Jerry chuckled, and pointed with his pipe to the northern end of the lagoon.
"Up there, lads, up there inside the channel beyond the end o' the island. Eight fathom down, she is—down there among the rocks, and us up above. Fish tell no tales, lads, fish tell no tales! Old Jerry's the only man who knows—"
"How soon will any boats come out?" asked Mart, who had resolved to bother no more about the Pirate Shark, as he had a shrewd notion that Jerry was not quite right in the head. "Will they bring fruit?"
"Aye, lads, plenty o' that. But they'll not be out for an hour or two yet, not they! Time for mess, lads—eight bells, time for mess!"
The captain got his sights, to be worked out later, and joined them. As he did so, Jerry made the request that he be given shore leave, as he might want to go ashore with any boats that came out. He had been here before on a trading trip, he said, and knew the natives in the village at the river mouth; so if he spent a day ashore he could arrange for their hunting trip and make firm friends of the Malays.
"Why, of course!" smiled Captain Hollinger, as they went down to mess. "You're a guest as far as I'm concerned, Jerry, so do as you please."
The old quartermaster nodded and no more was said on the subject. To the boys, it seemed that Jerry's desire to go ashore was a good sign. Since he was willing to trust himself alone to the natives, it showed that on his previous visit he must have made friends with them. The boys had read and heard a good deal of how the more unscrupulous trading schooners treated the natives, and they perceived at once that Jerry's previous visits must have been made in peace and good will.
Mart Judson, indeed, inclined strongly to the opinion that the white-haired old quartermaster was slightly "bughouse," as he expressed it. As to the dynamite on board, he concluded that whether the Pirate Shark was an hallucination of the old man's brain or not, the explosive might come in useful in their diving operations. He gave no credence whatever to the story of the wrecked galleon out in the lagoon "eight fathom down."
What Bob thought in the matter did not appear, for although the freckled, blue-eyed chap seemed careless enough, in reality he was cautious in giving vent to any opinion whatever. He merely grunted in reply to Mart's arguments, that afternoon, and waved a hand beyond the island, to the place Jerry had indicated.
"Six fathom here, Mart, and Jerry says it's eight up there. There's a channel to the sea, there, and rocks pointing up. The channel would be apt to cut it out deeper, and twelve feet makes a lot o' difference."