CATCHING A SHARK.
Before many hours had passed Bob was to learn that the Pacific did
not always live up to its name. When he awoke the following morning,
shortly before seven o'clock, his first impression was that it was
very hot, much hotter than when he had gone to bed the night before.
For some moments he lay dozing, feeling too enervated to spring from
the bed as was his custom on waking. Then came a loud rap on the
door, and, at his invitation, it opened quickly and his uncle entered.
"Not up yet?" he asked.
"Not, but I will be in a jiffy," Bob replied as he swung his feet to
the floor.
"What's the hurry?" came in sleepy tones from Jack's bunk on the
other side of the little room.
"Looks as though we were running into a storm and you'd better get
your breakfast before we strike," his uncle told them.
"Don't hear any wind," Jack said as he jumped up.
"There isn't a breath of air stirring."
"Then what makes you think it's going to blow?" Bob asked.
"That's the way they start down here. Better get a hustle on.
Breakfast's all ready."
"We'll be there in two shakes of a dog's tail," Bob told him as he
turned and left the cabin.
"Gee, but it's hot," Jack declared pulling on his trowsers.
"Hotter'n love in haying time," Bob agreed. "But I suppose we've got
to expect that sort of thing down here. We're pretty near the
equator you know."
As they emerged on deck three minutes later, a peculiar sensation
struck both at the same instant. As their uncle had said, not a
breath of air seemed stirring and the surface of the sea was like
that of a mill pond, not so much as a ripple breaking its smoothness.
The sun was half obscured by a thin haze, while, apparently rising
from the ocean in the west, a low lying, dirty looking tank of
clouds, caught their attention.
"Looks as though there might be some wind in them," Bob said pointing
to the west.
"Wouldn't wonder," Jack agreed, just as Captain Ole came around a
corner of the wheel house.
"Is it going to blow, Captain?" Bob asked.
"Yep, it's going to blow all right and mighty soon too. Had your
breakfast?"
"Not yet."
"Then get it as soon as you can. This boat'll be standing on her
tail before long, and no knowing how long it'll be before you get
another square meal."
"He looks a bit worried," Jack said, as they hurried toward the mess
cabin.
On the side of the room close to where they sat was a barometer and
Bob glanced at it as they took their places at the table.
"29.75," he read the figures aloud.
"That's pretty low, isn't it?" Jack asked.
"Rather."
They hurried through the meal, but before they had finished they were
aware of a peculiar moaning sound which seemed to be stealing over
the surface of the water, and they noted that the glass had fallen
five full points since they had sat down.
"She's sinking pretty fast," Jack declared, as he got up from his
chair.
"Yep, I reckon it's going to be what they call a rip snorter," Bob
said as he followed him from the room.
On deck, they found the crew making fast every moveable object under
the direction of Pat Barney who greeted them with a cheery grin as he
said "the top uv the mornin' to yer." Already a slight breeze was
rippling the surface of the sea and the bank of clouds had spread
until the entire sky was covered.
"You boys had better get below," Captain Ole shouted from the wheel
house.
"You think there's danger?" Bob called back.
"Hope not, but you never can tell down here. This may be nothing but
a hard blow and then again it may be a cyclone."
"We'd rather stay on deck if you don't mind," Bob told him and added:
"Of course, we'll go below if it's your order."
"Oh, stay if you want to, but when she strikes she's apt to strike
hard, and you want to be near something to cling to."
"We will," Bob assured him.
It was now growing rapidly darker, and the moaning sound was
increasing in intensity. The air seemed to thicken perceptibly
moment by moment, and it was hot and moist. Then the first gust
struck. It was not quite a squall, but was strong enough to cause
the Valkyrie to slide off her course several points.
"If you're going to stay on deck, you'd better get on oil skins."
Mr. Lakewood had come from the main cabin unnoticed until he spoke.
He was clad in oil skins which made him look like a typical
longshoreman.
"All right, we'll get them," Bob replied as he started for the cabin
closely followed by Jack.
By the time they had reached the locker room, the boat was pitching
rather violently and they had to watch their steps on the way back.
Once more on deck they were surprised to see how rough a sea the wind
had kicked up in so short a time. Huge rollers, their crests tipped
with white foam, bore down on them from the north-east, and it seemed
that the boat was rushing through the water at a terrific pace. Each
moment the wind seemed to be increasing in strength. It came in
gusts at short intervals, and each one seemed stronger than the one
before. And now huge drops of rain began to pelt down, and in less
than five minutes it was raining in torrents. It was now so dark
that they could see hardly the length of the ship.
Mr. Lakewood was standing at the foot of the stairway leading to the
bridge, and, as they made their way to his side, they could see that
he was worried.
"You think it's a cyclone?" Bob shouted
"No, I don't think so, but it's going to be some blow," his uncle
shouted back.
Just then a loud whirring sound rose above the noise of the wind,
coming from the rear, and both boys looked at their uncle.
"That's the propeller," he told them. "The way she's pitching now
it'll be out of the water about half the time. But don't you get
scared," he added. "The Valkyrie is seaworthy and she'll outride the
storm all right."
The ship was now pitching so violently that they were all obliged to
cling fast to the railing of the stairway to keep their feet.
"If this isn't a cyclone then I'd hate to see one," Jack laughed as a
huge wave sent a smother of spray over the bow.
"What makes you think it isn't one?" Bob asked his uncle.
"They don't usually come in the morning," he replied.
Soon after, Mr. Lakewood proposed that they join the captain in the
wheel house.
"There's plenty of room in there and I don't reckon he'll mind, and
there's no use staying out here in the rain. But you want to cling
tight going up those stairs."
He led the way and the boys followed. Once Jack was all but blown
off his feet but he recovered his balance and finally they were all
inside.
"How does it look to you?" Mr. Lakewood asked.
"It's not so bad," Captain Ole shouted back.
Bob looked at Jack, and Jack looked at Bob. "What did he call bad?"
was the question in their eyes.
"Think it'll get worse?"
"No. Glass is rising."
But it continued to blow with unabated fury, so far as the boys could
see, for several hours, but finally, along toward noon, they could
tell that the violence of the wind was decreasing, and a little later
the sun peeped out from behind the clouds, just as a gong struck
telling them that dinner was ready.
"So we aren't going to miss a meal after all," Bob laughed as they
started down the stairway.
"But I'll tell you now that I was worried for a bit, and so was the
captain," their uncle told them. "The beginning of that storm had
all the earmarks of a rip snorter at first. I've been through them,
and I know the signs, but we must have just struck the edge of it."
"And it was some edge at that," Jack laughed as he sat down at the
table.
Although the boat was still pitching too violently to permit of
anything of a liquid nature to be placed on the table there was
plenty of solid food, and all were hungry.
When they returned to the deck, the rain had ceased and the wind had
slackened to a stiff breeze, but the waves were still running high
enough to cause the Valkyrie to pitch rather violently as she slid
from crest to trough.
"She didn't stand on her tail though," Jack shouted to Captain Ole
who was still at the wheel.
"An' you can thank your lucky stars that she didn't," he called back.
"Did we get off our course much?" Bob asked as they reached the wheel
house.
"Not much we didn't," the captain replied indignantly. "I shot the
sun just before you came out, and, unless I'm off my reckoning, we'll
cross the line in about an hour from now."
"You mean the equator?" Jack asked.
"Sure, I mean the equator. What other line is there down here, I'd
like to know?"
"Well, I reckon we're lucky that we didn't get snarled up in it," Bob
laughed as Pat came in, and the captain turned the wheel over to him
and announced that he was going to get something to eat.
"Snarled up in what?" Pat asked as soon the captain left the room.
"Oh, that was only some of Bob's foolishness," Jack told him. "He
was trying to be funny because the captain spoke of the equator as a
line."
By nightfall the sea had fallen to a gentle swell, and there was
every indication of fair weather ahead.
"What's that thing following us?"
It was the following morning, shortly after ten o'clock, and the two
boys, together with their uncle, were sitting beneath an awning in
the stern of the boat as Bob asked the question, at the same time
pointing to a triangular shaped object some hundred feet astern.
"It's a shark," his uncle told him.
"I've been watching him for some time, and that's what I thought it
was. He must be a pretty good sized one."
"Yes, they get pretty large down this way and pretty ugly too."
"Well, I hate to fall overboard just now," Jack shuddered. "Do they
often follow boats that way?" he asked.
"It's not unusual," his uncle told him. "Probably someone threw over
something he could eat and he's hoping he'll do it again. I've known
one to follow a ship for more than a day. How'd you like to catch
him?"
"Could we?"
Both boys asked the question at the same time.
"If we've got a shark hook aboard we can have a try at him," Mr.
Lakewood said as he arose. "You keep your eye on him and I'll go see
if I can find one, Ole ought to have some."
"Talk about fishing," Bob said as his uncle left them.
"Wonder what kind of a rod you use," Jack mused.
"Rod! I reckon you don't use a rod at all."
"A body'd think you'd fished for sharks all your life," Jack declared.
"But just imagine playing that fellow on a rod. Why, he's likely all
of twelve feet long."
"Some baby," Jack grinned, keeping his eye on the fish, which was now
a little nearer.
Mr. Lakewood returned a few minutes later, carrying a large reel of
line which was nearly as thick as a clothes line, and fastened to the
end was the largest fish hook the boys had ever seen.
"Thought he must have one," he smiled as he put the reel down on the
deck. "Now, Jack, you go ask Wong for a big hunk of salt pork, while
Bob and I are getting this reel anchored so that we can handle our
friend out there provided we hook on to him."
The reel was a strongly built affair and was provided with a handle,
which was long and looked firm enough to stand any reasonable strain
which might be put on it.
"How you going to hold it?" Bob asked as Jack disappeared.
"It's fixed so that it can be attached to this snubbing post this
way," and Mr. Lakewood proceeded to make it firm with the aid of a
bit of chain which he had brought with him.
Everything was ready by the time Jack returned with a hunk of pork,
which must have weighed all of five pounds.
"This big enough?" he asked.
"I reckon it'll do." Taking the meat, Mr. Lakewood stuck the hook,
which was fully a foot in length, through the middle of it.
"Now, Jack, suppose you go and ask whoever's at the wheel to slow
down to about half speed. We're going so fast that I'm afraid the
bait'll just skip along the surface and, you know, a shark has to
turn over pretty well onto his back when he bites."
Jack found Pat on the wheel, and, on being told what was up, the
Irishman at once rang for half speed, and almost immediately the boat
again began to slow down. Jack hurried back to find his uncle slowly
paying out the line.
"Had a bite?" he chuckled.
"Not yet," Bob replied.
There was a sinker on the line, but in spite of it the hunk of meat
at first skipped over the surface of the water but, as the speed of
the boat lessened, it soon disappeared.
"How much line have we got?" Bob asked.
"Ole said there was about a hundred feet," his uncle told him.
"Then we must have out about fifty feet now," Jack said.
"Just about."
"I don't see his fin," Bob said a moment later.
"Maybe he's," Jack began, but before he could finish what he was
going to say, there was a violent tug on the line and at the same
instant there was a tremendous commotion in the water some
seventy-five feet astern.
"We've hooked him," Bob shouted.
The line was now running out rapidly, and, almost before he had
finished speaking, the last layer left the reel, and, for a moment
the line straightened out as taut as a bowstring.
"Shall I try to reel in?" Jack shouted excitedly.
"Go ahead," his uncle consented. "After that jerk, I reckon the line
will hold him."
To his great surprise, the line came in easily and he had recovered
fully thirty feet when there was a sudden reversal of program on the
part of the big fish, and the handle of the reel was jerked out of
his hand with a suddenness which made him gasp. Again the reel ran
bare, and again the line straightened out.
"Better let him tire himself out," Mr. Lakewood suggested with a
smile. "I reckon that line's going to hold him."
"Gee, but did you see that," Jack gasped.
The shark had leaped clear of the water, and there was a loud splash
as it fell back.
"I think we've got a whale instead of a shark," Bob declared.
"I've seen 'em bigger nor that feller."
They turned to find the second mate, Josh Kelley, standing close by
the rail.
"How long do you reckon that fellow is?" Mr. Lakewood asked him.
"Not more'n eighteen feet," Josh replied.
"Isn't that pretty good sized?" Bob asked, as the fish again broke
water.
"'Bout half grown."
"I'd add seven or eight feet to your estimate," Mr. Lakewood told him.
"Bet he isn't twenty."
"I never bet," Mr. Lakewood smiled. "But I'll be surprised if he
doesn't run over twenty-five."
"What kind of a shark is it?" Bob asked.
"White shark, I should say," Josh told him.
"Are they the ugly kind?" Jack asked.
"They are that. They're man eaters. Isn't that so, Josh?" Mr.
Lakewood asked, turning to the mate.
"Wal, if they're full grown they're kinder unpleasant, so ter speak,"
the Yankee, with a slight sneer in his voice, acknowledged.
"Suppose you try to wind him in again, Jack," Mr. Lakewood suggested.
"I'll go get my rifle. We want to be sure he's dead before he comes
aboard. But look out he doesn't yank that handle out of your hand
and break a wrist."
Jack began to turn the handle of the reel but the line came in with
difficulty and he had about all he could do to regain any of it.
Once again the fish made a sudden dash and the reel whirred as the
line ran out. The boy let it run till the reel was again bare and
then began to wind in again. By this time several of the crew were
gathered in the stern watching the fight, among them Captain Ole.
"You got quite a minnie," he smiled as the fish again leaped clear of
the water.
"I'll say he is," Jack puffed, turning the handle with all his
strength.
"And it's a white, sure as guns," Captain Ole told him. "I don't as
a rule like to see a thing killed just for the sake of killing, but
when it comes to a white shark, the more of them you kill the better,
I say. They're killers of the worst sort. One of them almost got me
once, and I've had a grudge against them ever since. I'll tell you
the story sometime."
Jack had been reeling in rapidly while the captain was talking, and
now had nearly half the line in again. He could tell that the big
fish was tiring rapidly, but it was not dead yet, and another rush
again took out thirty or forty feet. But this was the last battle,
and Jack had the fish up to within twenty feet of the boat when Mr.
Lakewood reappeared with a rifle in his hands.
"You a good shot, Bob?" he asked.
"Nothing extra," Bob grinned.
"Well, have a try," Mr. Lakewood said, handing him the gun.
"Where's the best place to hit?" Bob asked as he took the rifle from
his uncle's hand.
"When he turns, get him just above his mouth," Captain Ole advised.
The fish was now making but feeble struggles to escape and was
turning, every minute or two so as to expose its huge mouth, and Bob
could not repress a shudder as he caught sight of the rows of needle
sharp teeth. Awaiting a favorable moment he fired and the big fish,
with a last effort, threw itself from the water, and then fell back.
"You got him all right," Captain Ole assured him.
"But what'll we do with him?" Bob asked.
"Well, the only part of him that's really worth anything is the oil
in his head," the captain replied slowly. Then, turning to the
sailors, he said. "You boys want to pull him up and get the oil?
You can have it if you do and maybe you'll get fifty dollars worth,
maybe more."
"You bet," was the immediate and unanimous response.
"All right, then. You'll have to rig a tackle up forward where the
mess can be cleaned up easily."
The tackle was soon arranged, and the captain ordered the boat
stopped long enough to allow the men to pull the huge fish from the
water.
"He sure is some minnie, as Cap't Ole said," Bob grinned as the shark
came over the side and, a moment later was stretched out on the
forward deck.
"Twenty-six feet and three inches," Captain Ole announced a few
minutes after he had measured the fish. "You'd have lost that bet,
Josh," he added turning to the second mate who was watching him
closely.
"He's bigger nor I thought," he acknowledged.
"I'll bet that fellow hates his own shadow," Jack whispered to Bob as
they leaned against the rail watching the sailors as they cut a hole
in the shark's head, the exact spot being indicated by Captain Ole.
"He sure does nurse a mean grouch," Bob agreed.
About two quarts of a clear light yellow oil was dipped from the
cavity in the shark's head and then the carcass was thrown overboard.
"What's that oil good for?" Jack asked Captain Ole.
"They use it to oil watches and fine clocks," the captain told him.
"You see it's an oil that won't gum."