Jim Spurling, Fisherman Part 30

A turn whipped round his ankle, and he was s.n.a.t.c.hed overboard, feet first.

Before he could make a motion to free himself he was plowing rapidly along under water. His first panic pa.s.sed. Unless he wished to drown, he must somehow clear his foot of that vise-like grip. And whatever he did must be done at once.

He tried to reach his ankle, but the rate at which he was traveling straightened out his body, and he could not bend it against the water rushing by him. The warp leading back to the dory trailed across his face. He felt his way down it, hand over hand, to his ankle.

There was a terrible pressure on his chest, a roaring in his ears; he was strangling. He could not hold his breath ten seconds longer.

Bent almost double, he grasped the taut line beyond his foot, first with one hand, then with both, and flung his whole weight suddenly on it in a desperate pull.

The strain round his ankle eased, the rope loosened. Kicking vigorously, he freed himself from the loop. Then he let go of the warp and quickly rose to the surface.

Percy was a good swimmer. He cleared the water from his mouth and nose, paddled easily while he drew two or three long breaths, then raised himself and looked around.

Twenty yards away the dory bobbed aimlessly, the rope still running at a rapid rate over its gunwale. As Percy rose on a wave he caught a glimpse of the _Barracouta_ more than a mile off; engrossed in the chase of the second fish, her crew had probably not observed his mishap. He turned his eyes back to the dory at the very moment that the warp ran out to its full length and the barrel was whirled overboard.

Its red bilge flung the spray aloft as it towed rapidly toward him. Ten yards away it came to a sudden stop. The swordfish was either dead or taking another rest.

It was a matter of no great difficulty for Percy to reach the little cask. He rested on it for a moment, then resumed his swim toward the boat. Presently he was grasping the gunwale.

A month earlier it would have been absolutely impossible for him to scramble into the high-sided, rocking craft. As it was he had a hard fight, and he was all but spent when he tumbled inside and lay panting.

When he raised himself, the first thing he noticed was that the fog was driving nearer. The wind was now due east. It promised to bring the day's fishing to an early end. He must retrieve the barrel and get the fish aboard as soon as possible or he might lose it altogether.

Shipping his oars, he rowed up to the cask and took it in. A pull on the warp showed that the swordfish was motionless. Percy began hauling again, but this time he was very careful to keep his feet clear of the coil.

A damp breath smote his cheek. He glanced toward the east, and saw the fog blowing over the water in ragged, fleecy ma.s.ses. The _Barracouta_ was momentarily hidden. When she reappeared, fully a mile distant, her crew were hoisting a black body aboard. While he was fighting for life they had succeeded in capturing the second fish. The sight reminded him of his duty. He resumed pulling.

As the fathoms came in there was no sign of life on the other end. The fish sagged like lead. At last the long drag was over and its body floated beside the dory.

"Deader 'n a door-nail!" muttered Percy.

His prize was fully seven feet long. The iron had gone down under the shoulder and out into the gills, causing it to bleed freely. Its sword, which was an extension of the upper jaw, suggesting a duck's bill, was notched and battered, where it had struck against rocks on the bottom.

Following Jim's directions, Percy fastened a bight of the warp securely round the tail of his prize, triced it up over the dory's stem, and made the line fast round a thwart. The fish was so heavy that he could not lift it very high, and most of its body dragged in the water. He began to row slowly toward the sloop.

Thicker and thicker blew the fog. Finally it blotted out the _Barracouta_; but Percy's last view of her told that she was heading his way. What if she could not find him! The thought gave him an unpleasant chill. He rowed harder.

A splash astern attracted his attention. A violent shock set the dory quivering. He started up just in time to see a large fish dart away, leaving the blood streaming from a gory wound in the head of the swordfish.

A shark! Percy knew he was in for a fight. He seized the lance and sprang into the stern.

A black fin shot alongside. The marauder rolled up for his turn at the banquet. Just as his jaws opened Percy drove the keen steel into his throat.

Mad with fright and pain, the robber flashed off, thrashing the b.l.o.o.d.y water. Another fin appeared on Percy's left. Again he lunged, and found his mark. The tail of the wounded shark struck the dory a heavy blow.

Down it rolled, almost pitching the boy overboard head foremost among the blood-crazed sea-tigers. For a moment he sickened at what might have happened; but he regained his balance and hung to the lance. His fighting blood was roused. He had risked too much already to have the swordfish torn to pieces under his very eyes.

Knees braced tightly against the sides of the stern, hands locked round the stout b.u.t.t of the lance, he foiled rush after rush of the black-finned, white-bellied pirates. Again and again he lunged and stabbed, until the water round the rocking boat was dyed crimson.

[Ill.u.s.tration: KNEES BRACED TIGHTLY AGAINST THE SIDES OF THE STERN, HANDS LOCKED ROUND THE STOUT b.u.t.t OF THE LANCE, HE FOILED RUSH AFTER RUSH OF THE BLACK-FINNED, WHITE-BELLIED PIRATES]

There seemed to be no end to the sharks. Fins crisscrossed the water all about and cut in toward the swordfish in quick, savage rushes. Percy was becoming exhausted; his arms ached; his breath came short. He could not keep up the fight much longer. Where was the _Barracouta_?

He shouted at the top of his lungs. Unexpectedly, out of the fog to starboard Jim's voice answered him.

"Sharks!" yelled Percy. "This way! Quick!"

"Fight 'em off! We're coming!"

In less than two minutes the sloop was alongside, and oars and harpoon helped beat off the a.s.sailants while the prize was being hoisted aboard.

Though badly gouged and bitten about the head, the swordfish was but little impaired in value, for its body had hardly been touched. Another of about the same size lay in the standing-room. It had been a good morning's work.

Percy told his story as the _Barracouta_ nosed home through the fog.

When he had finished, Jim dropped his hand on his shoulder.

"Perce," said he, "you certainly put up a great fight and saved your fish. n.o.body could have done any better."

Those few words, Percy felt, amply repaid him for what he had gone through that morning. He had won his spurs and was at last a full-fledged member of Spurling & Company.

XV

MIDSUMMER DAYS

Half past twelve found the _Barracouta_ again at her mooring in Sprowl's Cove. Throppy and Filippo were landed, with instructions to haul the lobster-traps the next morning if the fog would allow them to do it safely. Without waiting for dinner, Jim, Budge, and Percy started in the sloop for Rockland to dispose of their catch. They had no ice, so it was necessary to get the two swordfish to market as soon as possible.

"Thicker 'n a dungeon, isn't it?" said Jim as they rounded Brimstone Point and headed northwest into the fog. "Lucky we've got a good compa.s.s! Without it we wouldn't stand the ghost of a show of getting to Rockland. We'd pile up on some ledge before we'd gone half-way."

Shaping their course carefully by the chart, and keeping on the alert to avoid pa.s.sing vessels and steamers, they drove the _Barracouta_ at top speed. Ten miles from Tarpaulin the increased height of the ocean swells told that they were crossing the shoal rocky ground of Snippershan. Five miles farther on they left behind the clanging bell on Bay Ledge and soon pa.s.sed the red whistler south of Hurricane. A straight course from this brought them at five o'clock to the bell east of Monroe's Island, and before six they were alongside the steamboat wharf at Rockland.

"Look out for her, boys!" directed Jim. "I want to get up-town before the markets close."

He landed, and started on the run for Main Street. In twenty-five minutes he was back.

"Sold 'em!" he announced. "Sixty dollars!"

A little later an express-wagon with two men drove down on the wharf.

The swordfish were hoisted from the _Barracouta_, the agreed price paid, and the team hurried away.

"Not a bad day's work," said Budge.

"Fair! Now let's go somewhere and get a good supper!"

They found a restaurant on Main Street, unpretentious but clean, and sat down at one of its small tables. Two months ago Percy would have turned up his nose at the idea of eating in such a place; now he looked forward to a meal there with eager antic.i.p.ation. Jim winked at him, then scanned the bill of fare, and turned to Budge.

"What'll you have, Roger?" he asked. "I see they've some nice fish here."