8 Shark Against Man 



dark gray shadow sweeping up the creek with the incoming tide. The 

 shadow was moving swiftly. But the captain, a man who trusted his eyes, 

 believed what he had seen. He shouted to two workmen on the bridge. 

 They saw the shadow, too. They ran to a telephone and called John 

 Mulsonn, a barber who was also Matawan's chief of police. Captain 

 Cottrell ran the half mile to Matawan center. He tried to stop groups of 

 boys who were heading for the creek. He toured Matawan's short and 

 busy lower Main Street, shouting his warning to merchants and their 

 customers. Everyone laughed at the idea of a shark in a shallow creek, 

 only 35 feet across at its widest point. Chief Mulsonn did not even leave 

 his barber shop. Captain Cottrell walked back toward the creek. 



One of the shops Captain Cottrell stuck his head into on his futile 

 trip up Main Street was Stanley Fisher's new dry-cleaning establishment. 

 Stanley, one of Matawan's best-liked young men, had only recently 

 started this business, which had shown no promise of making his fortune. 

 As a sideline he was also taking orders for men's suits. He had made an 

 unusual sale a few days before. A man had come in and bought a suit. 

 Instead of paying cash for it, he had bought Stanley a $10,000 life in- 

 surance policy. Stanley, a blond-haired, 210-pound giant of a man, was 

 taking a ribbing from his friends. He was, after all, only 24 years old; 

 in the prime of life, they told him. What would he need with an insurance 

 policy? 



Stanley's father, Watson H. Fisher, had followed the sea most of his 

 life and risen to Commodore of the Savannah Line. Now retired and well 

 off, he was one of A4atawan's leading citizens. If he had ever wished that 

 his son might go to sea, he had kept the wish to himself. Some people in 

 Matawan did say, though, that it was a shame a big, strong man like 

 Stanley was running a dry-cleaning store instead of sailing the seas as 

 his father had before him. 



July 12th was a scorching, muggy day. The heat was nearly un- 

 bearable in Anderson's Saw Mill, where Lester Stilwell worked with his 

 father, William Stilwell. By 2 o'clock, Lester had finished nailing up his 

 last wooden box, a task he was especially good at, and, since he was only 

 12 years old, he was given the rest of the day off. He waved good-bye 

 to his father, dashed out of the stifling mill, and headed for Wyckoff Dock 

 with his pals— Johnson Cartan, Frank Clowes, Albert O'Hara, and Charles 

 Van Brunt. Soon they were all splashing around in the creek. Most of 

 them, like Lester, were not wearing bathing suits. 



Albert O'Hara, aged 11, was near the dock, about to climb out of 

 the water, when Lester yelled: "Watch me float, fellas!" Albert turned 

 to look. Lester was so thin he usually had trouble floating. At that instant, 

 something hard and slippery slammed Albert's right leg. He looked 

 down and saw what looked like the sinuous tail of a huge fish. Charles 



