Part 13 (1/2)

”Get me one, too, if you please,” called Ned as the gentleman hurried away.

”And I'll also try my luck at potting a shark. Bless my gunpowder if I won't!” said Mr. Damon.

The captain did have several rifles in his stateroom, and he loaned them to Mr. Sander. They were magazine weapons, firing sixteen shots each, but they were not of as high power as those Tom had packed away.

”Now we'll make those sharks sing a different tune, if sharks sing!”

cried the young inventor.

”Yes, we're coming to the rescue of the porpoises!” added Ned.

The pa.s.sengers crowded up to witness the marksmans.h.i.+p, and soon the lads and Mr. Damon were at it.

It was no easy matter to hit a shark, as the big, ugly fish were only seen for a moment in their mad rushes after the porpoises, but both Tom and Ned were good shots and they made the bullets tell.

”There, I hit one big fellow!” cried Mr. Damon. ”Bless my bull's eye, but I plugged him right in the mouth, I think.”

”I hope you knocked out some of his teeth,” cried Ned.

They fired rapidly, and while they probably hit some of the innocent porpoises in their haste, yet they accomplished what they had set out to do--scare off the sharks. In a little while the ”tigers of the sea” as some one has aptly called them, disappeared.

”That's the stuff!” cried Mr. Damon. ”Now we can watch the porpoises at play.”

But they did not have that sight to interest them very long. For, as suddenly as the gamboling fish had appeared, they sank from sight--all but a few dead ones that the sharks had left floating on the calm surface of the ocean. Probably the timid fish had taken some alarm from the depths into which they sank.

”Well, that was some excitement while it lasted,” remarked Tom. as he and Ned took the rifles back to the captain.

”But it didn't bring out the mysterious pa.s.sengers,” added Ned. Tom shook his head and on their return to deck he purposely went out of his way to go past Stateroom No. 27, where the ”Wilsons” were quartered. The door was closed and a momentary pause to listen brought our hero no clew, for all was silent in the room.

”It's too much for me,” he murmured, shaking his head and he rejoined his chum.

Several more days pa.s.sed, for the Maderia was a slow boat, and could not make good time to Mexico. However, our travelers were in no haste, and they fully enjoyed the voyage.

Try as Tom did to get a glimpse of the mysterious pa.s.sengers he was unsuccessful. He spent many hours in a night, and early morning vigil, only to have to do his sleeping next day, and it resulted in nothing.

”I guess they want to get on Mexican soil before any one sees their faces,” spoke Ned, and Tom was inclined to agree with his chum.

They awoke one morning to find the sea tempestuous. The s.h.i.+p tossed and rolled amid the billows, and the captain said they had run into the tail end of a gulf hurricane.

”Two days more and we'll be in port,” he added, ”and I'm sorry the voyage had to be marred even by this blow.”

For it did blow, and, though it was not a dangerous storm, yet many pa.s.sengers kept below.

”I'm afraid this settles it,” remarked Tom that night, when the s.h.i.+p was still pitching and tossing. ”They won't come out now, and this is likely to keep up until we get to port. Well, I can't help it.”

But fate was on the verge of aiding Tom in an unexpected way. Nearly every one turned in early that night for it was no pleasure to sit in the saloons, and to lie in one's berth made it easier to stand the rolling of the vessel.

Tom and Ned, together with Mr. Damon, had fallen into slumber in spite of the storm, when, just as eight bells announced midnight there was a sudden jar throughout the whole s.h.i.+p.