Authors: Karl Kofoed
Hanging between the ships, suspended from a crane, a large package swayed back and forth with the swells. The men cursed at each other and at the heavy crate they were trying to load on the launch.
Still crouching with Jocko behind a few crates, Johnny tried to see the shore, but he still saw only darkness beyond the rail. He rose a bit higher to get a better view while Jocko remained crouched behind him.
Johnny thought he caught the sound of waves crashing on a distant beach, but he couldn’t be sure and, even so, he had no way of telling how far away it was. A hundred yards?
A thousand? In the distance, barely audible waves shooshed into the sand banks of the San Juan Strait. He decided that if they had to swim, they might risk drowning in the rough waves or be killed on the rocks that lined the shore. If he was in the water, he decided, he’d just swim for the light and hope for the best.
Suddenly there was a loud snap as a large swell rocked the ships. The crane supporting the cargo swung wildly toward Johnny. He didn’t see it coming. Wood splintered as the crates crashed, catapulting Johnny, head first and unconscious, into the sea.
One of the workmen glimpsed the body over the side.
“God save us,” he yelled as he held the rope in one hand and pointed with the other. “M… M… Man overboard!”
The other men had not seen Johnny fall. All they saw were the crates hitting the water with a loud splash. “Jacob, you ol’ coot, you,” called the man holding the lantern as he peered at the crates bobbing in the water. “Can’t ye tell a box from a man?”
“No, sir,” said the crewman, still holding the rope to the crane. “I saw him fall. I swear it!” He pointed into the inky water. “I don’t see him.”
By the time the news got to Costerson and a search could be mounted, there was no telling where the treacherous currents off Dungeness might have taken Johnny’s body.
The captain contended the swift currents would sweep Johnny’s body far away. Or that he’d be food for the sharks.
In spite of Costerson’s protests, the Griffith did not take part in a search. As dawn’s light broke the next day, it sailed on toward San Francisco, minus Barnum’s prize.
Jocko was a good swimmer. He and his kin often used the water to avoid enemies, but their physical stature – principally their lack of a neck– made long distance swimming difficult.
Not so with Jocko. His longer neck and shorter arms gave him an advantage over the rest of his kind. But he never thought about it. He only knew that when they crossed lakes and rivers, somehow he always arrived first on the other side.
When he saw Johnny fall into the sea, he followed, slipping into the sea, barely making a splash. Sliding silently away from the ship, he groped in the dark water, guided by unknown senses, until he found Johnny’s limp body. He locked his feet around Johnny’s waist, flipped them both onto their backs, and began stroking calmly with both arms toward the shore, keeping Johnny’s face out of the water.
The swim seemed to go on forever. Jocko listened to the waves. His backstroke was long, steady, and powerful. He closed his eyes and let his senses stretch out. The sounds he had heard aboard ship now poured like the water into his body.
Swimming on his back, Jocko felt like a bird soaring between two oceans. Above him one of seabirds, clouds, and stars, and beneath him the deep and mysterious realm of water, whales, seaweed, and seals.
Part V
frum train bad maN tak jocko to boat
JoNNy FrEE Joko
joko swim to moUntaNs
jonny sik in hed
Johnny was lost in delirium; sweat pouring from his body. He found himself dreaming of Gert. They were having a crazy argument. It had Johnny laughing almost hysterically.
“How much wood could a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood?” said his aunt.
“What if it’s called a groundhog?” asked Johnny.
“How much ground could a groundhog hog, if a groundhog could hog ground?” she retorted with a straight face.
“Okay,” he said, “what if it’s called a gopher?”
Gert thought for a second, raised a finger and said: “Just how far could a gopher go, if a gopher could go far?”
Johnny laughed, but he felt strangely sick. Confusion filled his mind amid a thickening haze of pain. He felt his hands and his feet tingle as entire body became aware. He groaned and tried to open his eyes, but all he could distinguish was a soft green glow. The smell of earth filled his nostrils.
He was warm and wet. Something bitter, a small gob of plant material, was stuffed into his cheek. It tasted terrible, so he spat it out.
He tried to bring his hand up to his mouth but he was under some kind of blanket.
When he tried to move, his head pounded behind his right ear. With the pain came the memory of the ship and the heavy crate that had smashed into him.
Johnny opened his eyes wider and tried to focus as more memories came flooding back. “Jocko,” he whispered.
Feeling strength returning to his muscles, he struggled under whatever was on top of him.
They smell like leaves
, he thought.
Ferns and moss. What the heck?
Johnny sat up and found himself in a thicket, surrounded by bushes and greenery. The exertion made him woozy.
I’ve been buried and left for dead
, he thought as he surveyed the blurry scene. It was daytime, but the sun seemed far away. It shone dazzling through holes in a high canopy overhead. Thick vines and heavy branches of dense cedar seemed to descend right to the place where he was lying. Johnny looked around and blinked. “I’m not buried,” he said aloud. “I’m in … in some kind of nest.”
Sitting up made Johnny’s head spin. The forest around him became a sickening green blur. Just before he blacked out he saw Jocko’s face draw near. He tried to speak but darkness filled his mind.
“Jooonneee,” said Jocko in a voice that sounded far away.
“Joonnnnny!”
“Just how far … could a gopher … go …” replied Johnny as the fever drew him into its horrid embrace. “Could Jocko … go.” Johnny fell deeply asleep.
Jocko packed more dry ferns and club moss around Johnny to keep him warm, then he spat out a small gob of chewed herbs and pushed it into Johnny’s mouth, replacing the one Johnny had removed. The herbs were to help Johnny sleep and to reduce his fever.
Standing up, Jocko examined the nest he had built.
Satisfied it would keep Johnny warm and dry, he decided to go in search of food. He stood for a minute, silent as a statue, imperceptibly moving his head as he looked, listened, and smelled for danger. Forest sounds filled his ears: insects, birds, a nearby stream. He studied the lush green mat of ferns and broad-leafed plants, looking for telltale movement that might spell danger. Dazzling shafts of light created yellow-green pillars of life here and there, as flies and tiny gnats danced in the welcome warmth of the sun.
Jocko smiled. The new land they had found was greener than any place he’d ever seen. He had no idea where they were, and he shivered when he recalled how they had arrived
– the ship, the sea; so cold and deep. Jocko wondered how life could exist in all that water. And what of those strange creatures he could hear as he swam to the rocks with Johnny? How did the animals breathe in the water? Did they walk the bottom or swim? How did they stay warm or fight the strong currents he’d felt tugging at his body? Jocko looked back at Johnny’s healing nest. The memories of their escape still echoed in his mind
.
After reaching the shore, Jocko had dragged Johnny’s nearly lifeless body onto the shore of a broad pebbly beach.
He’d rested there only for a moment, then, seeing no place to seek cover on this broad spit of sand, he hoisted Johnny onto his back. Following the shoreline, he headed toward the white peaked mountains he saw in the distance.
Even under the cover of a starless night, Jocko felt terribly exposed as he tracked the coastline. He’d felt immense relief when he finally came to a cliff topped by groves of trees that promised shelter. But before heading inland, Jocko had put Johnny’s limp body down and, stretching his tired b ack, he’d scanned the darkness for signs of humans.
The area seemed safe; he had hoisted Johnny over his shoulder and moved up the steep embankment and into the forest wet with recent rain. Carrying Johnny’s dead weight up the steep grade through dense vegetation and over slippery logs made the going difficult, but Jocko finally found a small clearing where he trampled down a patch of tall ferns and laid Johnny down. Then he climbed a tall cedar to scout the area.
He reached the top as the first light of dawn was beginning to break. From the treetop Jocko’s sharp eyes had detected human dwellings a mile or more down the coast. Far out at sea a freighter steamed along the horizon. Jocko guessed it was the same ship he and Johnny had escaped from only a few hours earlier.
When he was convinced that the area he’d chosen was relatively safe, Jocko had climbed down the tree and returned to Johnny. Then he’d gently lifted the boy and carried him inland through the dense forest. This wilderness was very different from the one Jocko’s family usually roamed. Its hilly, thickly forested terrain proved difficult going even for his powerful legs. But eventually the terrain evened out and he entered grasslands broken by occasional stands of brush and trees. In the distance the tall Olympic peaks lined the sky like a row of sharp white teeth.
Eventually Jocko had found a grove of trees surrounded by swamp on three sides and a rock fall on the fourth. He carried Johnny to a spring and ladled handfuls of cool water into the boy’s mouth. Then he’d found a patch of dry ground and made a nest for Johnny. When he finished lining the nest with dry grass and ferns, Jocko scanned the peaceful scene.
Behind him, at the base of the rock fall, the spring fed a small brook that gurgled pleasantly. Everything seemed secure, but he knew they couldn’t stay there too long. Humans were nearby.
Jocko looked back to the nest where Johnny lay
struggling with his fever. He knew Johnny needed food. There were lots of bugs here, but he knew Johnny wouldn’t eat them. Jocko walked off into the forest, crouching low, examining the ground for signs of berries, roots, or mushrooms. He moved stealthily from shadow to shadow, stopping every so often to watch and listen to the forest.
It was so dark that Johnny thought it was still night. He felt something in his mouth again. He spat and slowly rose up on one elbow. He knew he was in some kind of nest that Jocko must have built. But where was he? How long had he been unconscious?
Johnny’s head swam from pain and his empty stomach growled noisily. “My God,” he said aloud. “What have I gotten myself into?”
He remembered hiding behind crates, wondering how he’d be able to slip off the ship and get aboard the smaller boat that was receiving supplies from the Griffith. Something had hit him and he had the impression of falling. After that, everything was a blank.
Johnny sat up on one elbow and looked around. He was amazed at the simple construction of the nest: A couple of large layered cedar branches had been arranged between two large cedar trees. Over them fir tree needles had been laid down in layers. On top of these a few armloads of dry ferns made a soft dry mattress. Covering Johnny was a large cedar bough supporting more ferns skillfully layered in a tangle of moss, leaves and vines.
Johnny laughed. “I’m in a sasquatch nest!” he said aloud.
“Aunt Gert should see me now.”
The last word barely passed his lips when a hairy hand came out of nowhere and stuffed berries into his mouth.
Johnny was so hungry, and the berries were so sweet and delicious, that he fought against the impulse to spit them out.
He savored the juice and chewed the berries as the nourishment began to refresh his body.
Johnny looked up and saw Jocko. He was smiling and holding two handfuls of berries, apparently waiting for Johnny to swallow. Johnny opened his mouth to speak but Jocko put more berries in his mouth.
Johnny coughed and turned his face away from Jocko.
“You don’t have to treat me like a baby,” he protested, wiping berry juice on an already filthy sleeve.
Jocko scowled and covered Johnny’s mouth with a sticky hand. “Okay, okay,” whispered Johnny. “I’ll shut up.”
Jocko crouched at Johnny’s side feeding him berries.
Every so often he would eat a few himself. When the berries were gone Jocko smacked his lips. “Thanks, Jocko,” whispered Johnny. He lay back down on the ferns with his arms folded behind his head.
Johnny smiled as he stared up at the green canopy over his head. Back in Yale Johnny had been Jocko’s ‘keeper’.
Now their roles were reversed. The irony made him smile despite his throbbing head. Johnny probed his sandy hair with his fingers and wasn’t surprised to feel a large lump and clotted blood. “Beaned me good,” he muttered.
As he considered his situation Johnny felt very stupid.
During all his planning he hadn’t even considered how he might survive in the deep woods. In his passion to free Jocko, he’d ignored all practical considerations. All his baggage had been left aboard the Griffith. All he now possessed were his topcoat, breeches, shirt and long underwear.
He looked at his feet.
At least I still have my shoes,
he thought. He wiggled his toes and they squished. Johnny winced in disgust. “Where was my brain?” he said, slamming his fist into the mossy bedding.
Jocko looked confused. He moved closer to Johnny and touched his hand. When they touched their now familiar link of understanding was renewed.
Johnny actually felt better after that, as if healing energy had somehow flowed into him. He smiled again. “Thanks for makin’ this bed, Jocko,” whispered Johnny. Jocko looked around and smiled. Then he stood up and patted his stomach. He pointed to his mouth, then at the forest.
“Sure,” said Johnny. “I’ll take some more of them berries, if you please.”
Jocko frowned and put a hand over his own mouth as a signal for Johnny to be quiet.
“Okay, okay,” whispered Johnny.
Jocko gave a low grunt, then he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the forest.
Johnny felt a bit better. Perhaps, he thought, he and Jocko might actually survive.
He looked up and saw a small patch of blue sky peeking through the thick greenery. A cloud loomed, then moved out of sight. Johnny noticed the treetops were rustling and bending with the breeze, but where he lay everything was still. He blinked. “Not bad,” he whispered. “Wind’s blowing, but not here. It’s like I’m in a house; a big green house.”
He reached down and pulled off his shoes, then his socks, and arranged them on a nearby branch. His movements were clumsy and the simple task took some time to accomplish.
Finally he managed to get the socks spread out so they could dry, and his shoes hung securely on two twig ends.
Exhausted from the effort Johnny lay back down and closed his eyes.
He heard the flapping of wings nearby and opened his eyes in time to see a bird with shiny black feathers pecking at one of his socks. Johnny swung an arm and shooed it away.
“No you don’t,” he muttered angrily. “I need them socks.”
The bird didn’t return, but Johnny retrieved his socks from the bush. For a moment he lay, clutching his damp socks and catching his breath.
Maybe this isn’t so great, after all
, he thought.
Somewhere in the distance a crow called five times and Johnny fell asleep.
jocko and JoNNy FrEE
hom to moUntaNs
Jonny sick
joko carry
joko jonny brothers
After two days in the woods Johnny felt better. The sasquatch seemed more relaxed, but Johnny couldn’t really tell. He guessed that if Jocko followed any philosophy in the forest, it was that of constant caution. Every few hours the sasquatch would leave the nest and return some time later, with roots, mushrooms, or berries.
Once he brought a whole shrub he’d torn out by its roots.
Upon arrival he stuffed some bitter leaves into Johnny’s mouth, then planted the bush in a hole he’d dug near the brook. The whole process took about fifteen minutes. Johnny was completely bewildered by Jocko’s behavior, but he noticed that the leaves, despite their acrid taste, were lessening his headache. For the next few days, Jocko occasionally fed Johnny the leaves and bark of the bush.
Occasionally Jocko would offer Johnny a beetle or frogs he had caught, but Johnny sealed his lips and turned his head away. “Nothin’ what crawls, is the rule, Jocko,” he growled.
Once, when Jocko produced a handful of worms, Johnny swatted them away. “No worms, please. Do I look like a bird?”
Jocko finally got the message. After that he brought only vegetables and berries.
Johnny awoke to the sound of whistling. He opened his eyes but the darkness remained. It was night. High above, showing through the dark canopy, stars twinkled brightly, almost dazzling, in the clear indigo sky.
The whistling continued. Johnny lifted his head but could see nothing. Jocko wasn’t nearby so he thought the whistling was Jocko, but he realized that the whistling was different from the sounds Jocko had made while looking for his family in the woods back in Yale.
The whistling continued, now coming from all around him.
Johnny could tell it wasn’t close by, but didn’t dare move and give away his position. He heard other noises as well; a snapped twig, a low grunting, and what sounded like large monkeys muttering softly to one another.