Steve Young Part 25

"Oh, easily, sir, with a long line and winch to reel it up quickly. You let down a big hook with plenty of bait on it, right to the bottom, on some bank, about two hundred fathoms down."

"Yes," said Steve eagerly. "That's rather deep, though."

"Yes, sir; but that's where the sharks lie."

"Are they very big?"

"Yes, sir, all sizes--eight and ten and twelve or fourteen feet long."

"Well, what then?" said Steve impatiently.

"Oh, then, sir, you wait for a bite."

"Of course, I know that! You wait for a bite in all fishing. But do you fish from a small boat?"

"Oh no, sir. You go, six or seven of you, in a decent-sized smack, and fish till you've loaded her--if you're lucky."

"But what do you do with the sharks? People don't eat them."

"Make isingla.s.s of their skins?" suggested the doctor.

"Oh no, sir," continued Jakobsen. "I've been out two or three times, and very good trade it is, gentlemen. You sail out to the Greenland banks, and if the weather's good you're all right, for the sharks bite very freely, and as the line's very thin you can soon reel it up on a big winch."

"But don't they fight desperately?" said Steve eagerly. "Sharks are so strong."

"No, sir; they're cruel fish, sharks, but a Greenland shark's about the stupidest, most cowardly fish there is. He could break away easily enough, but when he's hooked and feels the line tight up he comes as quietly as possible, just as if he came to the top to ask what we wanted by hooking him like that."

"And do you tell him?" said the doctor, laughing.

The Norseman shook his head.

"No, sir, we don't play with him. As soon as the bit of chain appears that's fastened to the bottom of the line on account of the shark's teeth--because, if it wasn't for that, he'd bite through the thin line-- some of us stand ready with a big hook at the end of a pole like a spar--a good sharp hook with a rope that runs through a block up aloft rigged to the spar; then, as the shark comes to the top--_click_!--the big hook's into him, the rope's tightened, he's hoisted on board, and before he has time to struggle much he's whipped up on to the deck, where two of us are ready for him."

"And what do they do?" cried Steve,--"kill the shark?"

"Yes, sir, and pretty quickly; for when the sharks are biting there's no time to spare. One of us gives him a crack on the head with a handspike, and the other cuts open his side with a big knife and drags out his great liver; then we use the pipe."

"Yes, go on," said Steve.

"And blow the dead shark full of wind and throw it overboard."

"To keep it from sinking?"

"Yes, sir, that's quite right; for if we didn't he'd sink, and all the other sharks would begin feeding on him and wouldn't bite any more at our bait. Then we get the hook ready, and down it goes again, while the sea-birds get a good feast of shark instead of the fish."

"All that to get only the liver?" said Steve. "Yes, sir; but then the livers are very large, and from some they get quite a barrel of oil, only that's from the very large sharks."

"What do you bait with?" said Steve. "Pieces of shark blubber, sir."

"And isn't the flesh good for eating?"

"Poor people eat it sometimes, sir, for it's nice and white; but we sailors never care for it. It's fine fishing, though, for you get your hold full of the livers, and take them back to port to be boiled down.

Barrel of oil's worth as much as seven pounds, sir."

"What do they use it for, lamps or machinery?"

The Norseman stared.

"I thought you knew, sir. It's a very fine, tasteless oil, and supposed to be very good for sick people. They make cod-liver oil of it."

Captain Marsham burst into a hearty fit of laughter at the puzzlement and chagrin in his friend's countenance.

"Stop a moment!" cried the doctor angrily. "Do you mean to tell me that this shark oil is used for--I mean, is sold for cod-liver oil?"

"Yes, sir, I believe so," said the Norwegian.

"Disgusting! Shameful!" cried the doctor. "What a miserable piece of trickery! The people who do it ought to be exposed."

"Nonsense!" said the captain. "As Jakobsen says, it is very good for sick people. Why, my dear sir, the good effects of cod-liver oil do not depend upon its being extracted from a cod, but upon its being a rich fish oil, strongly impregnated with the peculiar salts, or whatever you call them, found in sea water. I daresay the oil of any fish liver would be as good."

"And quite as nasty," suggested Steve. "Right, my lad, quite as nasty, and would do for doctors to trim the wick of the lamp of life when it is burning low."

"Humph! perhaps you are right," said the doctor thoughtfully.

"Can't we have some shark-fishing, Jakobsen?" cried Steve eagerly.

"Why, you don't want your lamp trimmed, Steve?" said the captain.

"No, sir; but Mr Hands...o...b.. might like some of the oil," replied Steve, with a laughing look at the frowning doctor, who was evidently thinking deeply.

"Eh? No, my lad, I don't want any. But I've been thinking that perhaps this shark oil may be good."

"Couldn't catch sharks here, sir, unless we found a bank."

"Wait a little longer, Steve," said the captain, "and I daresay we shall find you something better than fishing for sharks."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE LAND OF PEAKS.

"Here, Steve! Hi, my lad, wake up!"

"Eh? Yes! What is it, whales?" cried the boy, hurrying into his clothes.

"Come and look. You wanted something fresh." It was the captain who roused him up the very next morning, and on reaching the deck he was perfectly astounded at the scene before him. There was no more monotony in the view, for there before him and spreading to right and left was as lovely a land as the human mind could conceive. It was twenty or thirty miles away, and as Steve Young gazed it was at peak after peak rising up toward the skies, all dazzling with ice and snow, and dyed by the distance, of the most lovely tints of amethyst and sapphire blue, while the icy pinnacles were fretted with silver and gold. Upon the slopes of the lower hills there were even patches of a dull green, made beautiful by the brilliant sunshine, while the steeper mountains were of rich orange and brown or of a clear, pure grey.

"Is this Spitzbergen?" asked Steve. "Yes, and well named," said the captain, who was using his gla.s.s; "the land of mountain points--_spitzes_ as they call them, or _piz_ in North Italy among the mountains there."