CHAPTER XLIII.
MORE DEEDS OF DARING—HOW JEFFERSON SHOWED UP IN AN EMERGENCY—SINGLE
COMBAT AND ITS RESULT—MR. MOLE TO THE FORE WITH A FRESH FEAT ON
THE LONGBOW.
"They've got a bite in the cutter," said Parry.
They had, and it seemed to be a strong one. They had got a Tartar.
A big fish was hooked, and dragging their boat through the water at a furious rate.
"We must go and lend them a hand," said young Jack.
They laid down to their work, and were soon upon the scene of the strife.
Aye, strife is the correct expression.
Strife it was.
A steam tug could not have dragged them along at a better pace, or have made resistance more hopeless.
"Pull hard."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"Lay down to it, my lads," cried old Mole, excitedly; "look how they are flying through the water."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"I remember Billy Longbow once," began Mason.
"Hang Billy Longbow now!" said Joe Basalt.
"Yes, let's bag this fish first and then—"
"Ain't Mr. Mole got another of his soda water bottles?"
"Lots of bait," replied Mr. Mole; "but the tackle isn't up to the mark."
"Now he's slackening."
"Yes—he's getting blown."
"Now he rises."
So he did.
As they spoke, the flight of the cutter was checked, and a huge shark rose to the surface of the water for air.
A couple of fowling pieces gave him a warm greeting, but without appearing to damage him much.
The pinnace now pulled sharply round, and young Jack, standing up on the head of the boat, held the harpoon ready for use when they should be within reach.
The moment was soon found.
The harpoon flew from his grasp whizzing through the air, and struck the quarry.
Tough as his hide was, the harpoon would not be denied admission.
The shark snorted as it was struck, and dived down, down, until the line grew taut.
Had there been but a single line to hold the voracious monster in check, it would have been but little use, so violent was the struggle, and so desperately sudden was the strain.
But the two lines worked well together now.
Much as the shark objected to their company, he had no choice but to cruise about within the comparatively narrow limits of his tether.
"Beast!" said Dick Harvey, snapping a pistol as it rose once more to the surface. "You take a thundering lot of killing."
"This must be settled," said Jefferson.
"How?"
"I'll show you," returned the Yankee, promptly.
He drew his bowie, and watching the shark intently for a moment, he sprang over the boat's side into the sea.
A cry of horror arose from one and all.
What could this mean?
Suicide—the maddest suicide that ever man had contemplated.
Nothing could save him now.
Nothing.
"Jefferson!" ejaculated Harvey.
"Hush!" cried one of the sailors, with suppressed excitement; "don't worrit. Let him have the same chance as the shark at any rate."
It wanted a bold fellow to do such a deed as this, but Jefferson was a bold fellow, few bolder.
He was no braggart; but his self-confidence was amazing, and it brought him through many and many a desperate strait.
Would it bring him through this present affair?
Doubtful—sadly doubtful, indeed.
The wounded shark caught sight of the intrepid American, and all heedless of its hurts, dived after him.
The spectators held their breaths.
Jefferson rose to the surface in an instant, drew a long breath, and then down he plunged again.
Barely was he under when up came the shark snorting, puffing, and blowing.
There was a momentary pause just then.
Then its huge tail lashed the water into foam and it rolled over, the water surrounding it being crimsoned with its life blood.
"That's another gone coon," said Sam Mason exultingly.
As he spoke, Jefferson shot up to the boat's side, where half a dozen eager hands dragged him in.
"Phew!" he said, shaking the water from his face and head, "that beast has cost me my knife and my cutlass."
He had sheathed them both in the shark before the ugly beast was done with.
The spectators gave him a cheer.
"That's sharp work, Jack," said Harry Girdwood.
"Sharp, indeed."
"It wants a quick hand and a sharp eye."
"And it has got it, too, there," said Isaac Mole, enthusiastically; "the smartest performance I've seen for many a long day."
Jefferson nodded and smiled at the speaker.
"Thank'ee, Mr. Mole," said he; "such praise is indeed gratifying coming from you, the real hero of the day."
Mr. Mole was radiant with smiles at this.
"Jefferson," said the old gentleman, in his most condescending and patronising manner, "you remind me of myself in my best days."
The boat's crew generally laughed at this.
But Mr. Mole was not at all abashed.
"Really, Mr. Mole," said Jefferson, "you flatter."
"Not I," protested Mr. Mole; "I rarely remember doing a neater thing myself."
"Indeed!"
"Truly."
"Is it possible?"
"What magnanimity!"
"Humility itself," ejaculated another.
The exaggeration of their expressions of wonderment as well as admiration did not at all upset Mr. Mole's moral equilibrium.
He had a very large swallow for admiration, and he pleased to take it all as his legitimate due.
"The only thing which can at all compare to Mr. Jefferson's gallant deed was an adventure that I will tell you of," said he, modestly. "I was on a whaling expedition up north——"
"Whaling?"
"You!"
"Yes, yes, I, Jack. What is there surprising in that?"
"Nothing, sir," responded young Jack; "only I was not aware you had ever done any thing in that line."
"Now, how can you expect to know all my past career, my dear boy?"
"Of course, sir."
"Whaling, I repeat. We were chasing an enormous spermaceti whale. I was carrying the harpoon and tackle, and as we got within range I let fly at him with all my force. Now, perhaps I ought not to say it, but there were not many men who could approach me in handling the harpoon. I spitted the animal clean through the middle."
"Dear me!"
"No sooner did he feel himself struck than he sounded. Out went the line, but hang me if I could pay out fast enough, for he jerked me clean off my perch into the water."
"Dreadful!"
"Shocking!"
Mr. Mole smiled grimly.
"Not so bad as it sounds, after all," he said. "It startled me a bit, as you may suppose."
"It would, of course," said Dick, tipping the wink to Jefferson.
"But I had got back my presence of mind in half a crack, so I hauled in my line until I found myself on the whale's back. There I stuck on like grim death, jobbing and stabbing away with one hand, while I held on to the hilt of the harpoon with the other. I had only a dirk or short sword with me, but it was quite long enough for the whale."
"No doubt, no doubt," exclaimed Dick.
"In a few minutes I had jobbed all the go out of him, and he floated on the top of the water dead as a bloater, with me on the top, rather blown with being so long under water, but with that excepted, not much the worse for it."
"Wonderful!"
"Marvellous!"
"A miracle!"
Such were the mildest tributes of admiration which Mr. Mole's fanciful reminiscence drew forth.
"You must have shipped a good lot of water, your honour," said Jack Tiller.
"That I did."
"More water than your honour has ever took since."
Mr. Mole half smelt a lurking sarcasm in this, but the honest tar's face showed no signs of slyness.
The only evidence of it being a dig at Mr. Mole's well-known weakness for strong waters was to be found in the merry twinkling of the listeners' eyes.
"I remember something that happened to Billy Longbow—" began Sam Mason.
"Avast, Sam!" interrupted Jack Tiller; "Billy Longbow ain't in it with Mr. Mole at a yarn."