University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
A SHARK STORY.

“Well, gentlemen,” said Locus, in reply to a unanimous
call for a story—the relics of supper having been removed, all
to the big stone medicine jug,—“I'll go ahead, if you say so.
Here's the story. It is true, upon my honor, from beginning to
end—every word of it. I once crossed over to Faulkner's island,
to fish for tautaugs, as the north side people call black fish,
on the reefs hard by, in the Long Island Sound. Tim Titus,
—who died of the dropsy, down at Shinnecock point, last
spring,—lived there then. Tim was a right good fellow, only
he drank rather too much.

“It was during the latter part of July; the sharks and the
dog-fish had just begun to spoil sport. When Tim told me
about the sharks, I resolved to go prepared to entertain these
aquatic savages with all becoming attention and regard, if there
should chance to be any interloping about our fishing ground.
So we rigged out a set of extra large hooks, and shipped some
rope-yarn and steel chain, an axe, a couple of clubs, and an
old harpoon, in addition to our ordinary equipments, and off
we started. We threw out our anchor at half ebb tide, and
took some thumping large fish;—two of them weighed thirteen
pounds—so you may judge. The reef where we lay, was
about half a mile from the island, and, perhaps, a mile from
the Connecticut shore. We floated there, very quietly, throwing
out and hauling in, until the breaking of my line, with a
sudden and severe jerk, informed us that the sea attorneys
were in waiting, down stairs; and we accordingly prepared

to give them a retainer. A salt pork cloak upon one of our
magnum hooks, forthwith engaged one of the gentlemen in
our service. We got him along side, and by dint of piercing,
and thrusting, and banging, we accomplished a most exciting
and merry murder. We had business enough of the kind to
keep us employed until near low water. By this time, the
sharks had all cleared out, and the black fish were biting
again; the rock began to make its appearance above the water,
and in a little while its hard bald head was entirely dry.
Tim now proposed to set me out upon the rock, while he
rowed ashore to get the jug, which, strange to say, we had
left at the house. I assented to this proposition; first, because
I began to feel the effects of the sun upon my tongue,
and needed something to take, by way of medicine; and secondly,
because the rock was a favorite spot for a rod and
reel, and famous for luck; so I took my traps, and a box of
bait, and jumped upon my new station. Tim made for the
island.

Not many men would willingly have been left upon a little
barren reef, that was covered by every flow of the tide, in the
midst of a waste of waters, at such a distance from the shore,
even with an assurance from a companion more to be depended
upon, than mine, to return immediately, and lie by to take him
off. But some how or other, the excitement of my sport was
so high, and the romance of the situation was so delightful,
that I thought of nothing else but the prosecution of my fun,
and the contemplation of the novelty and beauty of the scene.
It was a mild pleasant afternoon in harvest time. The sky
was clear and pure. The deep blue sound, heaving all around
me, was studded with craft of all descriptions and dimensions,
from the dipping sail boat, to the rolling merchantman,
sinking and rising like sea-birds sporting with their white

wings in the surge. The grain and grass, on the neighboring
farms, were gold and green, and gracefully they bent obeisance
to a gentle breathing southwester. Farther off, the high
upland, and the distant coast gave a dim relief to the prominent
features of the landscape, and seemed the rich but dusky
frame of a brilliant fairy picture. Then, how still it was! not
a sound could be heard, except the occasional rustling of my
own motion, and the water beating against the sides, or gurgling
in the fissures of the rock, or except now and then the
cry of a solitary saucy gull, who would come out of his way
in the firmamemt, to see what I was doing without a boat, all
alone, in the middle of the sound; and who would hover, and
cry, and chatter, and make two or three circling swoops and
dashes at me, and then, after having satisfied his curiosity,
glide away in search of some other fool to scream at.

I soon became half indolent, and quite indifferent about fishing;
so I stretched myself out, at full length, upon the rock,
and gave myself up to the luxury of looking, and thinking.
The divine exercise soon put me fast asleep. I dreamed
away a couple of hours, and longer might have dreamed, but
for a tired fish-hawk, who chose to make my head his resting
place, and who waked and started me to my feet.

“Where is Tim Titus?” I muttered to myself, as I strained
my eyes over the now darkened water. But none was near
me, to answer that interesting question, and nothing was to be
seen of either Tim or his boat. “He should have been here
long ere this,” thought I, “and he promised faithfully not to
stay long—could he have forgotten? or has he paid too much
devotion to the jug?”

I began to feel uneasy, for the tide was rising fast, and soon
would cover the top of the rock, and high water mark was at
least a foot above my head. I buttoned up my coat, for either

the coming coolness of the evening, or else my growing apprehensions,
had set me trembling and chattering most painfully.
I braced my nerves, and set my teeth, and tried to
hum “begone dull care,” keeping time with my fists upon my
thighs. But what music! what melancholy merriment! I
started and shuddered at the doleful sound of my own voice.
I am not naturally a coward, but I should like to know the
man who would not, in such a situation, be alarmed. It is a
a cruel death to die, to be merely drowned, and to go through
the ordinary common places of suffocation, but to see your
death gradually rising to your eyes, to feel the water mounting,
inch by inch, upon your shivering sides, and to anticipate
the certainly coming, choking struggle for your last breath,
when, with the gurgling sound of an overflowing brook taking
a new direction, the cold brine pours into mouth, ears, and
nostrils, usurping the seat and avenues of health and life, and,
with gradual flow, stifling—smothering—suffocating!—It were
better to die a thousand common deaths.

This is one of the instances, in which, it must be admitted,
salt water is not a pleasant subject of contemplation. However,
the rock was not yet covered, and hope, blessed hope,
stuck faithfully by me. To beguile, if possible, the weary
time, I put on a bait, and threw out for a fish. I was sooner
successful than I could have wished to be, for hardly had my
line struck the water, before the hook was swallowed, and
my rod was bent with the dead hard pull of a twelve foot
shark. I let it run about fifty yards, and then reeled up.
He appeared not at all alarmed, and I could scarcely feel him
bear upon my fine hair line. He followed the pull gently,
and unresisting, came up to the rock, laid his nose upon its
side, and looked up into my face, not as if utterly unconcerned,
but with a sort of quizzical impudence, as though he

perfectly understood the precarious nature of my situation
The conduct of my captive renewed and increased my alarm.
And well it might; for the tide was now running over a corner
of the rock behind me, and a small stream rushed through
a cleft, or fissure, by my side, and formed a puddle at my
very feet. I broke my hook out of the monster's mouth, and
leaned upon my rod for support.

“Where is Tim Titus?”—I cried aloud—“Curse on the
drunken vagabond! will he never come?”

My ejaculations did no good. No Timothy appeared. It
became evident, that I must prepare for drowning, or for action.
The reef was completely covered, and the water was above the
soles of my feet. I was not much of a swimmer, and as to ever
reaching the Island, I could not even hope for that. However,
there was no alternative, and I tried to encourage myself,
by reflecting that necessity was the mother of invention
and that desperation will sometimes ensure success. Besides,
too, I considered and took comfort, from the thought that I
could wait for Tim, so long as I had a foothold, and then
commit myself to the uncertain strength of my arms, and legs,
for salvation. So I turned my bait box upside down, and
mounting upon that, endeavored to comfort my spirits, and to
be courageous, but submissive to my fate. I thought of death,
and what it might bring with it, and I tried to repent of the
multiplied iniquities of my almost wasted life; but I found
that that was no place for a sinner to settle his accounts.
Wretched soul! pray, I could not.

The water had now got above my ankles, when, to my
inexpressible joy, I saw a sloop bending down towards me,
with the evident intention of picking me up. No man can
imagine what were the sensations of gratitude which filled my
bosom at that moment.

When she got within a hundred yards of the reef, I sung
out to the man at the helm to luff up, and lie by, and lower
the boat; but to my amazement, I could get no reply, nor
notice of my request. I entreated them, for the love of heaven
to take me off, and I promised, I know not what rewards,
that were entirely beyond my power of bestowal. But the
brutal wretch of a Captain, muttering something to the effect
of “that he had'nt time to stop,” and giving me the kind and
sensible advice to pull of my coat, and swim ashore, put
the helm hard down, and away bore the sloop on the other
tack.

“Heartless villain!”—I shrieked out, in the torture of my
disappointment; “may God reward your inhumanity.” The
crew answered my prayer with a coarse, loud laugh, and the
cook asked me through a speaking trumpet, “If I was'nt
afraid of catching cold,”—The black rascal!

It was now time to strip; for my knees felt the cold tide,
and the wind, dying away, left a heavy swell, that swayed
and shook the box upon which I was mounted, so that I had
occasionally to stoop, and paddle with my hands, against the
water, in order to preserve my perpendicular. The setting
sun sent his almost horizontal streams of fire across the dark
waters, making them gloomy, and terrific, by the contrast of
his amber and purple glories.

Something glided by me in the water, and then made a
sudden halt. I looked upon the black mass, and, as my eye
ran along its dark outline, I saw, with horror, that it was a
shark; the identical monster, out of whose mouth I had just
broken my hook. He was fishing, now, for me, and was,
evidently, only waiting for the tide to rise high enough above
the rock, to glut at once his hunger and revenge. As the
water continued to mount above my knees, he seemed to

grow more hungry, and familiar. At last, he made a desperate
dash, and approaching within an inch of my legs,
turned upon his back, and opened his huge jaws for an attack.
With desperate strength, I thrust the end of my rod
violently at his mouth; and the brass head, ringing against
his teeth, threw him back into the deep current, and I lost
sight of him entirely. This, however, was but a momentary
repulse; for in the next minute, he was close behind my
back, and pulling at the skirts of my fustian coat, which hung
dipping into the water. I leaned forward hastily, and endeavored
to extricate myself from the dangerous grasp, but
the monster's teeth were too firmly set, and his immense
strength nearly drew me over. So, down flew my rod, and
off went my jacket, devoted peace-offerings to my voracious
visiter.

In an instant, the waves all around me were lashed into
froth and foam. No sooner was my poor old sporting friend
drawn under the surface, than it was fought for by at least
a dozen enormous combatants! The battle raged upon every
side. High, black fins rushed now here, now there, and long,
strong tails scattered sleet and froth, and the brine was thrown
up in jets, and eddied, and curled, and fell, and swelled, like
a whirlpool, in Hell-gate.

Of no long duration, however, was this fishy tourney. It
seemed soon to be discovered that the prize contended for,
contained nothing edible but cheese and crackers, and no flesh,
and as its mutilated fragments rose to the surface, the waves
subsided into their former smooth condition. Not till then
did I experience the real terrors of my situation. As I looked
around me, to see what had become of the robbers, I counted
one, two, three, yes, up to twelve, successively of the largest
sharks I ever saw, floating in a circle around me, like divergent

rays, all mathematically equi-distant from the rock, and
from each other; each perfectly motionless, and with his
gloating, fiery eye fixed full and fierce upon me. Basilisks
and rattle-snakes! how the fire of their steady eyes entered into
my heart! I was the centre of a circle, whose radii were
sharks! I was the unsprung, or rather unchewed game,
at which a pack of hunting sea-dogs was making a dead
point!

There was one old fellow, that kept within the circumference
of the circle. He seemed to be a sort of captain, or
leader of the band; or, rather, he acted as the coroner for
the other twelve of the inquisition, that were summoned to sit
on, and eat up my body. He glided around and about, and
every now and then would stop, and touch his nose against
some one of his comrades, and seem to consult, or to give instructions
as to the time and mode of operation. Occasionally,
he would skull himself up towards me, and examine the condition
of my flesh, and then again glide back, and rejoin the
troupe, and flap his tail, and have another confabulation. The
old rascal had, no doubt, been out into the highways and bye-ways,
and collected this company of his friends and kin-fish,
and invited them to supper. I must confess, that horribly as
I felt, I could not help but think of a tea party of demure old
maids, sitting in a solemn circle, with their skinny hands in
their laps, licking their expecting lips, while their hostess bustles
about in the important functions of her preparations. With
what an eye, have I seen such appurtenances of humanity
survey the location and adjustment of some especial condiment,
which is about to be submitted to criticism, and consumption.

My sensations began to be, now, most exquisite, indeed;
but I will not attempt to describe them. I was neither hot nor

cold, frightened nor composed; but I had a combination of all
kinds of feelings, and emotions. The present, past, future,
heaven, earth, my father and mother, a little girl I knew once,
and the sharks, were all confusedly mixed up together, and
swelled my crazy brain almost to bursting. I cried, and
laughed, and shouted, and screamed for Tim Titns. In a fit
of most wise madness, I opened my broad-bladed fishing
knife, and waved it around my head, with an air of defiance.
As the tide continued to rise, my extravagance of madness
mounted. At one time, I became persuaded that my tide-waiters
were reasonable beings, who might be talked into
mercy, and humanity, if a body could only hit upon the right
text. So, I bowed, and gesticulated, and threw out my hands,
and talked to them, as friends, and brothers, members of my
family, cousins, uncles, aunts, people waiting to have their
bills paid;—I scolded them as my servants; I abused them
as duns; I implored them as jurymen sitting on the question
of my life; I congratulated, and flattered them as my comrades
upon some glorious enterprize; I sung and ranted to them,
now as an actor in a play-house, and now as an elder at a
camp-meeting; in one moment, roaring
and in the next, giving out to my attentive hearers for singing,
the hymn of Dr. Watts so admirably appropriated to the
occasion,

In the mean time, the water had got well up towards my
shoulders, and while I was shaking and vibrating upon my
uncertain foothold, I felt the cold nose of the captain of the

band, snubbing against my side. Desperately, and without
a definite object, I struck my knife at one of his eyes, and by
some singular fortune, cut it out clean from the socket.
The shark darted back, and halted. In an instant hope and
and reason came to my relief; and it occurred to me, that
if I could only blind the monster, I might yet escape. Accordingly,
I stood ready for the next attack. The loss of an
eye did not seem to affect him much, for, after shaking
his head, once or twice, he came up to me again, and when
he was about half an inch off, turned upon his back. This
was the critical moment. With a most unaccountable presence
of mind, I laid hold of his nose with my left hand,
and with my right, I scooped out his remaining organ of vision.
He opened his big mouth, and champed his long teeth at me,
in despair. But it was all over with him. I raised my right
foot and gave him a hard shove, and he glided off into deep
water, and went to the bottom.

Well, gentlemen, I suppose you'll think it a hard story, but
it is none the less a fact, that I served every remaining one
of those nineteen sharks in the same fashion. They all came
up to me, one by one, regularly, and in order; and I scooped
their eyes out, and gave them a shove, and they went off into
deep water, just like so many lambs. By the time I had
scooped out and blinded a couple of dozen of them, they began
to seem so scarce, that I thought I would swim for the
island, and fight the rest for fun, on the way; but just then,
Tim Titus hove in sight, and it had got to be almost dark, and
I concluded to get aboard, and rest myself.”