THE KINGDOM OF THE HELMET 85 



and the reef, and past the boat. I recaught the puffer, but 

 the coney, if dead, had shpped out of sight, and after a 

 long search I had to give it up. 



Again I dived, and looking down from the sixth or 

 seventh rung, I saw five sharks milling around the foot of 

 the ladder. Two were yard-long puppies, while one was 

 a dark gray seven-footer. Only two were visible when I 

 touched sand, and I went to my former hiding place and 

 watched for the conies. Before long, two came out on 

 the farther side of the little bay. I looked up and saw 

 three of the sharks floating lazily in mid-water near the 

 ladder, looking for all the world like inflated, Japanese 

 kites. I was bringing my rod around into position for 

 aiming, when it was almost jerked out of my hand, twisted 

 and bent. I had forgotten that a piece of the stale meat 

 was still tied to the end of the rod, and as I looked a second 

 shark rushed up and, seizing the tip, shook it as a terrier 

 shakes a rat. I was pulled partly over, and the rod was bent 

 around against a piece of coral rock, and was almost free. 

 Not wishing to lose it, I stabbed it straight at the shark 

 and signaled. The report came instantly, a small cloud 

 of black smoke billowed out into the water, and the shark 

 turned and swam straighter and faster than I have ever 

 seen a shark go. One of his companions followed him, and 

 the others hung about, while I sent up my rod, looked 

 again for my former coney, and then returned to the boat. 



When my helmet was taken off, my friend Mr. John 

 Long, of the National Geographic Magazine staff, asked 



