A huge pair of eyes were looking up at him with a fixed star_The Strife of the Sea

[Illustration: IN THE WAKE OF THE WEATHER CLOTH.--See Pages 305-320.]

THE STRIFE

OF THE SEA

T. JENKINS HAINS

AUTHOR OF “THE WIND-JAMMERS,” ETC.

[Illustration]

NEW YORK

THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO.

_33-37 East Seventeenth St., Union Sq., North_

_Published October, 1903._

ROBERT MACKAY

[Illustration: CONTENTS]

PAGE

THE OLD MAN OF SAND KEY, 11

THE OUTCAST, 37

THE SEA DOG, 77

THE CAPE HORNERS, 101

THE LOGGERHEAD, 135

THE WHITE FOLLOWER, 165

KING ALBICORE, 199

THE NIBBLERS, 227

JOHNNY SHARK, 251

A TRAGEDY OF THE SOUTH ATLANTIC, 277

IN THE WAKE OF THE WEATHER-CLOTH, 313

ILLUSTRATIONS

CLAWING OFF THE CAPE, _Frontispiece_

_Facing Page_

THE GREAT SHAPE SAILED FOR THE TOP OF THE BUOY, 44

FULL INTO THE CENTER KING ALBICORE TORE HIS WAY, 214

THE LINE WAS WHIZZING OUT, 300

THE STRIFE OF THE SEA

[Illustration: _THE OLD MAN OF SAND KEY_]

He was an old man when he first made his appearance on the reef at

the Sand Key Light. This was years ago, but one could tell it even

then by the way he drew in his chin, or rather pouch, in a dignified

manner as he soared in short circles over the outlying coral ledges

which shone vari-colored in the sunshine beneath the blue waters of

the Gulf Stream. He had fished alone for many seasons without joining

the smaller and more social birds, and the keepers had grown to know

him. He was a dignified and silent bird, and his stately flight and

ponderous waddle over the dry reef had made it quite evident that he

was a bird with a past. Sandy Shackford, the head keeper, knew him well

and relied implicitly upon his judgment as to the location of certain

denizens of the warm Stream. He had come back again after a month’s

absence, and was circling majestically over the coral banks not a

hundred fathoms from the light.

The day was beautiful and the sunshine was hot. The warm current of

the Gulf flowed silently now with the gentle southwest wind, and the

white sails of the spongers from Havana and Key West began to dot the

horizon. Here and there a large barracouta or albicore would dart like

a streak of shimmering silver through the liquid, and the old man would

cast his glance in the direction of the vanishing point with a ready

pinion to sweep headlong at the mullet or sailor’s-choice which were

being pursued.

His gray head was streaked with penciled feathers which grew longer

as they reached his neck, and his breast was colored a dull, mottled

lead. His back and wings gave a general impression of gray and black,

the long pinions of the latter being furnished with stiff quills which

tapered with a lighter shade to the tips. His beak and pouch were of

more than ordinary proportions, for the former was heavy and hooked

at the end and the latter was large and elastic, capable of holding a

three-pound mullet.

He soared slowly over the reef for some time, and the keeper watched

him, sitting upon the rail of the lantern smoking his pipe, while his

assistant filled the body of the huge lamp and trimmed its several

wicks.

To the westward a slight ripple showed upon the surface of the quiet

sea. The pelican sighted it and stood away toward it, for it looked

like a mackerel that had come to the surface to take in the sunshine

and general beauty of the day. In a moment the old man had swung over

the spot at a height of about a hundred feet; then suddenly folding his

wings, he straightened out his body, opened his beak, and shot straight

downwards upon the doomed fish. It was literally a bolt from heaven

from out of a clear sky. The lower beak expanded as it hit the water

and opened the pouch into a dipper which scooped up the mackerel,

while the weight of the heavy body falling from the great height

carried everything below the surface with a resounding splash that

could be heard distinctly upon the light. Then up he came from the dive

with the fish struggling frantically in his tough leathern sack. He

rested a moment to get his breath and then stretched forth his pinions

again and rose in a great circle into the clear blue air.

“The old man’s fishin’ mackerel this mornin’,” said Sandy, “an’ I

reckon I’ll get the dory an’ try a squid over along the edge o’ the

Stream as soon as the breeze makes.”

“Well, take care you don’t lose nothin’,” said Bill with a grin.

“Whatcher mean?” snarled the older keeper.

“Nothin’,” answered the assistant.

“Then don’t say it,” said Sandy, and he walked down the steps of the

spider-like structure, muttering ominously, until he reached the reef

a hundred feet below, where, hauled high and dry, lay his boat. Sandy

was an old man, and had depended upon false teeth for some years. The

last time he had gone fishing he had lost them from his boat, and

as he could not leave the light he had nearly starved to death. In

desperation at last he had set the ensign union down and signaled for

assistance, the second keeper Bill being ashore on leave, and after

the U.S.S. _Ohio_ had come all the way from Key West to find out the

cause of the trouble he had been forced to explain to the officer his

humiliating disaster. As the danger of landing in the surf had been

great and the services of the man-of-war had been required for a whole

day, he had been forced to listen to a lecture upon the absurdity of

his behavior that did little to encourage him, and it was only his

emaciated appearance and unfeigned weakness from loss of food that

saved him his position as keeper.

He shoved his small boat off and sprang into her. Then he stepped the

mast, and hauling aft the sheet swung her head around and stood off

the reef, riding easily over the low swell. High above him was the

lantern, and he looked up to see Bill gazing down at him and pointing

toward the southward, where a ripple showed the breaching fish. His

lines were in the after locker, and he soon had them out, one of

them with a wooden squid trolling over the stern as the little craft

gathered headway.

The memory of his former disaster now came upon him, and he took out

his teeth, which were new, and examined the plates upon which they were

fastened. A small hole in either side showed, and through these he

rove a piece of line. Then he placed the teeth back in his mouth and

fastened the ends of the line back of his ear.

“Let ’em drop an’ be danged to it, they’ll git back mighty quick this

time,” he muttered. “I wonder where that old pelican left the school of

fish?”

The old bird had satisfied his present needs and had flown away to a

distant part of the outlying bank, where he was now proceeding to

enjoy his catch at leisure. Far away to the northward, where Key West

showed above the horizon, a long line of black specks were rapidly

approaching through the air. They were the regular fishermen of the

reef, and they were bound out to sea this morning for their daily meal.

On they came in single file like a line of soldiers, their distance

apart remaining regular and the motions of their leader followed with

military precision. Every time he would strike the air several sharp

strokes with his wings, the motion would be instantly taken up by the

long line of followers flapping their own in unison.

The “old man” heeded them very little indeed as he quietly ate his

fish, and they knew enough not to bother him. They sailed majestically

past and swung in huge circles over the blue Gulf to locate the passing

school.

The old man mused as he ate, and wondered at their stupidity. Even the

light-keeper knew as much as they. There was the breaching school a

mile away to windward, and the stupid birds were still watching him.

He saw his wives go past in line. There was old Top-knot, a wise and

ugly companion of former days, her penciled feathers on her neck rubbed

the wrong way. Behind her came a young son, an ingrate, who even now

would try to steal the fish from him did he but leave it for a moment

to dive for another. He glanced at him and ate steadily on. He would

finish his fish first and look out for his ungrateful son afterwards.

Further behind came his youngest companion, one who had hatched forth

twelve stout birds during the past few years and who was still supple

and vigorous, her smooth feathers still showing a gloss very pretty to

look at. But she gave him no notice, and he ate in silence until they

all passed far beyond and sighted at last the breaching mackerel.

When he had finished he sat stately and dignified upon the sand of the

reef, all alone. Far away to the southward, where the high mountains of

the Cuban shore rose above the line of water when he soared aloft, a

thin smoke rose from some passing steamer. To the northward the spars

of the shipping at Key West stuck above the calm sea. All about was

peaceful, bright, and beautiful daylight, and the ugly spider-like

tower of the Sand Key Light stood like a huge sentinel as though to

guard the scene.

The day was so quiet that the sullen splashes of the fisher birds

sounded over the smooth surface of the sea, and the breeze scarcely

rippled the blue water. The deep Gulf rolled and heaved in the

sunshine, and the drone of the small breakers that fell upon the

reef sounded low and had a sleepy effect upon the old fellow who had

finished his fish.

He sat with his pouch drawn in and his long, heavy beak resting upon

his neck, which he bent well into the shape of a letter S. Now and

then he would close an eye as the glare from the white coral in the

sunshine became too bright. The man in the boat was trolling back and

forth through the school of fish with hardly enough way on his craft

to make them strike, but every now and then he saw him haul aboard a

shimmering object that struggled and fought for freedom. Above, and at

a little distance, soared the pelicans. Every now and then one would

suddenly fold its wings and make a straight dive from the height of a

hundred feet or more, striking the sea with a splash that sent up a

little jet of foam.

The sun rose higher and the scorching reef glared in the fierce light.

The old man shifted his feet on the burning sand and looked about him

for a spot where he might bring another fish and lie quiet for the

afternoon. He turned his head toward the westward, where Mangrove Key

rose like a dark green bush a few feet above the water of the reef. Two

small specks were in the blue void above it, and his eyes instantly

detected them and remained staring at them with unwinking gaze.

The specks grew larger rapidly, but they were a long way off yet, and

he might be mistaken as to what they were. He had seen them rise above

the blue line before, and if they were what he took them to be there

would be trouble on the reef before long. Yes, he was not mistaken.

They rose steadily, coming on a straight line for him, and now they

were only a mile distant. Then he noticed one of the objects swerve

slightly to the eastward and he saw they were, indeed, a pair of the

great bald eagles from the Everglades of Florida.

He was an old man, and he gazed steadily at them without much concern,

although he knew they meant death to all who opposed their path. They

were pirates. They were the cruelest of killers and as implacable and

certain in their purpose as the Grim Destroyer himself. The pelicans

fishing for their living over the reef were good and easy prey. A

sudden dash among them, with beak and talons cutting and slashing

right and left, and there would be some full pouches of fish to empty.

It was much better to let the stupid birds fill up first and then sweep

among them. Then, after despoiling them of their hard-gotten catch,

they would carry as much of the plunder as they cared for to some

sheltering key to devour at leisure.

The white head of the leading pirate shone in the sunshine and his

fierce eyes were fixed upon the fishermen. The old man was apparently

unnoticed, although there was little within the sweep of that savage

gaze that was left unmarked. Those eyes could see the slightest object

on land or sea far beyond the reach of ordinary vision. They had even

this morning, probably, been watching the fishermen from some distant

key miles away to the northward.

The old man was a huge, tough old fellow, and he dreaded nothing. He

gazed at the fishermen and a feeling of disdain for their weakness

came upon him. He thought of his old scolding mate, Top-knot. What a

scared old bird she would be in a moment with that great eagle sailing

straight as a bullet for her, his beak agape, and his hoarse scream

sounding in her wake. How she would make for the open sea, only to be

caught in a few moments and torn until she disgorged her fish. His

eldest son would make a show of fight, perhaps, and in a very few

minutes would be a badly used up pelican. As for the rest, how they

would wildly and silently strike for the open ocean, going in single

file as was their custom, only to be overtaken one by one, until they

were all ripped and torn by the fierce fighters, who would follow

leisurely along behind, striking and clutching, screaming and calling

to increase their fright and dismay.

He was almost amused at the prospect, for the pirate birds seemed to

know him instinctively for a barren prize and swept with the speed of

the wind past him and over the reef to the blue waters of the Gulf

beyond, where the fishermen were still unaware of their approach. He

would watch and see the skirmish, for no harm could come to him even

though all the rest were killed and wounded. He swung himself around

and gazed seaward again, and suddenly the thought of his uselessness

came upon him.

Why should he sit there and see this thing done--he, an old man? He

had led the flock for many years. Should he, the father of many and

the companion of all in former days, see them cut up by two enemies?

What if they no longer cared for him? What if the younger birds were

ungrateful and would steal his fish? Was he not the old leader, the

one they all had looked to in the years gone by? Did not even the men

in the tower treat his knowledge with respect? And here a couple of

fierce marauders from the forests of the land had passed him to wreak

their will upon the timid birds whose leader had grown old. Memories

of former days came to him, and something made him raise his head very

straight and draw his pouch close in.

He sat gazing for a few moments longer. The eagles now had closed up

half the distance, for they were going with a rush. A pelican saw

them and headed straight out to sea, striking the air wildly with

outstretched pinions. Then in they dashed with hoarse cries that caused

the keeper in the boat to luff into the wind to witness the struggle.

The old man launched his weight into the air, and with a few sudden

strokes rose to the height of a couple of fathoms above the sea,

bearing down toward the screaming birds with the rapidity of an express

train.

Above Sandy Shackford a very mixed affair was taking place. The two

eagles had dashed into the pelicans without warning and were within

striking distance before many of them could even turn to flee. Old

Top-knot had just caught a fine fish and was in the act of rising with

it when the leading eagle swooped down upon her with a shrill scream.

She was an old and nervous bird and a touch from any other creature

she dreaded at all times. Now, right behind her came a giant shape,

with glaring eyes and gaping beak, a very death’s-head, white and

grisly, while beneath were a pair of powerful feet, armed with sharp

talons, ready to seize her in a deadly grip. She gave a desperate leap

to clear the sea and stretch her wings, but the sight was too much

for her, and she sank back upon the surface. The great eagle was too

terrifying for her old nerves, and she sat helpless.

In an instant the eagle was upon her. He seized her fiercely in his

talons and struck her savagely in the back, and the poor old bird

instantly disgorged her newly caught fish. Her savage assailant

hesitated a moment before striking her down for good and all, while he

watched the fish swim away into the depths below. Then he turned to

finish her.

At that instant there was a tremendous rush through the air, and a huge

body struck him full in the breast, knocking him floundering upon the

sea. The old man had come at him as straight as a bullet from a gun,

and, with the full force of his fifteen pounds sailing through the air,

had struck him with his tough old body, that had been hardened by many

a high dive from above.

The eagle was taken completely aback, and struggled quickly into the

air to get out of that vicinity, while the old man, carried along by

the impetus of his rush, soared around in a great circle and came

slowly back to renew the attack. In a moment the eagle had recovered,

and, with true game spirit, swung about to meet this new defender of

the fishermen. They met in mid-air, about two fathoms above the sea,

and Sandy Shackford cheered wildly for his old acquaintance as he

landed a heavy blow with his long, hooked bill.

“Go it, old man!” he cried. “Give it to him. Oh, if I had my gun,

wouldn’t I soak him for ye!”

The other birds had fled seaward, and were now almost out of sight,

being pursued by the second eagle. One limp form floated on the sea to

mark the course of the marauder. Old Top-knot had recovered from the

shock, and was now making a line for Cuba. The old man was the only one

left, and he was detaining the great bald eagle for his last fight, the

fight of his life.

Around and around they soared. The eagle was wary and did not wish

to rush matters with the determined old man, who, with beak drawn

back, sailed about ready for a stroke. Then, disdaining the clumsy

old fellow, the bald eagle made a sudden rush as though he would end

the matter right there. The old man met him, and there was a short

scrimmage in the air which resulted in both dropping to the sea.

Here the old man had the advantage. The eagle could not swim, his

powerful talons not being made for propelling him over the water. The

old man managed to hold his own, although he received a savage cut

from the other’s strong beak. This round was a draw. During this time

the second eagle had seen that his companion was not following the

startled game, and he returned just in time to see him disengage from

a whirlwind of wings and beaks and wait a moment to decide just how he

would finish off the old fellow who had the hardihood to dispute his

way. Then he joined the fight, and together they swooped down upon the

old man for the finish.

He met them with his head well up and wings outstretched, and gave them

so much to do that they were entirely taken up with the affair and

failed to notice Sandy Shackford, who was creeping up, paddling with

all his strength with an oar-blade.

The encounter could not last long. The old fellow was rapidly

succumbing to the attacks of his powerful antagonists, and although he

still kept the mix-up in a whirl of foam with his desperate struggles,

he could not hope to last against two such pirates as were now pitted

against him. One of them struck him fiercely and tore his throat open,

ripping his pouch from end to end. He was weakening fast and knew the

struggle must end in another rush. Both eagles came at him at once,

uttering hoarse cries, and drawing back his head he made one last,

desperate stroke with his hooked beak. Then something seemed to crash

down upon his foes from above. An oar-blade whirled in the sunshine and

struck the leading eagle upon the head, knocking him lifeless upon the

sea. Then the other rose quickly and started off to the northward as

the form of the keeper towered above in the bow of the approaching boat.

Sandy Shackford picked the great white-headed bird from the water and

dropped him into the boat and the old man looked on wondering. He had

known the keeper for a long time, but had never been at close quarters.

“Poor old man,” said Sandy. “Ye look mighty badly used up.” And then he

made a motion toward him.

But the old pelican wanted no sympathy. His was the soul of the leader,

and he scorned help. Stretching forth his wings with a mighty effort,

he arose from the sea. The reef lay but a short distance away, and he

would get ashore to rest. The pain in his throat was choking him, but

he would sit quiet a while and get well. He would not go far, but he

would be alone. The whole sea shimmered dizzily in the sunshine, but a

little rest and the old bones would be right again. He would be quiet

and alone.

“Poor old man,” said Sandy, as he watched him sail away. “He’s a dead

pelican, but he made a game fight.”

Then he hauled in his lines, and, squaring away before the wind, ran

down to the light with the eagle and a dozen fine fish in the bottom of

his dory.

The next day the old man was not fishing on the reef. The other birds

came back--all except one. But the old man failed to show up during the

whole day.

The next day and the next came and went, and Sandy, who looked

carefully every morning for the old fellow, began to give up all hope

of seeing him again. Then, in the late afternoon when the other birds

were away, the old man came sailing slowly over the water and landed

stiffly upon the coral of a point just awash at the end of the key.

As the sun was setting, the old man swung himself slowly around to

face it. He drew his head well back and held himself dignified and

stately as he walked to the edge of the surf. There he stopped, and as

the flaming orb sank beneath the western sea, the old man still stood

watching it as it disappeared.

Sandy Shackford lit the lantern, and the sudden tropic night fell upon

the quiet ocean.

In the morning the keeper looked out, and the old man was sitting

silent and stationary as before. When the day wore on and he did not

start out fishing Sandy took the dory and rowed to the jutting reef. He

walked slowly toward the old man, not wishing to disturb him, but to

help him if he could. He drew near, and the old bird made no motion.

He reached slowly down, and the head he touched was cold.

Sitting there, with the setting sun shining over the southern sea, the

old man had died. He was now cold and stiff, but even in death he sat

straight and dignified. He had died as a leader should.

“Poor old man,” said Sandy. “His pouch was cut open an’ he jest

naterally starved to death--couldn’t hold no fish, an’ as fast as he’d

catch ’em they’d get away. It was a mean way to kill a fine old bird.

Ye have my sympathy, old man. I came nigh goin’ the same way once

myself.”

And then, as if not to disturb him, the keeper walked on his toes to

his boat and shoved off.

[Illustration: The Outcast]

The day was bright and the sunshine glistened upon the smooth water

of Cumberland Sound. The sand beach glared in the fierce rays and the

heat was stifling. What little breeze there was merely ruffled the

surface of the water, streaking it out into fantastic shapes upon the

oily swell which heaved slowly in from the sea. Far away the lighthouse

stood out white and glinting, the trees about the tall tower looking

inviting with their shade. The swell snored low and sullenly upon the

bar, where it broke into a line of whiteness, and the buoys rode the

tide silently, making hardly a ripple as it rushed past.

Riley, the keeper of the light, was fishing. His canoe was anchored

close to the shore in three fathoms of water, and he was pulling up

whiting in spite of the ebb, which now went so fast that it was

with difficulty he kept his line upon the bottom. When he landed his

fiftieth fish they suddenly stopped biting. He changed his bait, but to

no purpose. Then he pulled up his line and spat upon his hook for luck.

Even this remedy for wooing the goddess of fortune failed him, and he

mopped his face and wondered. Then he looked over the side.

For some minutes he could see nothing but the glint of the current

hurrying past. The sunshine dazzled him. Then he shaded his eyes and

tried to pierce the depths beneath the boat.

The water was as crystal, and gradually the outlines of the soft bottom

began to take form. He could follow the anchor rope clear down until a

cross showed where the hook took the ground.

Suddenly he gave a start. In spite of the heat he had a chill run up

his spine. Then he gazed fixedly down, straight down beneath the small

boat’s bottom.

A huge pair of eyes were looking up at him with a fixed stare. At first

they seemed to be in the mud of the bottom, two unwinking glassy eyes

about a foot apart, with slightly raised sockets. They were almost

perfectly round, and although he knew they must belong to a creature

lying either to or against the current, he could not tell which side

the body must lie. Gradually a movement forward of the orbs attracted

his attention, and he made out an irregular outline surrounding a

section of undulating mud. This showed the expanse of the creature’s

body, lying flat as it was, and covering an area of several yards. It

showed the proportions of the sea-devil, the huge ray whose shark-like

propensities made it the most dreaded of the inhabitants of the Sound.

There he lay looking serenely up at the bottom of the boat with his

glassy eyes fixed in that grisly stare, and it was little wonder he was

called the devil-fish.

Riley spat overboard in disgust, and drew in his line. There was no use

trying to fish with that horrible thing lying beneath. He got out the

oars and then took hold of the anchor line and began to haul it in,

determined to seek a fishing drop elsewhere or go home. As he hauled

the line, the great creature below noticed the boat move ahead. He

watched it for some seconds, and then slid along the bottom, where the

hook was buried in the mud.

It was easy to move his huge bulk. The side flukes had but to be

ruffled a little, and the great form would move along like a shadow.

He could see the man in the boat when he bent over the side, and he

wondered several times whether he should take the risk of a jump

aboard. He was a scavenger, and not hard to please in the matter of

diet. Anything that was alive was game to his maw. He had watched for

more than an hour before the light-keeper had noticed it, and now the

boat was drawing away. His brain was very small, and he could not

overcome a peculiar feeling that danger was always near the little

creature above. He kept his eyes fixed on the boat’s bottom, and slid

along under her until his head brought up against the anchor line, now

taut as Riley hove it short to break out the hook. This was provoking,

and he opened a wicked mouth armed with rows of shark-like teeth. Then

the anchor broke clear and was started upward, and the boat began to

drift away in the current.

The spirit of badness took possession of him. He was annoyed. The boat

would soon go away if the anchor was withdrawn, so he made a grab for

it and seized the hook, or fluke, in his mouth, and started out to sea.

Riley felt the sudden tug from below. He almost guessed what it was,

and quick as lightning took a turn with the line about the forward

seat. Then, as the boat’s headway increased rapidly, he took the bight

of the line aft and seated himself so as to keep her head up and not

bury in the rush. His knife was at hand ready for a sudden slash at the

line in case of emergency.

“If he’ll let go abreast o’ the p’int, all right,” said Riley. “I seen

lots harder ways o’ getting about than this.”

The tide was rushing out with great rapidity, and going along with it

the boat fairly flew. Riley watched the shore slip past, and looked

anxiously toward the lighthouse for the head keeper to see him. It

would give the old man a turn, he thought, to see a boat flying through

the water with the occupant sitting calmly aft taking it easy. It made

him laugh outright to imagine the head keeper’s look of astonishment.

Then he saw the figure of the old man standing upon the platform of the

tower gazing out to sea. He roared out at the top of his voice, hoping

to attract attention, but the distance was too great.

Meanwhile the sea-devil was sliding along the bottom, heading for the

line of white where the surf fell over the bank of the outer bar.

The hook, or fluke, of the anchor was held securely in his powerful

jaws, and the force necessary to tow the following craft was felt very

little. The great side fins, or flukes, merely moved with a motion

which caused no exertion to such a frame, and the long tail, armed with

its deadly spear of poisoned barbs, slewed slightly from right to left,

steering the creature with accuracy. And while he went his mind was

working, trying to think how he could get the man from the boat after

he had taken him out to sea beyond any help from the shore. A sea-devil

he was, and rightly named. This he very well knew, and the thought made

him fearless. He had rushed many schools of mullet and other small

fish, who fled in frantic terror at his approach. He had slid into

a school of large porpoises, the fishermen who seldom gave way for

anything, and he sent them plunging in fear for the deep water. Once he

had, in sheer devilry, leaped upon a huge logger-head turtle weighing

half a ton, just to see if he could take a nip of his neck before the

frightened fellow could draw in his head behind the safe shelter of his

shell. He could stand to the heaviest shark that had ever entered the

Sound, and had once driven his spear through the jaws of a monster who

had sneaked up behind him unawares and tried to get a grip upon his

flukes. All had shown a wholesale respect for his powers, and he had

grown more and more malignant as he grew in size and strength. Even his

own family had at last sought other waters on account of his peculiarly

ferocious temper.

Now he would try the new game in the craft above, and he felt little

doubt as to the outcome. A sudden dash and twist might demoralize the

floating tow, and as he neared the black can buoy which marked the

channel, he gave a tremendous rush ahead, then a sudden sheer to the

right, and with a quick slew he was heading back again in the opposite

direction.

[Illustration: THE GREAT SHAPE SAILED FOR THE TOP OF THE BUOY.]

Riley felt the sudden jerk ahead. He was as far as he wished to go

down the shore, but had hesitated to cut the line in the hope that the

devil would let go. Lines were not plentiful, and to lose this one

meant an end to fishing for several days. The canoe shot ahead with

prodigious speed. Riley seized the knife and was about to cut loose,

when there was a sudden sheer to starboard, and before he could do

anything the canoe was jerked quickly over upon its side. He leaped to

the rail and tried to right it, but almost instantly it was whirled

about and capsized. The sea-devil now dropped the anchor and turned his

attention to the boat. The fluke, taking the ground in the channel,

anchored the craft a few feet distant from the can buoy, and Riley was

climbing upon the upturned boat’s bottom as the creature came up. Lying

flat upon the keel, Riley balanced himself so as to keep clear of the

sea, watching the big black can swinging to and fro in the current. If

he could but seize the ring in the top he might pull himself to a place

of safety.

The devil came back slowly, looking about for the occupant of the small

boat. He was not in sight, and the craft was perfectly empty. This

puzzled him, and he began circling around to see if he had overlooked

him in the tideway. Then he saw a movement upon the boat, and made out

the keeper lying upon the keel. He came slowly up to the side of the

craft, and Riley saw a huge shadow rising alongside of him, spreading

out a full two fathoms across the wings, or flukes. The ugly eyes

were fixed upon him, and he yelled in terror. It was like some horrid

nightmare, only he knew the deadly nature of the creature, and realized

what a fate was in store for him once the devil had him fast.

The devil was in no hurry to rush matters, however, for now that the

boat was again stationary he would investigate the subject before

making an attack. He was not hungry.

Riley edged away from the huge shadow as far as he could, and called

frantically for help. The can buoy swung close to him, and he looked up

to see if it were possible to make the spring for the top. To miss it

meant certain death. Then it swung away again, and he closed his eyes

to shut out the horrid shape rising beside the boat.

The mouth of the devil was under a breadth of shovel-shaped nose, and

it could not be brought to bear at once. It would necessitate a leap to

grab Riley, and as the devil was in no hurry he swam slowly along the

sunken gunwale waiting for a better opportunity to seize the victim. He

was apparently certain of his game, and he would take his time.

Riley shrieked again and again in terror, clinging with a frantic

clutch to the capsized boat.

About this time, Samuels, the keeper, who was in the tower, happened to

turn around far enough to notice the black speck of the upturned boat.

He was expecting Riley to show up about this time of day, and the speck

upon the surface of the Sound attracted his attention. In a few moments

he made it out to be the boat bottom up.

Instantly he sprang for his glasses. He saw Riley lying upon the

bottom. He rushed to the beach as fast as he could and pushed out in

a dory. His companion was in danger from drowning, and he would rescue

him if possible. He knew nothing of the danger that lurked below the

surface of the sea. The sea-devil was out of sight, and his small

dorsal fin would not show any great distance.

Riley howled and clung to the bottom of the boat, while Samuels strove

to reach him, and all the time the devil swam slowly fore and aft along

the side trying to decide whether to make the leap or push the boat

bodily over again. The last method appeared to be the least irksome,

and he gave the boat a good shove with his nose.

Riley felt the heeling of the craft, and clutched frantically at the

now slanting keel. She was turning over again, and in an instant he

would be in the water. The thought of the ending gave him a madman’s

energy. He saw the buoy swinging closer and closer to him as the craft

was pushed along sideways. Then a sudden eddy of the tide swung it

within a few feet of the boat.

The devil, seeing the boat turning slowly over, pushed harder. In an

instant the man upon the bottom would be in the water and easy to

seize. He gave a sudden shove, throwing the capsized craft almost upon

its side. As he did so Riley made a last desperate effort. He arose

quick as lightning and balanced for an instant on the settling canoe.

Then he sprang with all his strength for the ring-bolt in the top of

the buoy.

Whether it was luck or the desperate strength of despair, he just

managed to get the fingers of his right hand into the ring. The can

toppled over as though it would capsize and land him in the sea, but

with his legs in the water almost up to his waist, it brought up on its

bearings, balanced by the heavy weight below. Then he hauled himself up

and tried to get his legs around the iron.

At each effort the can would twist slowly in the sea, and down he would

come again into the water, holding on by the ring above his head.

The sea-devil gave the craft a tremendous push which sent it clear

over, and then he slipped under it to find the game on the side beyond.

The man was gone, but he saw him hanging to the buoy close by, and he

gave a sudden dash to seize him. At that instant Riley clambered like a

cat upon the swinging iron, and by almost superhuman balancing he sat

up on the top, some four feet clear of the water, his legs swinging on

either side, making frantic efforts to keep his unstable craft from

turning around in the current and spilling him into the death-trap

which now lurked below in plain view. He prayed for a whale iron, and

screamed for help. Then he swore furiously and madly at the shape with

the stony eyes which, as implacable as death itself, lay watching him

as though certain of the ultimate outcome of the affair. Without even

his knife he would not be able to make the least resistance. A harpoon

iron would have fixed things differently. Oh, for one to throw at the

hideous thing waiting for him! How he would like to see the barbs sink

into that hard hide and pierce its vitals. He raved at it, and cursed

it frantically, but the sea-devil lay there silently watching, knowing

well that it was but a question of a few minutes before he would be at

his mercy.

The hot afternoon sun beat pitilessly upon the clinging wretch upon the

can buoy, and the heat upon his bare head made the water dance about

him. But to lose his balance was fatal, and he clung and cried, prayed

and screamed, cursed and raved, alternately, adjusting his trembling

body to each movement of his float.

As the minutes flew by, Samuels, who was rowing to him with rapid

strokes, heard his outcries, and turned to look. He could not

understand the man’s wild terror. It was evident that there was no time

to lose, and he bent to the oars again. Suddenly he heard a piercing

scream. He turned, and in time to see a great shape rise from the water

like a gigantic bat, and sail right for the top of the can buoy. It

struck it fair, and the thud of the huge body resounded over the sea.

Then it fell slanting off into the water with a great splash, and when

he looked at the top of the can there was nothing but a piece of blue

cloth hanging to the ring-bolt. Riley was gone.

In an instant Samuels sprang to his feet and stood looking at the

eddying current, paralyzed with horror at the sight. The hot sunshine

and smooth sea were still all around him, but the monstrous shape had

disappeared and his companion along with it. Now he knew why Riley had

screamed and cursed so frantically. It was not the fear of drowning

that had called forth such madness. But even while he stood there

in the sunlight a horrible nightmare seemed to be taking possession

of him, and he was trembling and helpless. He gave a hoarse cry and

set his teeth to control his shaking nerves. Then his brain began

its normal working again, and he seized his oars and gave several

tremendous strokes in the direction of the buoy, looking over his

shoulder and feeling his scalp tightening upon his head. There was a

cold chill in his blood, as though the weather were winter instead of

torrid July.

Suddenly something showed on the surface just under the boat’s bow. He

shivered in spite of himself, but the thought of his comrade nerved

him for the ordeal. He sprang forward, knife in hand, to seize it if

it were Riley’s form, or face the monster if he appeared. A white hand

came slowly upward. With a desperate effort Samuels reached over and

jerked the form of his assistant into the boat, and as he did so a huge

shadow darkened the water beneath him.

The sea-devil, carried along by the momentum of his rush, had knocked

his victim into the water from the buoy top, but had swept past him

before he could swing about far enough to seize him in his jaws. This

was all that saved Riley.

Instantly Samuels, who had a stout craft, seized his oars and pulled

for the lighthouse, gazing fixedly upon the smooth water astern of

him, and shivering with a nervous shake at each ripple in the wake

of his boat, lest it were made by the denizen below the surface. But

nothing followed. The Sound was as smooth as glass, and the sunshine

and silence were undisturbed. The great ray had missed his victim, and

was swimming slowly around the can buoy looking for him. He had failed

to notice Samuels pick him up, although he had seen his boat pass.

While Samuels watched astern he saw the capsized craft near the buoy

move suddenly, as though some power were exerted upon it from below.

The sight caused him to bend with renewed vigor to his oars, and, with

his heart sending his blood jerking through his temples with a pulse

he seemed almost to hear, he drove his boat for the beach and landed

safely. As he did so Riley sat up and looked about him with eyes that

were like those of a man in a dream. His lips were swollen to a livid

blue and he puffed through them, making a ghastly sound as they

quivered with his breath. Samuels spoke to him, but he would only gaze

about him and make the blowing noise with his mouth. Then the elder

keeper took him gently by the arm and led him painfully up the sand

to the lighthouse dwelling. The next day the victim was raving. It

would take a long time for the poor fellow to regain his equilibrium,

and absolute rest and quiet were the only thing that would steady the

terribly shaken nerves. Samuels took the man to the nearest town, and

then went back to tend the light alone.

The following week Samuels spent brooding over the horrible affair. The

log of the keeper refers to it several times, and it was like a wild

nightmare to him during his watch on the tower during darkness. During

the daytime he thought of it continually, and began to devise different

methods for the capture of the sea-devil, which he believed to be still

in the entrance of the Sound. He had sent word of the unfortunate

Riley’s condition to the inspector, and was tending the light alone

when the new assistant came to relieve him. When he arrived he found

Samuels hard at work upon a set of harpoons and lines which he had

been preparing for his hunt, while a couple of large shark-hooks lay

in the small boat ready baited. Two small boats were made ready, and

the shark-hooks and lines were placed in one. The other contained five

lilly-irons of the grummet-and-toggle pattern and two hundred fathoms

of small line capable of holding the small boat while being towed at

any speed. With this outfit they began to spend the days upon the

waters of the Sound, rowing in company to the various fishing drops,

and trying for a bite upon the great hooks.

Not a sign of the sea-devil had there been since the day the keeper

had met him. The weather was clear and fine, and the sea smooth.

Nothing rose to break the even surface. But Samuels hunted quietly on,

never losing faith that some day the monster would break water again

and give him a chance for either a harpoon or hook. In his boat he

carried a long whale lance with its heart-shaped head as sharp as a

razor, covered in a wooden scabbard to keep off the dampness. It would

penetrate any living body a full fathom, and nothing of flesh and blood

could withstand its stroke.

The sixth day out the new keeper began to give up hope of seeing

anything like the game they sought. He carried ordinary hand lines,

and busied himself fishing during their stays at the different drops.

Sea bass, drum, and sheeps-head were biting lively, and he managed to

make good use of the time they were away from the light. Toward the

late afternoon the fish suddenly stopped biting. It was the beginning

of the flood tide, and therefore not in keeping with the usual state of

affairs. Something was the matter, and Samuels began to pay attention

to his shark lines.

In a short time one of them began to go in little jerks. It was loose,

with a turn around a cleat so that it might run with any sudden pull.

Then it began to go steadily, going faster and faster, as fathom after

fathom of it flaked overboard. As a shark is never jerked for some

moments after he has taken bait, on account of his habit of holding a

morsel in his mouth sometimes for minutes before swallowing it, the

line was let run. After a shark gets it well in hand he suddenly bolts

the food and makes off. Then is the time to set back with a full force

upon the line in order to drive the barb of the hook into his tough

throat. The chain leader of the hook will then be the only thing he can

set his teeth upon, and he will be fast if the barb once gets under the

tough hide.

Samuels let the line go for nearly a minute before a quickening in the

movement told him that the fellow at the other end had swallowed the

bait and was making away. Then rising slowly to his feet he let the

line run through his fingers until he took a good brace upon the seat

of his boat with his foot. Then he grasped the line suddenly with both

hands, and setting back upon it with all his strength he stopped it

for an instant. The next moment there was a whir of whistling line.

He had dropped it and it was flying overboard. Before ten fathoms of

line had gone, Samuels had it on the cleat again and was snubbing it in

jerks which sent his boat as deep as her after gunwale. Soon, however,

the line began to give a little. Foot by foot he hauled it in, until a

long dark form showed beneath the surface of the water. It was only a

shark after all, and he was given a taste of the whale lance to quiet

him.

While he was engaged in this he heard a sudden roar behind him, and he

turned in time to see a gigantic form disappear in a tremendous smother

of foam. It sounded like a small cannon, and he well knew there was

only one creature in the Sound that could break water with such a rush

and smash.

The shark was forgotten, and as soon as possible the hook was rebaited

and cast. The other line was now watched, and the painter of the other

boat was passed over to make them tow together if the line should be

taken.

Suddenly the new keeper, who had been looking steadily over the side

into the clear water, gave a shout and pointed below.

Just a fathom beneath the boat’s keel a gigantic shadow drew slowly up.

It was a giant ray, the dreaded sea-devil they had been waiting for.

Samuels gazed down at it and could see the stony eyes fixed upon him.

Grasping a harpoon he sent it with all his force down into the depths.

It was a wild throw. But he had waited so long that he could not miss

any chance.

The long shank of the iron disappeared in the foam of the splash. Then

there was a moment’s pause. Almost instantly afterwards the line was

flying furiously over the side. The toggle had penetrated, and they

were fast.

The assistant keeper tossed over the anchor buoys to mark the slipped

moorings, and then Samuels snubbed the line.

Instantly the boats were jerked half under water. Settling back as far

as they could, they both tried to keep the bows of the towing craft

from being towed under, and the line had to be slacked again and again

to save them. Away they went, one behind the other, the ray leading,

Samuels’ boat next, with him in the stern-sheets, holding a turn of

the line which led over the runner in the stem, and the new keeper,

standing with steering oar in hand, slewing his flying craft first one

side and then the other to keep dead in the wake.

The breeze making from the sea sent the spray over the boats in sheets,

but they held on. The devil was heading for the bar under full speed,

for the iron had pricked him sorely in the side, and he was a little

taken aback at this sudden reception. He could not yet grasp the

situation, and would circle about before coming close to the small

craft again. But there was something dragging upon him that began to

cause alarm. There was a line to the thing that pricked so sore. The

feeling at first caused a desire to escape from the unknown enemy,

but gradually as the pain increased anger began to take the place of

fright, and he tried to find out just who his enemies were. He swerved

near the can buoy and broached clear of the sea to get a better view.

The crash he made as he struck the sea again sent the spray high in the

air, and the line was whirled out with renewed force.

But the men behind him had no thought of letting go. With lance in hand

Samuels waited patiently for a chance to haul line. As long as the

toggle would hold there was little chance for the iron drawing, for the

skin of the ray was as tough as leather, and the flesh beneath it was

firm.

On and on they went, the flood tide setting strong against them. The

swell from beyond the bar was now felt, and the ocean sparkled in the

sunshine where it was ruffled by the outside breeze. Two, three miles

were traversed, but there was no slacking of the tremendous pace. The

ray evidently intended to get to sea before attempting to make any

change in his actions. He was going at a ten-knot gait, keeping now

close to the bottom, and heading right through the north breaker,

which rolled in curved lines of white foam upon the bar. The channel

he cared not the least for, and Samuels watched the roaring line of

white with concern. The small boats would make bad weather of the

surf, even though the sea was smooth, for the swell rose high and fell

heavily, making a deep rumbling snore which grew louder and louder as

they approached. Far away the lighthouse shone in the sunshine, and the

buoys stood out like black specks to mark the way through the channel.

Samuels got out his hatchet ready for a sudden cut at the line if

the surf proved too dangerous. They were nearing the inner line of

breakers, and it would be only a matter of minutes before they were

either through or swamped. There must be some hasty judgment, but it

must be as accurate as it would be hasty, for there would be no chance

to change his mind when the water rose ahead. It was breaking in a

good fathom and more.