LANDING A SHARK
“Hello, Sam! Up to some of your jokes again, eh?” asked a hearty voice,
and a short, stout man, with blue eyes, which contrasted strangely with
the bronze of his face, came from the tower. “I knew it must be you,
when the lassie came in, all excited, at having seen Robinson. How are
you? Where you going? Who are the lads with you? How’ve you been?”
“I’ll give you my log book and let you take a look at it if that’s the
way you’re going to go at me,” answered Sam. “The fact of the matter
is the boys, here, want to see a lighthouse. They’re landlubbers, you
know.”
There was no use of resenting the way in which Sam spoke. He meant no
offense, and the boys, realizing his character, took none.
“Landlubbers, eh?” commented Mr. Stilkins. “Well, it’s too bad, but I
s’pose it’s not their fault.”
“No,” replied Sam gravely, as though it was a very important matter.
“They was born so,” and then the two men had a hearty laugh, in which
the boys joined.
“Well, I can show you the lighthouse, but there isn’t much to see,”
the keeper went on. “We just keep the light going at night. That’s all
there is to it. This is a flashing light. That is, it shows two red
flashes at intervals of ten seconds each.”
“The one below has a white flash and two red ones,” commented Jerry.
“Yes, that’s the difference, and it’s a big one for sailors. You see
it’s safe to come in right close to shore here. In fact that’s the
only channel. If they stand too far out they’ll fetch up on the rocks
or a sand bar. But they’ve got to do just the opposite in regard to
the other light. They must keep at least two miles out, or they’ll get
spitted on the rocks. So you see when they observe two red flashes only
they know it’s time to stand in, and when they see a white flash and
two red ones, it’s time to stay out. Easy, when you once know how; eh,
Sam,” and the keeper clapped the sailor on the shoulder.
“That’s what, messmate. Can you show the boys the machinery?”
The three chums were much interested in the mechanism that revolved
the lenses of the light, at the top of the tower.
“Do you have any help?” asked Jerry, thinking of the object of their
trip.
“Oh, yes, I’ve got a man who shares the trick with me.”
“Same one you had?” asked Sam, saving Jerry the trouble of putting a
question.
“No, this is a new feller came the other day.”
Jerry hardly looked at the other boys. He felt he was on the right
track.
“Who is he?” Sam went on.
“Name’s Bill--Bill--pshaw! I’ve clean forgotten it.”
Jerry felt the keeper must notice his confusion.
“There he is now,” went on Mr. Stilkins, pointing to a man coming
toward the lighthouse. Jerry and his chums turned expecting to see Bill
Berry confronting them. The shock, when they saw that the keeper’s
assistant was a little fat man, about as broad as he was tall, and
crosseyed; (as different as possible from Bill Berry), almost made
Jerry gasp.
“Hi, Bill!” called the keeper. “What’s your last name?”
“Smith,” was the answer.
“Must have been a terrible strain on your mind to remember that,”
commented Sam. “Well, have you boys seen enough?”
The chums felt that they had, considering that the man they sought was
not at this lighthouse. They silently made up their minds they would
have to try the next one.
As the little party boarded the _Dartaway_ the keeper called them an
invitation to come and see him at any time. He promised to show them
the light when it was in operation, and the boys resolved to take
advantage of the offer.
“Now for a little try at the sharks,” spoke Sam, as the boat got
underway and swung out into the channel. “I think we’ll stand out a
bit.”
“We might run on the rocks, they’re out a ways,” said Bob.
“Not with what this craft draws,” replied the sailor. “You haven’t got
over three feet, and the rocks are a fathom below the surface at low
tide.”
Sam prepared his shark lines. He had two of them, each one with six
feet of chain nearest the hook, for the big fish would bite through
the hempen strands in an instant. The hooks were of good size, and Sam
baited each one with a bit of the fat salt pork. Then he fastened the
lines to the stern of the boat, and taking up his position where he
could feel to see if there was a bite, he tossed the bait overboard.
“Send her slow and easy,” he said to Ned, who was at the wheel. “We’ll
soon be on their feeding ground.”
With the motor running on first speed the boat, which had been put some
distance out from shore, went down along the coast. It was a calm day,
and so clear that objects could be seen for a long distance.
“Well,” remarked Jerry in a low voice to his two chums, who were in the
bow, “we didn’t land him that time.”
“Got to try the next lighthouse,” said Bob. “What are we going to do
when we find Bill?”
That was a phase of the question that had not occurred to any of them
up to this point.
“Make him give up the ring,” suggested Ned.
“We’d better go slow, where Bill Berry is concerned,” Bob said. “I
think it would be better to tell the professor what we know.”
“Let’s find Bill first,” counseled Jerry. “Be careful not to let any
one know we’re looking for him.”
Sam, who had been sitting quietly in the stern, with his hands resting
lightly on the lines, suddenly jumped up and began pulling on one.
“Did you hook him?” cried Bob.
“He got away,” the sailor said in a disgusted tone. “He was only
nibbling at the bait. But we’re amongst ’em now. Be on the watch.”
Jerry and Bob went back to join Sam, while Ned stayed to run the engine
and steer. But the first bite was not at once followed by any others.
The boat went along for a mile or more before Sam gave any evidence of
feeling the hooks touched. Then he uttered a yell:
“I’ve got one now!”
He began to haul in on the line, calling to the two boys to help him.
The lads yanked with all their strength, as did the sailor, but they
had met their match. Something at the other end of the line was pulling
against them, and they could not budge it.
“Speed up the boat a bit!” called Sam. “We’ll tire him out and try
again!”
Ned put the motor to second speed, and the craft churned through the
water. Sam waited a few minutes and then tried the line again, the boys
helping him.
“He’s a little easier now,” the sailor remarked. “That pulling on his
jaw weakened him.”
In fact they were able to get in some slack now. They pulled and
pulled, until it seemed that they must have gotten up enough line to
reach to the bottom of the ocean. Still nothing showed. But there was
always that dead weight at the end of the small cable.
“Look out for trouble when he gets near the surface,” panted Sam. “Ned,
can’t you lash the wheel and come back here with the hatchet? We’ll
need you.”
Ned fastened the wheel so as to keep the boat in a straight course,
and, wondering what part he was going to play, picked up a long-handled
hatchet Sam had brought along and went to the stern.
His chums and the sailor were still hauling on the line, their hands
and arms aching from the strain. Foot after foot was pulled aboard
until Sam exclaimed:
“We’ll have him up in a few seconds!”
Hardly had he spoken when there was a commotion near the surface of the
ocean, about ten feet from the stern of the boat. The water was lashed
into foam, and in the midst of the swirling eddies could be seen the
tip of a big tail, and the triangular shaped, dorsal fin of the shark.
“There he is!” yelled Sam. “He’s a big one!”
It seemed as though they had hooked on to a small whirlwind beneath
the water, or a miniature torpedo that was in full flight around in a
circle. The big fish, in its efforts to get rid of the hook, and escape
that relentless pulling, was fighting with all its savage strength.
With fins and tail it sought to get away.
“Pull! Pull!” cried Sam. “Ned, stand ready with the hatchet, and clip
him on the head when you get a show!”
Closer and closer to the boat they pulled the shark. They could almost
grasp the chain part of the line now. Then, above the water, was thrust
the ugly head of the fish. While it was not a man-eater, or as large as
the shark of the tropical seas, being in fact only an immense dog fish,
the creature was so ugly and horrible, with its under-shot mouth, and
unblinking eyes, that Jerry and Bob were almost inclined to let go.
“Hold on!” cautioned Sam, taking a turn of the rope about a cleat.
Then the fish lashed out more furiously than ever with its tail. The
water was white with foam. The big jaws snapped ominously close to the
boat. The craft rocked and pitched with the violence of the fish’s
efforts.
“Quick, Ned, or he’ll upset us!” called Sam.