CHAPTER IVTHE INDIAN SHARK-KILLER
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 boldestswimmer’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 hethrew 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’sgood-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.