direction. Yet they did not see a huge, spectral form rise smoothly from
below, turning belly upward with a sudden green-white gleam. Then, the
barracouta's powerful tail twisted with a violence that sent the water
swirling as from a screw. But it was too late. The shark's triangular
jaws snapped upon their prey, biting the big fish in halves. The two
pieces were bolted instantly, as a hungry man bolts a "bluepoint." And
the shark--the biggest "man-eater" that Mahoney had ever seen--sank
slowly out of sight, to reappear at the surface again in five minutes as
ravenous as ever.

By this time it was beginning to get hot, there on the shelterless
wreck. A small steamer passed in the distance. Mahoney tore off his
shirt and waved it wildly, on the chance that some one on the steamer
might at that moment have a telescope pointed in his direction. The
steamer went its way. Mahoney put on his shirt again, and wished he had
not lost his hat. He had a handkerchief, however, and this he wound upon
the top of his head like a turban. By wetting it frequently he kept his
head and neck cool. As the morning wore on, no fewer than five sails
appeared on the horizon, but none came near enough even to excite a
thrill of hope. Since there was nothing better to do, Mahoney was wise
enough to keep as still as possible, watching the strange life that went
on beneath his refuge, and splashing water over himself from time to
time that his skin might absorb some of the liquid, and so the dreaded
torment of thirst be a little postponed.

The blazing sun dragged slowly past the zenith, indifferent to Mahoney's
maledictions. Along in the afternoon a three-masted schooner hove in
sight. There was not enough wind, now, to ruffle the tops of the swells;
but there was some breeze up aloft, apparently, and the schooner, with
all her canvas spread, was catching it, for she moved along at a brisk
pace. Her course brought her so near that Mahoney tore off his shirt in
trembling anxiety and waved it at arm's length, jumping as high as he
could in the struggle to make himself conspicuous. Finding this
fruitless, he then tied the shirt to the sleeves of his white duck coat,
making a long streamer, which he thought the lookout could not fail to
see. Notwithstanding all this frantic effort the schooner sailed on
unheeding. From its decks the waving white streamer, if seen at all,
would have looked like nothing more than an agitated streak of foam. But
to Mah