep on more than one occasion.
It was true, as Ben had hurriedly declared. The little pilot-fish,
after coming within twenty fathoms of the raft, had turned suddenly in
the water, and gone back to the sharks; and now it was seen swimming a
few feet in advance of them, as if in the act of leading them on!
The boy was struck with something in the tone of his companion's voice,
that led him to believe there was danger in the proximity of these ugly
creatures; and to say the truth, Ben did not behold them without a
certain feeling of alarm. On the deck of a ship they might have been
regarded without any fear; but upon a frail structure like that which
supported the castaways--their feet almost on a level with the surface
of the water--it was not so very improbable that the sharks might attack
them!
In his experience the sailor had known cases of a similar kind. It was
no matter of surprise, that he should feel uneasiness at their approach,
if not actual fear.
But there was no time left either for him to speculate as to the
probabilities of such an attack, or for his companion to question him
about them.
Scarcely had the last words parted from his lips, when the foremost of
the two sharks was seen to lash the water with its broad forked tail,--
and then coming on with a rush, it struck the raft with such a force as
almost to capsize it.
The other shark shot forward in a similar manner; but glancing a little
to one side, caught in its huge mouth the end of the dolphin-striker,
grinding off a large piece of the spar as if it had been cork-wood!
This it swallowed almost instantaneously; and then turning once more in
the water appeared intent upon renewing the attack.
Ben and the boy had dropped their hooks and lines,--the former
instinctively arming himself with the axe, while the latter seized upon
the spare handspike. Both stood ready to receive the second charge of
the enemy.
It was made almost on the instant. The shark that had just attacked was
the first to return; and coming on with the velocity of an arrow, it
sprang clear above the surface, projecting its hideous jaws over the
edge of the raft.
For a moment the frail structure was in danger of being either capsized
or swamped altogether, and then the fate of its occupants would
undoubtedly have been to become "food for sharks."
But it was not the intention of Ben Brace or his youthful comrade to
yield up their lives without striking a blow in self-defence, and that
given by the sailor at once disembarrassed him of his antagonist.
Throwing one arm around a mast, in order to steady himself, and raising
the light axe in the other, he struck outward and downward with all his
might. The blade of the axe, guided with an unswerving arm, fell right
upon the snout of the shark, just midway between its nostrils, cleaving
the cartilaginous flesh to the depth of several inches, and laying it
open to the bones.
There could not have been chosen a more vital part upon which to inflict
a wound; for, huge as is the white shark, and strong and vigorous as are
all animals of this ferocious family, a single blow upon the nose with a
handspike or even a billet of wood, if laid on with a heavy hand, will
suffice to put an end to their predatory courses.
And so was it with the shark struck by the axe of Ben Brace. As soon as
the blow had been administered, the creature rolled over on its back;
and after a fluke or two with its great forked tail, and a tremulous
shivering through its body, it lay floating upon the water motionless as
a log of wood.
William was not so fortunate with his antagonist, though he had
succeeded in keeping it off. Striking wildly out with the handspike in
a horizontal direction, he had poked the butt end of the implement right
between the jaws of the monster, just as it raised its head over the
raft with the mouth wide open.
The shark, seizing the handspike in its treble row of teeth, with one
shake of its head whipped it out of the boy's hands: and then rushing on
through the water, was seen grinding the timber into small fragments,
and swallowing it as if it had been so many crumbs of bread or pieces of
meat.
In a few seconds not a bit of the handspike could be seen,--save some
trifling fragments of the fibrous wood that floated on the surface of
the water; but what gave greater gratification to those who saw them,
was the fact that the shark which had thus made "mince-meat" of the
piece of timber was itself no longer to be seen.
Whether because it had satisfied the cravings of its appetite by that
wooden banquet, or whether it had taken the alarm at witnessing the fate
of its companion,--by much the larger of the two,--was a question of
slight importance either to Ben Brace or to William. For whatever
reason, and under any circumstances, they were but too well pleased to
be disembarrassed of its hideous presence; and as they came to the
conclusion that it had gone off for good, and saw the other one lying
with its white belly turned upwards upon the surface of the water--
evidently dead as a herring--they could no longer restrain their voices,
but simultaneously raised them in a shout of victory.