The Pirate Shark | Page 9

headquarters during the day. It
stood back of the chart house on the lower bridge, and the second mate
or old Jerry Smith would spend many a "watch below" with them.
Swanson, however, kept surlily to himself.
"Liverpool" Peters, the second mate, was a pleasant young Britisher
who had been at sea practically all his life, while old Jerry was full of
odd ways and tales which delighted both boys, though it was seldom

that he would open up to them. He seemed to take a great fancy to Mart,
and often when the boys were alone he would wander up, fill his cutty
pipe, and settle down for a chat.
The crew was a strange lot. Of the nine men, five were brown-skinned
Kanakas, but the other four were white, and seemed to be all old men,
though they moved about spryly enough. Dailey was wrinkled and
leathery, Birch had only one very black and sparkling eye, Yorke's
mouth was twisted into a perpetual smile, and Borden was a quiet little
man like old Jerry, gray-haired and respectful.
"They're a queer lookin' bunch," observed Bob one morning, as they
left the wireless house and went forward to the bridge, watching the
men sluicing down the decks forward.
"You bet," nodded Mart, laughing with sheer enjoyment of the blue sky
and bluer ocean. "Where'd you pick 'em up, Jerry?"
Both boys turned to the quartermaster, who was at the wheel in the
little house behind them. He smiled, as watches were changed and
Dailey came up to relieve him.
"Where'd I find them, Mart? Oh, I just ran across 'em. Dailey, here,
used to be on a ship wi' me, once." He looked around, and the leathery
seaman grinned slightly.
"Who'll do the diving?" asked Bob, as they walked back to the wireless
house and flung themselves into deck chairs, while old Jerry filled his
pipe.
"Two o' the Kanakas, lad. They're main good at that."
"Are you goin' hunting with us?" shot out Mart. "Tiger hunting?"
"That depends, lad, that depends," and Jerry wagged his head solemnly.
"I never killed a tiger yet. I've killed whales, though, aye, and tiger
sharks! Think of the mystery of the sea, lads--wave after wave, with the
fish down below and us up here above! Fish tell no tales, lads, fish tell

no tales. There's strange things out where we be bound for."
"What?" asked Bob eagerly. "Sharks?"
The quartermaster nodded. For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then
turned to Mart and laid a hand on the boy's knee.
"Lads, did you ever hear tell o' the Pirate Shark?"
Mart thrilled at the name, and the tone of the old man's voice gave him
a creepy feeling, as it often did.
"No!" he exclaimed delightedly, scenting a yarn. "What about him?"
"Well, I've heard as he's livin' in the very place we're going to--that
Kuala Besut, off Tringanu."
"Huh?" grunted Bob, sitting up quickly. "And us going to dive? Not
much!"
Jerry laughed softly, gazing out at the sparkling waters.
"The Kanakas ain't afraid, lad. Only they don't know--they don't know.
You see, this here Pirate Shark is pretty famous down through the
Chiny Sea. But old Jerry Smith, he's the only one that knows. He's the
only white man, lads. The Chinks know, and the Malays know, but they
wouldn't go near the place. The mystery o' the sea, lads--wave after
wave! The gold down below, and us up above--and fish tell no tales,
lads--"
He fell silent, still gazing at the horizon. Mart glanced at Bob, and
caught a significant wink as Holly tapped his forehead. Mart frowned.
"What do you mean?" he asked sharply. "Is there a shark by that name?
What kind o' stuff are you handing us, Jerry?"
The old man turned and looked square at him, and his gentle face
seemed suddenly changed into a swift vehemence that was amazing.
But it vanished instantly, and he was himself again--as if he had put on

a mask, thought Mart quickly.
"The Pirate Shark," answered old Jerry slowly. "Yes, I'll tell you about
it, lads. There ain't many as knows where the Pirate Shark is, but old
Jerry Smith, he knows. He's a big shark, he is--mighty big, an' a
man-killer. He come up first at Thursday Island, years ago, an' caught
half a dozen Jap pearlers. Then he showed up in the Flores Sea, an' for
a year the fishers didn't dare visit the pearlin' beds. After that he went
over to the Sulu Islands, down to Java, back to the Chiny Sea--always
killin' men, natives or white. Then he vanished for a while--mystery o'
the sea, lads, wave after wave--"
Again the old man paused, dreaminess on his gentle face. The boys
were leaning forward eagerly, and Bob brought