A SHARK.
For the fourth time during our rambling voyage, the _Leda_ was again
free and under sail upon the blue and boundless sea.
I cannot describe the emotions of joy with which, after our recent
long imprisonment amid the waste of ice we gazed upon its buoyant
ripples shining in the sun of May. Its broad vast bosom of
resplendent blue--a blue so indicative of immensity--that spread far
away beyond the dim horizon, flecked with tiny floes of ice, seemed
as the mirror wherein we could trace the future.
It was freedom, it was the high road to our homes, to sunshine and
the genial south. Everything was set that would draw--royals, flying
jib, and studding-sails, as we bore on with a breeze, which, though
keen, cold, and cutting, enabled us soon to leave the clime of frost
and suffering, bears and icebergs far astern.
On the second day we passed a ship waterlogged and dismasted,
battered, and abandoned. Her boats, bulwarks, and everything had
been swept from her decks. We bore down upon her, but there was no
sign of life on board, so we hauled our wind again and left her to
drift, where she would no doubt prove a prize, on the sterile coast
of Greenland.
One day a shark followed us with singular pertinacity, eluding every
shot we fired at his black dorsal fin from our rifles and sealing
guns, till Hans Peterkin, who was skilful in the use of the harpoon,
evidently wounded the monster by a well-directed blow over our stern
quarter, after which our enemy disappeared. Old Hans exulted
considerably in his victory, but awoke that night in the midst of a
frightful dream, and alarmed all his shipmates by crying out that a
shark was devouring him.
"Take care, Hans," grumbled Tom Hammer, as he turned in his hammock,
annoyed on being roused from a sound sleep, "don't be falling
overboard, for it is my belief that Jack Shark is in the dead water
astern yet, looking out for his revenge."
This passed as a joke at the time, but next day it had a singular
sequel.
We were almost becalmed. From being light and variable, the wind had
nearly died away. The sea was smooth as if oil covered all its
surface; the listless canvas hung asleep, or flapped heavily as the
masts swayed to and fro, the reef points pattering, as the _Leda_
rolled lazily on the long glassy ridges that swelled up and shone in
the meridian sun.
Amid the general apathy which such a state of matters produces on
board of a ship, we were roused by the cry of "a dolphin alongside;"
and though these fish are generally met in droves, when the waves are
breaking and the wind blowing fresh, one was seen rising and sinking,
as if sporting in the sunshine.
Immediately Hans appeared on the bowsprit, armed with his Orkney
harpoon, a long spear pointed with barbed iron. Rapidly he bent the
line to the foreganger of his weapon, and grasping it, with a handful
of slack in his right hand, he slid under the bowsprit, and along the
martingale stays which are stretched taut to the end of the jib-boom.
Clasping the vertical spar of the martingale with his left arm, he
took a steady aim at the dolphin, and launched his harpoon with all
his strength.
The stroke was followed by a shout from the crew, who crowded into
the bows and forerigging, for poor Hans had overstruck himself, and
after swinging violently round the martingale, fell into the sea,
missing the dolphin, which instantly disappeared.
"My dream--oh, my dream!" cried old Hans in terror, as he rose
floundering and sputtering to the surface.
Then came the appalling cry of "A shark! a shark!" and in the very
place where the dolphin sank, the short crooked fin of this great
monster of the deep was seen making straight towards Hans, who,
though an expert swimmer, a hard-a-weather salt, accustomed to all
the hardships and terrors of Ultima Thule and his native Orcades, was
struggling wildly for life, having got entangled in the slack line of
his harpoon.
"Captain Hartly--man overboard! a rope--a rope!"
"Cut away the life-buoy!"
"Lower away the stern-boat!"
Such were the cries on every hand, while the current soon swept
Peterkin past the brig, till he was nearly fifty yards astern.
Old Hans uttered a cry of despair, echoed by a groan from all, and
sank!
Regardless of the shark, which was then double the distance of Hans
from us, Hartly, who had rushed on deck at the first alarm, with the
rapidity of thought, threw off his coat, knotted a line round his
waist, lowered himself into the mainchains, and joining the palms of
his hands together in the cut-water fashion of a diver, urging the
while his agile body by a sharp push from the chain-plate, sprang
into the sea, and vanished amid the ripples. Then in half minute or
less he reappeared with Hans, whose grey locks he grasped firmly, as
he cast upward a glance of mingled hope and terror--hope of aid from
his crew, and terror of the monster, which was shooting towards them;
for though the ring of Mother Jensdochter was to save him from
drowning, the good dame omitted all mention of sea-lawyers.
"Down with the stern-boat!" cried Reeves.
In a moment the falls were cast loose and the boat was lowered from
the davits, manned, and shoved off with a rapidity which nothing but
the discipline of the crew and their love for Hartly could have
ensured! Save those in the boat, all held their breath--all were
paralysed by the scene, and our complete inability to aid or to
protect our friends. However, the splashing of the half-drowned Hans
somewhat scared the monster, and kept him off.
The boat soon reached the spot; they were drawn on board, and just in
time, for the shark's nose was close to Hans' heels, while a hearty
hurrah greeted him and his gallant preserver.
Ere the boat was again dangling at the stern davits, the shark, which
had now recovered his surprise and the alarm Hans' splashing had
occasioned him, was seen darting furiously to and fro in search of a
victim; and but for the celerity of our boat's crew, one or other
must have perished in his horrible jaws. Though the shark has rarely
the power to bite a man in two, he can strip the flesh from his body
in such a manner, that death is sure to follow.
The wind freshened after this, and the ship's course was resumed; but
as night came on, the studdingsails and royals were taken in. Hans
appeared in very low spirits after his recent adventure, so Hartly
excused him from deck duty for that night. Then, as we sat over our
grog in the cabin, the deck being in charge of Tom Hammer, Hartly
said--
"By the bye, Jack, you said something of finding an old printed yarn
about a shipwreck in Skipper Fynböe's house in Greenland."
"Yes--a queer old story it seems."
"Let us have it, then; read it aloud. Cuffy, trim the lamps; bring
another case-bottle from the locker, and shut the cabin door. Pass
word for Mr. Reeves and Hans Peterkin to step down--Mr. Manly is
about to spin us a yarn."
I soon produced my little story-book, of which (as it was an
authentic narrative) I shall give the exact title; though I prefer to
rehearse the contents in my own manner, as the language and spelling
of its author are somewhat quaint and antiquated.
It was called "The Wonderfull and Tragical! Relation of a Voyage
from the Indies, printed at the Black Raven, in Duck Lane, A.D. 1684."
The substance thereof was as follows.