Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece Part 113

By the time the laugh had subsided, Mr, Mole was ready with his novel fishing-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 furnished with 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 line is a conductor that goes through the cork into the powder. When I feel a 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 than he 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, and this he proceeded to tie round the soda water bottle with twine.

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

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

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

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 s.p.a.ce of a few minutes the carcase of the huge white shark, completely rent asunder, rose to the surface of the water, and floated about.

"Damme!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Joe Basalt, "if that ain't the queerest fishing I ever 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!" while Isaac Mole became the hero of the day.

CHAPTER XLIII.

MORE DEEDS OF DARING--HOW JEFFERSON SHOWED UP IN AN EMERGENCY-- SINGLE COMBAT AND ITS RESULT--MR. MOLE TO THE FORE WITH A FRESH FEAT ON THE LONGBOW.

"They've got a bite in the cutter," said Parry.

They had, and it seemed to be a strong one. They had got a Tartar.

A big fish was hooked, and dragging their boat through the water at a furious rate.

"We must go and lend them a hand," said young Jack.

They laid down to their work, and were soon upon the scene of the strife.

Aye, strife is the correct expression.

Strife it was.

A steam tug could not have dragged them along at a better pace, or have made resistance more hopeless.

"Pull hard."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Lay down to it, my lads," cried old Mole, excitedly; "look how they are flying through the water."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"I remember Billy Longbow once," began Mason.

"Hang Billy Longbow now!" said Joe Basalt.

"Yes, let's bag this fish first and then--"

"Ain't Mr. Mole got another of his soda water bottles?"