“We might as well start our search off this island first. Good as any.”
At this point, the bottom was smooth, clean white sand
The dory sped out to a point Uncle Charlie estimated to be about a mile away. The anchor was tossed overboard. The sounding line showed the water depth at just over forty-five feet.
“I want you to take this spear along with you, Biff.” Uncle Charlie handed his nephew a wicked, lethal-looking weapon. Its tip was needle sharp.
“I doubt you’ll run into any bad fish here. But you might. And don’t, do not use it except in case of extreme danger. If you spear an attacking fish—shark, barracuda or octopus—remember any blood will attract other sharks, and then you’ll be in real trouble.”
Biff took the spear and examined it.
“Each of you take one of these wire baskets. They’re to load the oysters in—if you find any. I’m the puller-up. I’ve a line on each basket. Now get these signals. I want both of you to give me one sharp tug every ten minutes. That will tell me you’re okay. Give two sharp tugs when your basket is filled. I’ll pull the basket up, unload it, and lower it again. Now, in case of emergency, a series of sharp tugs will alert me, and I’ll be right down. Got it? Okay. Over you go.”
The bottom was different this time. Instead of clean, white sand, the bottom was covered with a layer of mud mixed with sand. Biff felt around carefully. Both boys were wearing thick rubber gloves to protect their hands against the sharp, jagged oyster shells.
As Biff was feeling around in the mud, Derek swam over to him. He held a large oyster in front of Biff’s mask. Then he plopped it in his basket.