Chapter Fifteen.
Dying of hunger and thirst.
I must confess that the sudden appearance of those two ferocious monsters of the deep excited within me a feeling of intense horror and uneasiness; for I had heard so much about the alleged mysterious instinct by which the shark is said to be enabled to foresee the approaching death of one or more members of a crew, and had listened to so many apparently authentic stories confirming this belief in the creature’s powers, that I had grown to be quite prepared to believe that there might be something more than mere superstition at the bottom of it. And now it almost appeared as though I was to have an opportunity of learning by personal experience what amount of truth there really was in the gruesome theory. But after the first shock of horror had passed, reason and common sense whispered that the presence of these visitors, instead of being a constant horror and menace to us, might, by good luck, be converted into a valuable source of food-supply, and I accordingly at once informed the men that there were two sharks following us, and inquired whether any of them could suggest a plan for the capture of one of the fish. I immediately discovered, however, that I should have done better to have said nothing; for the announcement excited the utmost consternation; while my proposal to attempt the capture of one of the fish was ridiculed as something approaching the height of absurdity. Tom Hardy—a weather-beaten seaman, who had been knocking about in all parts of the world for thirty years from the time when he first plunged his hands into the tar bucket at the age of fourteen—at once rose from his thwart, where he was pulling the stroke oar; and, looking over the heads of Dumaresq and myself, stared intently down at the fish for a few seconds, and then resumed his seat, remarking:
“Ay, mates, what Mr Bowen says is true enough; there’s two of ’em; and that means that two of this here party is goin’ to lose the number of their mess afore long; you mark my words and see if they don’t come true. As to catchin’ either of them sharks, why, we haven’t got no hook to catch ’em with. And, if we had, ’twouldn’t be of no use to try; them fish ain’t to be caught; they’re astarn of us for a purpose; and there they’ll stay until that purpose have come to pass. I’ve knowed this sort of thing to happen afore. I was once aboard of a brig called the Black Snake, hailin’ from Liverpool, and tradin’ between the West Injies and the Guinea coast. We’d made a fine run across from Barbadoes, and was within a week’s run of the Old Calabar river when it fell calm with us, just as it have done now.
“There wasn’t nothing the matter with none of us at the time; but a’ter we’d been becalmed about a week—which, let me tell ye, mates, ain’t nothing so very much out of the common in them latitoods—the second mate fell sick, and took to his bunk. He hadn’t been there not two hours when somebody sings out as there was a shark under the counter; and we goes to work to try and catch him. But, mates, he wasn’t to be caught, though we tried him all ways, even to pitchin’ the bait right down atop of his ugly snout. Mind you, he was ready enough to swaller as much pork as ever we chose to give him, so long as there wasn’t no hook in it; but if there was a hook buried in it he wouldn’t so much as look at it.
“Well, we was obliged to give it up at last; and as we was haulin’ in the line and unbendin’ the hook I heard the chief mate say to the skipper:—
“‘That settles poor Hobbs’ hash, anyhow!’
“‘How d’ye mean?’ says the skipper, short and angry-like.
“‘Why,’ says the mate, ‘I means that Hobbs won’t get better, and that shark knows it. He’s just waitin’ for him!’
“‘Oh, nonsense,’ says the skipper; ‘I’m surprised, Mr Barker, to hear a hintelligent man like you sayin’ such things.’