d silence. As they were eating the
abalones, which Moran had fried in batter, Charlie said:

"Shark all gone! No more catch um--him all gone."

"Gone--why?"

"No savvy," said Charlie. "No likee, no likee. China boy tink um heap
funny, too much heap funny."

It was true. During all the next day not a shark was in sight, and
though the crew fished assiduously till dark, they were rewarded by not
so much as a bite. No one could offer any explanation.

"'Tis strange," said Moran. "Never heard of shark leaving this feed
before. And you can see with half an eye that the hands don't like
the looks of it. Superstitious beggars! they need to be clumped in the
head."

That same night Wilbur woke in his hammock on the fo'c'stle head about
half-past two. The moon was down, the sky one powder of stars. There was
not a breath of wind. It was so still that he could hear some large
fish playing and breaking off toward the shore. Then, without the least
warning, he felt the schooner begin to lift under him. He rolled out of
his hammock and stood on the deck. There could be no doubt of it--the
whole forepart was rising beneath him. He could see the bowsprit moving
upward from star to star. Still the schooner lifted; objects on deck
began to slide aft; the oil in the deck-tubs washed over; then, as there
came a wild scrambling of the Chinese crew up the fo'c'stle hatch, she
settled again gradually at first, then, with an abrupt lurch that almost
threw him from his feet, regained her level. Moran met him in the waist.
Charlie came running aft.

"What was that? Are we grounding? Has she struck?"

"No, no; we're still fast to the kelp. Was it a tidal wave?"

"Nonsense. It wouldn't have handled us that way."

"Well, what was it? Listen! For God's sake keep quiet there forward!"

Wilbur looked over the side into the water. The ripples were still
chasing themselves away from the schooner. There was nothing else. The
stillness shut down again. There was not a sound.

VI. A SEA MYSTERY

In spite of his best efforts at self-control, Wilbur felt a slow, cold
clutch at his heart. That sickening, uncanny lifting of the schooner out
of the glassy water, at a time when there was not enough wind to so
much as wrinkle the surface, sent a creep of something very like horror
through all his flesh.

Again he peered over the side, down into the kelp-thickened sea.
Nothing--not a breath of air was stirring. The gray light that flooded