Captain Shark-Killer 67 



curiosity about commercial uses for sharks. And I was to devote my life to this 

 venture. 



I left the islands in 1920 for a change of scene in the States. Footloose, restless 

 for a challenging job, I wound up in New York City. I was walking up Broad- 

 way one day when I happened to glance in a shoe store window. I saw a pair 

 of shoes with sharkskin tips! I all but ran into the store to find out about the 

 shoes. 



The sharkskin trail eventually led from the shoe store to Newark, New 

 Jersey, where the Ocean Leather Company headquarters were. They were 

 pioneering in the manufacture of shark hides. Shark-catching stations were 

 being set up in Florida and North Carolina, I was told. And, before you could 

 say "Jack Shark," I was on my way to one of the stations. 



In the years to come, I would journey throughout the world in search of 

 sharks. This would be my job, my vocation, my way of life. 



At each way station in this world-wide pursuit of the shark, I would have 

 adventures and I would learn more and more about the wily shark. 



I have put down, in the pages that follow, some of my adventures among the 

 mano. 



Big Pine Key, Florida 



I've been convinced for years that sharks are man-eaters. The natives in the 

 Pacific, the old-time seafarers and many of my friends hereabouts believe it. 

 But the unbelievers— most of whom have never seen blue water, let alone a 

 shark— demand proof. I got them their proof today. 



Walter Johnston— he calls himself Pete the Shark— and I have been catching 

 shark here and skinning them for their hides. We've been doing pretty well. 

 We go out in the morning, make a catch, and then come in to skin them at the 

 end of the day. 



Today, while skinning a 12-foot Brown shark, I noticed an odd protuberance 

 on the stomach wall, so I slit the lining a bit. The round end of a bone came out. 

 I grasped it with one hand and cut a little more so I could pull it out. 

 It was what was left of a human right arm and hand. 



The arm was in a good state of preservation, indicating that it had been in 

 the shark only a short time. The palm of the hand and fingertips were wrinkled, 

 as they would be in life if immersed for a long time in water. I concluded it was 

 the hand of a man who had not engaged in manual toil. It bore neither rings 

 nor tattoos. The arm to the elbow was not mangled, but from the elbow to the 

 shoulder joint all the flesh had been torn away. I knew I had to search the 

 shark more thoroughly to see if there were any more clues to this poor devil's 

 identity. I carefully probed and found six fragments of flesh— and a piece of blue 

 serge cloth, about 12 by 18 inches, apparently ripped from a man's coat. 



I photographed my gruesome find, and Pete amputated the hand and put it 

 in a glass of alcohol. 



I called the coroner at Key West. While he was on his way to Big Pine Key, 

 I made some inquiries and learned that a plane had gone down the day before 

 about 20 miles from Key West. A man named Atkins was reported missing. 

 He had a blue serge coat on when he was last seen alive. 



