I was not the only discontented being on board the Hecuba. The two boys resented the delay also, and having been kept below during the storm like prisoners, longed for action. They soon had excitement enough, however, to suit even their temperaments.
"Sharks!" screamed Jimmie, disturbing the drowsy sailor of the dog-watch, as he eagerly looked over the rail at a lot of plashing fins and swaying tails.
"S' help me!" said his companion. "Is dem de t'ings dat follies ships and swallers people?"
"No," said the sailor, coming up and contemptuously looking at the school of sharks, whose long tails were making the water boil and bubble as if a submerged volcano were in active operation. "They're just thrasher sharks, and they're playin'."
"But they'd eat a fellow," said the ship's boy, and he threw a piece of wood at one under the bow.
"No, they won't," said the sailor. "A swingle-tail, as some calls 'em, won't hurt anybody. Though some says a whole school will sometimes tackle a whale and kill it; but I don't believe it. A thrasher shark is all play. The only trouble they make is when they get into fishermen's nets, and with those long tails of theirs slash around and tear and tangle everything up. They look big, but, you see, they run mostly to tail. Tail and all, they're between twelve and fifteen feet long, and weigh about 400 pounds. They make a good fight if caught on the hook."
It must have been half an hour afterwards when my absorbing thoughts about the affairs of Henderson, Burt, & Co., the undelivered rifles, and impending ruin were interrupted by a sudden splash at the stern. I looked over and saw that the two young scapegraces, taking advantage of the Captain's absence and the sleepiness of the watch, had lowered one of the Hecuba's boats.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Going to fish for sharks," answered Jimmie. "They are over there"—pointing a few hundred yards away. "We've got a shark hook and line, and the cook gave us a piece of pork for bait." And he held up a most portentous-looking hook, with about three feet of chain attached to prevent the teeth of the shark from severing it. In my ignorance of the ways of the sea, I didn't realize the danger. The big rolling waves made the Hecuba roll and pitch as she tugged at her anchor-chains, and I anxiously watched the daring young fishermen. When clear of the schooner they shipped the mast, and in a few minutes they were in pursuit of the sharks under full sail. I saw Jimmie throw out the line, but still they scudded on in the heavy sea. What happened then will never be accurately known. Whether it was that the tremendous tug at the line when the shark swallowed the hook made the youngsters lose their heads and forget everything—sail, sea, and a sudden puff of wind that came up—in their intense desire to secure it, neither can say. The probabilities are that the tiller being abandoned, as both boys held on to the line, the boat swung into the trough of the sea, the sheet got caught in some way, and the sudden puff of wind capsized the boat in the midst of the exciting struggle.
I had watched the accident, and soon Captain and crew were on deck. As I looked into the pale, tense features of the Captain as he quickly gave his orders, I thought he was going on a hopeless errand. But no! Two figures appeared on the bottom of the capsized boat, and a cheer went forth from every throat. They would be saved yet. As if to add intensity to the scene, the wind rose in fitful gusts and a huge bank of clouds rolled up in the sky. Something had gone wrong with the gearing or tackle of the second boat, which was seldom, if ever, used; and I fairly trembled with anxiety as the valuable minutes passed, and looked at the boys clinging to the bottom of the boat as it was tossed on a huge wave. But, in Heaven's name! what were the boys doing? What did it mean? Were they mad? By everything that was sane, they were still holding on to the line.