Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece

  CHAPTER XLII.

  SHARK-FISHING--BILLY LONGBOW'S YARNS--TELL THAT TO THE MARINES--ANOVEL BAIT--HOW MR. MOLE HAD THE LAUGH HIS OWN WAY.

  The fishing expedition consisted of two boat-loads.

  To wit, the pinnace and the cutter.

  In the former were Jefferson, Dick Harvey and four sailors.

  In the cutter were young Jack, Harry Girdwood, Mr. Mole, Joe Basalt,Sam Mason, and Jack Tiller.

  "Now Jack," said Mr. Mole, settling himself comfortably at the rudderlines; "and you too, my dear Harry, you know, of course, we are goingshark-fishing. You understand what that is?"

  "I know what a shark is, if you mean that," answered young Jack.

  "Rather," said Harry, with a shudder at old recollections "we had awhite one after us once."

  "A white shark!" said Mr. Mole, beaming upon the boat's crew generally."_Squalus Carcharias,_ the worst of the family."

  "They aren't got no families, axing your pardon, Mr. Mole, sir," saidJoe Basalt, "for they eats their own mothers and fathers and childrenlikewise."

  "Why, Bill Longbow told me a yarn once, your honour," said Sam Mason,"about a white shark. I mean," he added, nodding at Mr. Molerespectfully, "a squally cockylorium--a blessed rum name for a shark--asdevoured all his family for dinner, supped off a Sunday school outfor a pleasure-trip in a steamboat, and was a-goin' to wind up with ameal off his own blessed self, when his dexter fin stuck in hisswaller, and he brought hisself up ag'in."

  A general laugh greeted this sally.

  So boisterous was their mirth, that it caught the occupants of theother boat.

  "That's Sam Mason at one of his Billy Longbow's yarns," cried a sailorin the pinnace.

  "So you had a white shark after you in the water," said Mr. Mole."Rather unpleasant that."

  "It was indeed unpleasant at such close quarters," said Harry Girdwood.

  "Very close?" demanded Mr. Mole.

  "Not further off than--"

  "Than that squally cockylorium is from you now, your honour," cried SamMason, pointing behind Mole.

  The old gentleman looked quickly behind them, and there, paddling aboutthe stern, was a monstrous white shark.

  Mr. Mole slid off his seat to the bottom of the boat with wonderfulcelerity.

  "Don't like the look of him?" said young Jack.

  "Ho! I'll tackle him presently, but I--I slipped down," said Mr. Mole.

  "So I see, sir."

  "And I mean to show you some novel sport in the way of shark-fishing,"said the old gentleman.

  "You?"

  "Yes."

  He had brought a large hamper with him, which he now proceeded tounpack, the occupants of the boat looking on with great interest in thebusiness.

  "Billy Longbow told me a yarn once," said the irrepressible Sam Mason,"about a wooden-legged nigger."

  Mr. Mole looked up.

  "What?"

  "A wooden-legged nigger," said Sam Mason, touching his forelockrespectfully at Mole. "No offence, your honour, to your legs."

  "Oh, no."

  "Go on, Sam," said young Jack, laughing; "out with Billy Longbow'syarn."

  "This nigger was stumping along the banks of the Nile one day, when whoshould he meet but a blessed big crockydile about a hundred feet long."

  "Oh!"

  "Draw it mild, Sam."

  "Well, that's what Billy Longbow said--a hundred feet long."

  "Oh, damme!" cried Joe Basalt, "make it ninety-nine, Sam, for decencysake."

  "I won't give in half a foot," persisted Sam. "Well, when Snowball seesMuster Crockydile so near as there was no getting out of the way, hesays--'You jist wait a bit, Massa Crock, I'll gib yar suffin to sniffat.' An' so, without more ado, he unscrews one of his wooden legs, andwalks into the animal's jaws."

  "Oh, oh, oh!"

  A general groan of incredulity.

  "Absurd," said Mr. Mole, without looking up from his task of watching,in case the shark should again show itself.

  "A fact, sir," said Sam Mason. "Well, he holds up his wooden legperpendicular and the greedy crock comes on with a snap, but the woodenleg was a trifle more than he could get over; there it stuck andpropped his great ugly maws wide open; out crawls Snowball, a kind ofsorter modern Jonah, none the worse for it."

  "Bravo, Sam!"

  "Ho! it is quite true, for it's Billy Longbow's version of it," saidthe modest Sam.

  "And is that all?"

  "Not quite. He squatted down upon his stump, and prodded the crock inthe eye with the other wooden leg until he caved in."

  "Oh, oh, oh! Sam, Sam!" they cried in a chorus.

  By the time the laugh had subsided, Mr. Mole was ready with his novelfishing-apparatus. Novel, indeed.

  He took a soda water bottle, filled with gunpowder and tightly corked,and through the cork was a twisted wire that was attached to the line.

  The other end of the line was a small square box, which was furnishedwith four handles, similar to that of a barrel organ.

  One of these handles was to pay out line, another was for winding in.

  "And the other two?" demanded Harry Girdwood.

  "Simple enough," said Mr. Mole; "this box is a battery, and in my lineis a conductor that goes through the cork into the powder. When I feela tug, a turn or two of my handle here sends a spark into the powder,and our friend the _Squalus Carcharias_ gets a good deal more thanhe has time to digest."

  "I begin to see."

  "Really, it is a very great plan, Mr. Mole."

  "Now for the pork."

  "Pork!"

  "Yes."

  He had provided himself with a large morsel of fat in a flat strip, andthis he proceeded to tie round the soda water bottle with twine.

  When this was done, he put out about thirty feet of his telegraphicline, and then hurled his novel bait out to sea.

  They looked eagerly out in the direction, and saw the great sea-monsterdive swiftly after it.

  Then its huge carcase was clearly perceived in the limpid water turningover.

  Mole waited a moment.

  The line tightened.

  "Now for it."

  He gave two of his handles several vicious twists.

  There was a shock, and a kind of water spout not far off.

  Mole chuckled quietly, and wound in his line.

  "Do you think it has succeeded?" demanded young Jack, anxiously.

  "Do I think, do I know? Of course it has."

  They watched the place eagerly, and in the space of a few minutes thecarcase of the huge white shark, completely rent asunder, rose to thesurface of the water, and floated about.

  "Damme!" ejaculated Joe Basalt, "if that ain't the queerest fishing Iever come nigh."

  "And ain't Mr. Mole the best fisherman you ever see?"

  "That he is."

  "Let's give him a cheer; hip, hip, hip!"

  "Hurrah!"

  And they towed the vanquished shark alongside the "Westward Ho!" whileIsaac Mole became the hero of the day.