Other voices blended with that of the skipper. The two sailors in the
water were screeching as loud as they could, though in no apparent
peril, since they had not followed Ballyhoo far from the side of the
boat.
Both Jack and Oscar were thrilled with a sudden fear. Now they could
see a second sharp-pointed fin zigzagging through the waters. From
the excited manner in which the sharks were swimming, first this way
and then that, it seemed as though some instinct must have told them
there was a chance to secure a dinner. Oscar was forcibly reminded of
the mysterious way in which those carrion birds away over there in
Africa would appear high in the heavens almost as soon as game had been
brought down, as though their wonderful sense of smell, or some strange
instinct, told them of the feast that was preparing.
Ballyhoo was no longer lying there floating on his back. The sturdy
shout of the captain through the megaphone had reached him as clear
as a bell. It was enough to put activity into the boldest swimmer’s
frame; and so Ballyhoo started at full speed in the direction of the
submarine.
Oscar vanished down the ladder leading into the conning tower, as
though he had conceived some project that might help in case of
desperate need. Jack, like the captain, could only stand there and
stare. All at once the instinct came to him to turn his camera on the
scene. Perhaps it was mechanically that the boy commenced to turn the
crank, hardly knowing what he was doing, save that the artist spirit in
him was being appealed to by the dramatic nature of the event.
Although Ballyhoo was working his arms like flails, and making prize
time in cutting through the water, those monsters of the deep could
swim twice as fast as a mere human being at his best.
Now it seemed as though they must have found the right scent at last.
They were coming on in a direct line for the struggling boy. The sound
of his arms beating the water into foam as he fought his way onward may
have attracted them; but no matter from what cause, both sharks were
speeding directly to the spot.
“Faster, lad, faster! they’re after you!” roared the captain, himself
horror-stricken at the prospect of a sea tragedy.
If anything could cause Ballyhoo to put new vigor into his frantic
strokes, it was that urgent appeal. But even though he may have added
to his speed it was but a matter of fractions, and could not enter into
the result at all.
Just then Oscar came shooting out of the little trap in the deck,
looking white and peaked. He clutched something in his hands. Jack,
even as he continued to grind mechanically away at his machine, saw
what it was, and a fresh spasm of hope gripped his aching heart.
How fortunate it was that Oscar always kept his repeating rifle ready
charged for business. He had gone down below like “a streak of greased
lightning,” as he afterwards explained it, and, snatching his gun,
started up again, flinging aside the engineer, who, having heard the
outcries, was bent on reaching the deck so as to learn what was the
matter.
So Oscar flung himself forward, and, raising his rifle, waited to see
at which of the two monsters he should commence firing. They had gained
on Ballyhoo fearfully. The swimming boy, glancing over his shoulder
each time he swung back and forth with his alternate strokes, could,
doubtless, see those sharp fins cutting the water like so many knife
blades.
Ballyhoo was pretty badly frightened by that time. No doubt all that
he had ever read about swimmers attacked and bitten by man-eating
sharks must have flashed before his mental vision. But he was straining
himself to the very utmost now, and nothing could increase his pace.
At that rate he must be overhauled long before he could gain the safety
of the boat. Oscar realized this even as he glanced along the barrel of
his gun, and then pressed the trigger.
With the sharp report he saw the water splash upward where the bullet
struck.
“You hit him, lad, you surely did; give the begger another try!”
snapped the intensely interested captain.
Again Oscar fired, and this time there could be no doubt, for they all
plainly saw the flirt of a huge tail above the surface of the water;
and, unless their eyesight deceived them, the sea in that vicinity was
immediately tinged with blood.
Apparently that monster was disposed of, temporarily at least, and with
a grim intention of repeating his triumph Oscar sought to get a chance
at the other man-eater.
He found that somehow it was harder to hit this fellow, for as he came
on he dodged so violently from side to side that the shots seemed to
miss him entirely.
“Splash as hard as you can, son!” boomed the skipper through his
megaphone; for it is a well-known fact that often sharks may be kept
away by a tremendous commotion in the water, and more than a few lives
have been saved through that artifice.
Ballyhoo heard and obeyed. He kept up his strenuous efforts right
along, but managed to accompany them with such splashing as he found
possible, though doubtless himself quite at a loss to know why he had
been told to do this.
Then Oscar awoke to a terrible realization. His magazine had been
emptied, for no fresh cartridge slipped into the firing chamber when
he threw out the old brass shell, and worked the mechanism for a
succession!
He could not lift a hand toward helping his chum! How bitterly did he
repent being in such great haste, and taking too big chances. Had he
only restrained his eagerness until the shark came closer, he might
have easily sent a bullet home that would have finished the ugly
monster.
He dropped the gun with a crash on the deck. It seemed to Jack, still
working at his camera crank, that Oscar was almost tempted to madly
fling himself over into the sea, and try to save poor, exhausted
Ballyhoo, or else suffer the consequences.
But a hand seized the boy and held him fast.
“No, no, youngster, none of that foolishness,” cried the skipper. “Look
again, and you’ll see that it isn’t so hopeless after all. The Injun is
a-going to show us something. I’ve seen it done many a time out there
at Ceylon, and along the Australian pearl shore too.”
These encouraging words caused Oscar to notice that one of the natives
with whom he and Jack had just been bartering for fresh fruit was
urging his canoe along like mad. He aimed to pass the swimmer by, and
get between Ballyhoo and the oncoming sea monster.
“Keep cranking, Jack, keep it going, old fellow!” cried Oscar. “This
picture will be something worth while! There, see that brown-skinned
native go in, will you, just like a plummet? It’s good-bye to Mr.
Shark, I guess, Jack--but don’t stop a second, do you hear?”
Indeed, Jack was working steadily, and with a much lighter heart, for
something within seemed to tell him that Ballyhoo would after all be
spared. He had seen that Indian plunge gracefully into the sea, and
vanish from sight; and between his strong, white teeth Jack had also
noticed that he held a long-bladed knife.
He knew, or could easily guess at any rate, just to what use the dusky
young fellow meant to put that weapon. Coming up underneath the clumsy
man-eater, he would, with one mighty stroke, rip him open, and cause
his death.
It was a simple trick, once learned, and not half so dangerous as it
seemed; though a greenhorn might run the chance of making a bad job of
it, and inviting an attack from the monster.
Ballyhoo was not staying his efforts, even though fresh hope may have
taken possession of his heart, once he saw that canoe flit past him,
with the Indian standing erect in it, that knife between his teeth.
Oscar kept his eyes riveted upon that advancing fin. Suddenly he saw
that it had disappeared. A dreadful fear assailed him. Had the wily
shark taken warning of his peril, and swung around so as to give the
diver the slip? Then it might yet be that Ballyhoo would suffer from
his awful teeth, that could sever an arm or a leg as a hungry boy could
bite a wedge from a slice of bread and butter.
But the simitar-like fin did not flash into view again. Ballyhoo,
continuing his frantic efforts, was now close to the boat, and Oscar
hurriedly clambered down to where he could give the almost exhausted
chum a helping hand, so as to hasten his leaving the water.
He was just in the act of doing this when he heard Jack give a whoop.
The Indian had bobbed up again, and was swimming with easy strokes
around toward where his abandoned canoe floated.
Into this he climbed with considerable agility that aroused the
ardent admiration of the watchers; but then these Caribs are regular
water-ducks at all times, and can do the most wonderful “stunts” in
diving for coins tossed overboard by curious tourists, which they
usually recover before the silver bit has sunk ten feet below the
surface.
The other native had also pushed forward, and both were seen to be
leaning over the sides of their boats tugging at something.
“They’ve got rope-ends in their hands, Oscar,” advised Jack, still
turning that crank of his industriously, for he wished to get it all in
the picture. “I guess we’ll see both sharks again, for here the Indians
come paddling back.”
It proved just as Jack had said. Each of the Indians had secured one
of the marine monsters, and they were terrible looking creatures to be
sure, with a length of almost thirteen feet, and sporting rows of teeth
that made the boys shiver just to look at them.
Ballyhoo was white, but no more so than Jack himself, who sank back
from his camera with a drawn look on his face. He had suffered
intensely while trying to do his duty, and at the same time feel an
agony of dread grip his heart.
Captain Shooks proceeded to extract several cruel-looking teeth from
the jaws.
“Like as not you’ll want to keep the same,” he told Ballyhoo Jones,
“so’s to remember the little incident by.”
“Huh!” grunted the winded boy, “small chance of me ever forgetting
this raw deal, I guess. I’ll dream I’m being chased by those hungry
monsters ever so many times. But ain’t they whales, though? And strikes
me I came near playing that Jonah part for once. Please drop them back
again, and let ’em float away for the buzzards to feed on.”
This was done, and then Oscar saw to it that the Indian shark killer
was abundantly rewarded for his labor, since his prompt dive had
undoubtedly saved the life of the boy in the water.
After that Ballyhoo Jones would be mighty careful, so he admitted, when
and where he took his bath, for “once bit, twice shy” was going to be
his motto.