THE MIDNIGHT ALARM
"Whew! What a lot of 'em!"
"Bless my fish line! It's a big school!"
"Look how they turn over and over, and leap from the water."
"By golly, dere is suttinly some fish dere!"
These were the exclamations made by our four friends a few days
later, as they leaned over the rail of the Maderia and watched a big
school of porpoises gamboling about in the warm waters of the gulf
stream. It was the second porpoise school the ship had come up with
on the voyage, and this was a much larger one than the first, so
that the passengers crowded up to see the somewhat novel sight.
"If they were only good eating now, we might try for a few,"
observed Ned.
"Some folks eat them, but they're too oily for me," observed a
gentleman who had struck up an acquaintance with the boys and Mr.
Damon. "Their skin makes excellent shoe laces though, their oil is
used for delicate machinery--especially some that comes from around
the head, at least so I have heard."
"Wow! Did you see that?" cried Tom, as one large porpoise leaped
clear of the water, turned over several times and fell back with a
loud splash. "That was the biggest leap yet."
"And there goes another," added Ned.
"Say, this ought to bring those two mysterious passengers out of
their room," observed Tom to his chum in a low voice. "Nearly
everyone else seems to be on deck."
"You haven't been able to catch a glimpse of them; eh Tom?"
"Not a peak. I stayed up several nights, as you know, and paced the
deck, but they didn't stir out. Or, if they did, it must have been
toward morning after I turned in. I can't understand it. They must
be either criminals, afraid of being seen, or they ARE the Fogers,
and they know we're on to their game."
"It looks as if it might be one or the other, Tom. But if they are
criminals we don't have to worry about 'em. They don't concern us."
"No, that's right. Split mackerel! Look at that fellow jump. He's
got 'em all beat!" and Tom excitedly, pointed at the porpoises, the
whole school of which was swimming but a short distance from the
steamer.
"Yes, a lot of them are jumping now. I wonder--"
"Look! Look!" cried the man who had been talking to Mr. Damon.
"Something out of the ordinary is going on among those porpoises. I
never saw them leap out of the water like that before."
"Sharks! It's sharks!" cried a sailor who came running along the
deck. "A school of sharks are after the porpoises!" "I believe he's
right," added Mr. Sander, the gentleman with Mr. Damon. "See,
there's the ugly snout of one now. He made a bite for that big
porpoise but missed."
"Bless my meat axe!" cried the odd man. "So he did. Say, boys, this
is worth seeing. There'll be a big fight in a minute."
"Not much of a fight," remarked Mr. Sander. "The porpoise isn't
built for fighting. They're trying to get away from the sharks by
leaping up."
"Why don't they dive, and so get away?" asked Ned.
"The sharks are too good at diving," went on Mr. Sander. "The
porpoises couldn't escape that way. Their only hope is that
something will scare the sharks away, otherwise they'll kill until
their appetites are satisfied, and that isn't going to be very soon
I'm afraid."
"Look! Look!" cried Ned. "A shark leaped half way out of the water
then."
"Yes, I saw it," called Tom.
There was now considerable excitement on deck. Nearly all the
passengers, many of the crew and several of the officers were
watching the strange sight. The porpoises were frantically tumbling,
turning and leaping to get away from their voracious enemies.
"Oh, if I only had my electric rifle!" cried Tom. "I'd make some of
those ugly sharks feel sick!"
"Bless my cartridge belt!" cried Mr. Damon. "That would be a good
idea. The porpoises are such harmless creatures. It's a shame to see
them attacked so."
For the activity of the sharks had now redoubled, and they were
darting here and there amid the school of porpoises biting with
their cruel jaws. The other fish were frantically leaping and
tumbling, but the strange part of it was that the schools of sharks
and porpoises kept about the same distance ahead of the ship, so
that the passengers had an excellent view of the novel and thrilling
sight.
"Rifle!" said Mr. Sander, catching at the word. "I fancy the captain
may have some. He's quite a friend of mine, I'll speak to him."
"Get me one, too, if you please," called Ned as the gentleman
hurried away.
"And I'll also try my luck at potting a shark. Bless my gunpowder if
I won't!" said Mr. Damon.
The captain did have several rifles in his stateroom, and he loaned
them to Mr. Sander. They were magazine weapons, firing sixteen shots
each, but they were not of as high power as those Tom had packed
away.
"Now we'll make those sharks sing a different tune, if sharks sing!"
cried the young inventor.
"Yes, we're coming to the rescue of the porpoises!" added Ned.
The passengers crowded up to witness the marksmanship, and soon the
lads and Mr. Damon were at it.
It was no easy matter to hit a shark, as the big, ugly fish were
only seen for a moment in their mad rushes after the porpoises, but
both Tom and Ned were good shots and they made the bullets tell.
"There, I hit one big fellow!" cried Mr. Damon. "Bless my bull's
eye, but I plugged him right in the mouth, I think."
"I hope you knocked out some of his teeth," cried Ned.
They fired rapidly, and while they probably hit some of the innocent
porpoises in their haste, yet they accomplished what they had set
out to do--scare off the sharks. In a little while the "tigers of
the sea" as some one has aptly called them, disappeared.
"That's the stuff!" cried Mr. Damon. "Now we can watch the porpoises
at play."
But they did not have that sight to interest them very long. For, as
suddenly as the gamboling fish had appeared, they sank from sight--all
but a few dead ones that the sharks had left floating on the calm
surface of the ocean. Probably the timid fish had taken some alarm
from the depths into which they sank.
"Well, that was some excitement while it lasted," remarked Tom. as
he and Ned took the rifles back to the captain.
"But it didn't bring out the mysterious passengers," added Ned. Tom
shook his head and on their return to deck he purposely went out of
his way to go past Stateroom No. 27, where the "Wilsons" were
quartered. The door was closed and a momentary pause to listen
brought our hero no clew, for all was silent in the room.
"It's too much for me," he murmured, shaking his head and he
rejoined his chum.
Several more days passed, for the Maderia was a slow boat, and could
not make good time to Mexico. However, our travelers were in no
haste, and they fully enjoyed the voyage.
Try as Tom did to get a glimpse of the mysterious passengers he was
unsuccessful. He spent many hours in a night, and early morning
vigil, only to have to do his sleeping next day, and it resulted in
nothing.
"I guess they want to get on Mexican soil before any one sees their
faces," spoke Ned, and Tom was inclined to agree with his chum.
They awoke one morning to find the sea tempestuous. The ship tossed
and rolled amid the billows, and the captain said they had run into
the tail end of a gulf hurricane.
"Two days more and we'll be in port," he added, "and I'm sorry the
voyage had to be marred even by this blow."
For it did blow, and, though it was not a dangerous storm, yet many
passengers kept below.
"I'm afraid this settles it," remarked Tom that night, when the ship
was still pitching and tossing. "They won't come out now, and this
is likely to keep up until we get to port. Well, I can't help it."
But fate was on the verge of aiding Tom in an unexpected way. Nearly
every one turned in early that night for it was no pleasure to sit
in the saloons, and to lie in one's berth made it easier to stand
the rolling of the vessel.
Tom and Ned, together with Mr. Damon, had fallen into slumber in
spite of the storm, when, just as eight bells announced midnight
there was a sudden jar throughout the whole ship.
The Maderia quivered from stem to stern, seemed to hesitate a moment
as though she had been brought to a sudden stop, and then plowed on,
only to bring up against some obstruction again, with that same
sickening jar throughout her length.
"Bless my soul! What's that?" cried Mr. Damon, springing from his
berth.
"Something has happened!" added Tom, as he reached out and switched
on the electric lights.
"We hit something!" declared Ned.
The ship was now almost stopped and she was rolling from side to
side.
Up on deck could be heard confused shouts and the running to and fro
of many feet. The jangling of bells sounded--hoarse orders were
shouted--and there arose a subdued hubbub in the interior of the
ship.
"Something sure is wrong!" cried Tom. "We'd better get our clothes
on and get on deck! Come on, Ned and Mr. Damon! Grab life
preservers!"