CHAPTER XVI

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.