Free Ghost Stories by Franklin W. Dixon Page B

Parker’s threat to feed them to the sharks.
    â€œAre there such things as ghost sharks?” Joe went on. “The kind that don’t really eat you?”
    â€œLet’s hope so,” Frank replied.
    A sound on the stairs interrupted them. They jumped up and listened as footsteps came toward them. Only one man was approaching, so the boys stepped into the middle of the room and waited to see what would happen.
    Corkin appeared, carrying a harpoon in his right hand.
    â€œSo you lost the whale,” he sneered at them. “You do not know how to steer a boat or how to harpoon a fish. I should have been there. No whale ever gets away from me!”
    Frank chuckled. “I believe you’re jealous because I went along as a harpooner instead of you,” he said.
    Corkin raised his weapon and hurled it between the bars. It was aimed directly at Joe, who did not have time to dodge out of the way.
    But Frank had anticipated the attack. He tipped the table up in the air in front of his brother. The harpoon plunged into the top and pierced the wood. Its sharp point came right through on the other side, only inches from Joe! He wiped a trickle of sweat from his face as Frank wrenched the harpoon from the table.
    â€œCorkin, that’s the second time you’ve thrown this thing at us. Now it’s your turn to be on the wrong end!” the older Hardy cried. He lifted the weapon and rushed forward. Corkin turned pale, backed away, and fled up the stairs to the deck.
    Frank tossed the harpoon into a corner of the cell and laughed. “I wasn’t really going to spear him, just wanted to scare him off. Anyway, he doesn’t have his toy anymore. I wonder how he’ll explain that to the first mate the next time they go after a whale!”
    Suddenly another footfall could be heard on the stairs.
    â€œProbably Corkin again,” Joe said apprehensively. “Maybe he’s coming for another round with us.”
    â€œWell, we’ll be ready this time,” Frank vowed and retrieved the harpoon. He held it up defensively, but a moment later he lowered it as he realized the newcomer was Orne.
    The sailer shuffled toward the bars, all the while glancing over his shoulder. “I should not be here, mates,” he whispered. “I am on duty up top. But there is something I wanted to tell you.”
    â€œWhat is it?” Joe inquired.
    â€œCaptain Parker has it in for you. He is keepingyou locked up because he may need you before the voyage is over. But he will throw you to the sharks before we return to Nantucket.”
    â€œWe’d better get out of here,” Frank said. “Can’t you help us?”
    â€œAll we want is a fighting chance to save ourselves,” Joe added.
    Orne shook his head. “I am just an ordinary deckhand. There is no way I can release you. It would do no good, either. We are in the middle of the ocean. What would you do? Swim a thousand miles to land?”
    Joe became excited. “Perhaps we could launch a whaleboat and get away.”
    Orne shook his head again. “There is always someone watching the deck from the wheelhouse. You would be spotted. Besides, it takes more than two to launch a whaleboat. Now that you know what to expect, I would like you to tell me something.”
    â€œSure,” Joe said. “After all, you took a chance coming down here and warning us.”
    â€œWhy do you talk so strangely?” Orne wanted to know. “Here it is 1850, and you mention the twentieth century and power other than sails. Are you clairvoyant?”
    The boys exchanged baffled glances. How could they make him understand?
    â€œWe can’t tell him we think he’s a ghost,” Joe murmured to Frank.
    â€œIt’s a question of time,” Frank replied loudly to the man’s question. “We cannot tell what time it is. By centuries, anyway.”
    Orne pointed to a calendar on the wall. The numbers 1850 were