CHAPTER XIV
ATTACKED BY A SWORDFISH
"Don't do it!" cried Mr. Ringold. "Let that fire burn!"
But there were now so many fishermen rushing about here and there thatthey paid no attention to the excited theatrical man, who issued ordersright and left.
"What shall we do?" demanded C. C., who had gotten off to one side withthe girl he was supposed to have "rescued" from the burning cabin.
"I don't know!" cried Mr. Ringold. "The whole play is spoiled by thosefellows butting in. Hi, there!" he called to Blake and Joe, as he sawthem operating the cameras. "Stop the reel! We don't want any of this!"
The clicking machines grew silent, and then the boys knew that somethingwas wrong.
Meanwhile, the hand engine was placed in position. It was learned,later, that the fish concern kept it for use in cases of emergency.There had been some small blazes, in which the old engine had provedits worth.
The fishermen knew how to operate it to advantage, too, and soon adouble line of them, extending from the surf to the tank, began passingthe filled buckets up one side and the empty ones down the other. As thetank filled, other men worked the handles and a stream of water was soonspurting on the fire.
"Quit it! Oh, quit it!" begged Mr. Ringold. "I want that shack to burn!"
"He's crazy--don't mind him!" shouted the self-appointed chief. "We'llsoon have it out now."
"I'll see if I can stop them," said C. C., for the water had aboutquenched the blaze, and it was useless to try to go on with the play."They'll listen to me," the comedian declared.
He rushed forward, but at that moment the hose got from the control ofthe two men holding it. The nozzle swung around, and the stream camefull force over Christopher Cutler Piper, drenching him in an instant.
"I say there--hold on--shut that water off! I--I'm being drowned!" hespluttered. And then, as the men again got the nozzle under control, thecomedian, dripping water at every point, walked away, saying:
"There, I told you something would happen!"
"I should say it has!" declared Mr. Ringold, for once agreeing with thegloomy actor.
A few more strokes of the pump handles, a few more gallons of water, andthe fire, which had quickly attacked all parts of the cottage at once,died out.
"There!" cried Abe Haskill, the old fisherman-chief. "We saved yourbuilding for ye, Mr. Ringold. Ain't no use in buyin' a shack an' thenhavin' it burn down--no matter if it ain't wuth much. We saved her foryou, though at one time it looked pretty dubious. This is the first firewe've had in some time, an' I reckon we got a bit rusty.
"I might add," he went on, "that it's customary, in cases where avolunteer department saves a buildin' from destruction--it's customary,I say, for the owner to donate a leetle suthin' to the department. Inthis case, seein' as how Jim Belton sold his shack to you--why, you'rethe owner. And, as I say, we saved her for you!" he concluded, proudly.
"Yes, I see you did," remarked Mr. Ringold, dubiously. "Now I've got tobuy another, and burn that down, for this play is spoiled."
"What! Did you _want_ her to burn?" asked Mr. Haskill, in accents ofhorror. "Did you want the devourin' element to consume that buildin'?"
"I did," replied the theatrical man.
"Well--I vum!" declared the volunteer chief. "Boys, we made a mistake."
"The next time I'll tell the inhabitants here what my plans are," wenton Mr. Ringold, grimly. "I told you I wanted it to burn."
"I know you did," admitted the chief; "but I thought you was so excitedyou didn't know what you was sayin'."
"So did I," admitted several of the volunteer fire-fighters. "It's toobad!"
"Well, you meant all right, anyhow," went on Mr. Ringold, with cheerfulphilosophy; "and I'll make the department a donation. But next time,please don't interfere. I'll set another shack on fire as soon as I canarrange to buy one," he said to his company. "Meanwhile we'll go on withanother drama. Save whatever you can of the films," he added to Blakeand Joe. "Up to the time the firemen broke in they'll be all right. Nexttime I'll be more explicit."
"I knew something would happen," declared C. C., gloomily, as he triedto wring some of the water from his clothes. "I didn't burn, but Inearly drowned."
There was nothing to do but return to their boarding place and arrangefor another drama, rehearsals for which would take place in a day or so.
"Meanwhile," said Mr. Ringold to Joe and Blake, "you may have a littletime off. I tell you what you might do. We could use a fishing scene, Ibelieve. Suppose you go out in one of the small boats here and get aseries of views when they lift their nets."
"The very thing!" cried Blake. "We'll do it; eh, Joe?"
"Sure thing!"
"You might, in fact," went on Mr. Ringold, "show the whole process offishing, from the launching of the boats until they come back filledwith the day's catch."
This the boys arranged to do, and that noon, when the power boats werelaunched, they were on hand to make moving pictures.
The craft, as I have explained, were "eased down" the sloping beach, bymeans of rollers and planks, until the stern was just at the edge of thesurf. The motor was then started, the boat being still held fast by arope. This rope was fastened in a peculiar knot, so that one man,standing near it, could loosen it with one pull when the word was givento "cut loose."
The men watched the rollers with practiced eyes, for if the surf washeavy the boat might get into the trough, on being launched, andcapsize. Often fishermen are drowned in this way, being struck by theheavy boat, or getting under it.
With the engine racing, the men got into the boat. One remained on thebeach, holding the restraining rope. Another took his place at thestern, with a long steering oar that was to be used to get her bow on tothe waves.
A particularly large wave was seen coming in.
"Get ready!" ordered the captain.
The man at the big oar took his place. The boat was almost afloat now.
"Cut loose!" came the order.
The man at the rope yanked the knot loose. The boat slid into the waterand the next instant was being tossed about in the breakers, the manwith the oar forcing her head around, aided by the powerful gasolineengine that turned the propeller. The craft came near to capsizing, butkept upright, and a little later was beyond the surf, into deep water,speeding out to the nets two miles away.
Blake and Joe, working by turns, got some fine views of the launching.Then, getting into another of the fishing boats with their cameras, andwith Macaroni to aid them, they prepared to go out to the fishinggrounds, where the nets were.
"Say, this is rough, all right!" exclaimed Blake, as they foundthemselves in the boiling, frothing surf.
"That's what!" agreed Joe.
"Let me out! I want to walk!" pleaded Macaroni, who was not very fond ofthe water.
"You'll be all right in a minute!" called Abe Haskill, who was captainof the boat. "Soon as you git out beyond the breakers you won't mindit."
And they found that they did not, though there was some motion, as therewas quite a swell on. They reached the nets safely, and while the mesheswere hauled up, bringing a good catch of fish, the moving picture boystook many views. It was interesting as well as instructive.
"This would make a good educational reel," suggested Blake, as he spreadhis legs to maintain his balance against the rocking motion of the boat.
"Indeed it would," observed Joe. "Look, there's some one overboard!" andhe pointed to one of the other boats.
A man had indeed slipped into the sea. The moving picture boys wereready, however, and trained one of the cameras on the fisherman, who,laughing at his mishap, soon swam to the boat again, and was pulled in.
It took some little time to haul the nets, but at last, with their ownboat well filled with flapping fish, as were the others, Joe and Blakestarted for shore.
"Well, we made out all right, I think," said Blake, as he looked to seeif there was any more film left in his machine.
"Sure we did,"
declared his chum. "If we had to take some other views wecould."
"We'll want some of the landing of the boats, and the carting of thefish up to the sheds," Blake reminded him.
"That's right, we will. I guess I can----"
Joe did not finish his sentence. At that moment there came a jar andBlake cried:
"We've hit something!"
"No, something has hit _us_!" corrected one of the fishermen, leapingup, and grabbing a long, iron-shod pole.
"What is it?" demanded Joe.
"A pesky swordfish. He's ramming us, and he may poke a hole in us! If Ican get a chance I'll jab him!" and the man leaned over the side. As hedid so there came another attack on the craft, so fierce that it heeledover, and the man with the pole, giving a cry, was flung overboard.