CHAPTER XLVII
WHEREIN HUNSTON'S EVIL PROPENSITIES CATCH HIM IN A
TRAP—DANGER—ANOTHER SHARK—MR. MOLE SUFFERS.
"I have had such horrible dreams, doctor," said Hunston the next morning.
"I don't much wonder at your dreams being ugly ones," replied the doctor, significantly.
Hunston coughed.
There was no mistaking the doctor's meaning.
The conversation hung fire for a moment.
"I can quite understand that you may dream of many things which would scarcely bear repetition."
"That's not the case," angrily retorted the patient.
"Indeed."
The end of it was the doctor treated the patient for the feverish symptoms which the tricks of the night had created, and as the day wore on, he got calmer and better.
Time wore on.
Days grew into weeks.
The mysterious ravages of the secret poisoning still baffled Doctor Anderson and prevented the complete restoration of the patient.
"There's something very extraordinary in this," the doctor would say to Hunston, "something which is quite beyond me. If we were not in the nineteenth century, I should almost be inclined to believe in a spell having been cast upon you."
Hunston winced.
"Upon me?"
"Yes; or rather upon that wonderful mechanical arm. I should almost think that the wearer was under a ban."
The doctor's words thrilled the listener strangely.
Little did he know that Doctor Anderson was well acquainted with the history of the mechanical arm, and of its ill-fated inventor, Robert Emmerson.
Little did he think that the doctor's words were meant to produce the exact effect which they had.
The doctor's speech sank deeply into Hunston's mind, and he brooded day and night.
But although it did not affect his health, it certainly had a most unwholesome effect upon his mind, and the result of this soon made itself manifest.
* * * * *
That same afternoon the two boys and their tutor were on deck.
There was scarcely a breath of wind on the ocean, the sails were hanging loosely from the spars as the vessel rose and fell upon the swelling waves.
"What a country this is for sharks!" exclaimed Mr. Mole, who was seated on the low bulwarks of the weather quarter, enjoying what little air there was, and carefully unloading his pocket pistol.
"Beg pardon, Mr. Mole," said Harry, "but what is the name of this particular country?"
Mole frowned horribly.
"You are a very impudent boy."
"No, sir, only a youth of an inquiring turn of mind. What is the chief city of this country?"
"I never answer absurd questions."
Mr. Mole took another suck at the pistol (i.e. flask), and then his countenance relaxed.
"It is a place for sharks, though," he said; "only look at that great fellow down here."
Harry looked, and so did young Jack.
There was a monster of the deep moving slowly to and fro, occasionally coming up nearly to the surface and then sinking apparently without an effort almost out of sight.
The fish was of greater size than those they had already killed.
He came up and looked at old Mole and then turned away, evidently thinking the worthy tutor much too old, lean and tough for his dainty stomach; but when he caught sight of Jack and Harry, he showed more animation.
Evidently they were more to his taste.
"I mean to have a try for him," said Jack.
"Do so, my boy. I shall make a sportsman of you yet, I see," observed Mole.
"You have certainly put us up to a wrinkle or two lately, sir."
"Bah! your father is considered a clever man in all that pertains to sporting, but what is he in comparison with me?"
Young Jack did not hear the conclusion of this speech, for he had gone away to get his fishing tackle, a large hook attached to a chain.
He quickly returned, and baited the hook with about ten pounds of beef, that had gone a little queer in the bottom of the tub.
"Now, Mr. Sharkey, let us see if you can digest that," exclaimed Jack, as he dropped the hook overboard.
The shark looked at it closely, and then looked up at Jack, as though he would much prefer the fisher to the bait.
"It is no use, Jack," said Harry; "he is not hungry."
"Strikes me it is unskilfulness in angling, rather than want of appetite on the shark's part," remarked Mr. Mole.
"Would you like to have a try, sir?"
"Hem! well, I don't mind showing you how to do it," responded the professor.
Jack began to haul in the line, coiling it down just at Mole's feet, or rather where his feet should have been.
But sharkey, finding himself in danger of losing his dinner, made a dart at the meat before it left the water, then discovering that the barb of the hook had stuck in his mouth, she darted off at a great rate, but sad to relate, the rope as it flew out over the bulwark, got twisted round one of Mr. Mole's stumps, and the worthy professor flew into the ocean For a wooden-legged man to swim well, or even to keep himself afloat by treading water, is a somewhat difficult task and so Mr. Mole would have found it, had not Harry Girdwood promptly followed the advice given by a celebrated American—
"When you see a drowning man, throw a rail at him."
Harry threw a plank, and Mr. Mole being fortunate enough to clutch it, was thereby enabled to keep himself afloat.
But he was exposed to another danger.
The shark being irritated by the rusty iron in his throat, was rushing hither and thither in a most furious manner, snapping his jaws in a way that made the spectators thankful they were on deck.
And then, turning on its back, it bit at Mole.
"Help, help!" shouted Mole.
"Oh! the brute has taken my leg off."
The shark resumed its natural position, and held Mole's stump above water, puzzled to know what to do with it.
"This is my fault," said young Jack, and seizing a cutlass, he leaped overboard.
"Lower away the boat," shouted Dick Harvey, who had just come on deck.
He and Jefferson had also armed themselves, and were about to leap in to young Jack's assistance, when Harkaway senior appeared.
"Hold, let no man here risk his life," he said.
"But—"
"But the excitement will do me good, I want a good fight to keep my spirits up."
While speaking he had thrown off his coat and shoes, and cutlass in hand, leaped to the rescue of his son and old Mole.
By this time, however, the boat had been lowered and was pulling rapidly towards Mr. Mole, who still clung to his plank about thirty yards from the stern of the vessel.
Old Jack with a few powerful strokes reached him.
"Hold on, Mr. Mole; the boat is coming. You youngster, swim out of the way at once."
"I'm going to fight the fish, dad."
"You are not. Away with you at once."
During this brief conversation the shark had been down out of sight. He now rose to the surface, and perceiving three enemies, seemed undecided which to attack first.
And while the fish was hesitating, Harkaway resolved to open the campaign. Accordingly he dived, with the intention of coming up beneath the fish and administering a stab.
Old Jack Tiller and Joe Basalt were just at that moment engaged in hauling Mr. Mole into the boat; they had him half way over the gunwale, when the shark made a snap and away went the professor's other leg.
"Mercy, help! The beast is devouring me by inches," screamed Mole, as he rolled headlong into the boat.
Joe Basalt seeing that young Jack was still itching to have a go at the shark, seized him by the collar and dragged him in. They then rested on their oars and prepared to give the elder Harkaway any assistance they could.
"I lay five to three against the monster of the deep," said Harvey.
"I accept the wager on those terms," said Mole, who having discovered that he was unhurt, was reviving.
He took another swig at the pistol and then sat up to watch the conflict.
The shark, finding he had now only one opponent to deal with, turned towards Harkaway, who dived again, and getting this time fairly beneath the fish, thrust his cutlass up to the hilt in its stomach.
Startled by this sudden attack, and smarting from the pain caused by the wound, the shark leaped up half out of the water, and then fell with a loud splash close by Jack.
Everyone on board was by this time on deck, watching the unequal struggle.
While the shark was twisting and turning to get at its adversary, Jack managed to give a second stab; but it was rather hot work, though, for Jack was obliged to dive so frequently that he had little time to recover his breath.
He was just endeavouring to do so, when the shark made another rush at him.
Old Jack dived again, and young Jack would have been over to his father's assistance had not Joe Basalt forcibly restrained him.
A third stab made the shark feel very queer indeed.
In fact, Harkaway thought the fish was done for, and had struck out for the ship, but just as he grasped a rope and permitted himself to be drawn up, the shark recovered and made another most vicious dart at him.
Our hero, who had, in his time, vanquished so many foes, felt hardly inclined to let a shark get the best of him. He dropped from the rope and sank beneath the waves just as the head of the brute emerged therefrom.
Then up again like a shot; and the keen cutlass tore its way through the vitals of the fish.
Then a fin was lopped off, and a few seconds afterwards the huge carcase was seen floating on the waves.
Harkaway seized the rope and fastened it round the head and tail of his vanquished foe, which was then hauled on deck.
"Bravo, old man," exclaimed Harvey, shaking his schoolfellow by the hand.
"You did that well."
"Though you were certainly a long time about it," observed Mole. "I could have—"
"You could have paid me three sovs. by this time," replied Harvey, "so just out with the dust."
Mole made no reply.
Jefferson then added his congratulations.
"Pshaw!" said Jack. "Mr. Mole did it all."
"How?"
"Why, he poisoned the poor shark with his wooden legs. It's enough to make a fish disgusted with life."
A loud laugh followed.
"Meanwhile," said Mole, "will some-one be good enough to give me a lift?"
The professor was hoisted up on deck, and when they had all changed their clothes, and the great shark-killer had shipped two new wooden pins, he grew quite as bounceable as ever.
Especially as the death of the last shark was still jocularly attributed to him.