Authors: Dennis Wheatley
Attracted by shouts and firing the rest of the party had now arrived upon the scene. The boat was up as far as it could go, hanging bow downwards. Immediately he saw its stern appear Basil had shut off the winch. Largertöf and Vicente were hanging on to prevent themselves falling out into the weed below. More dead than alive from shock, strained muscles and bruises, they were helped aboard and carried down to their cabins.
The boat was lowered again at once before the rope parted under the strain, but its oars had been flung out and lay in a criss-crossed pile, like spillikins, floating on the weed just under the ship’s stern.
By means of a running bowline Luvia managed to lasso them one by one, and, with the others’ help, drew them up on deck. The job took a good half-hour, and during it they spoke in hushed tones of Isiah’s death and this new menace to their operations.
Vicente’s party had not succeeded in freeing the propeller, and it was obviously too great a risk to send another party over the side. After their promising start of the morning they were stuck again, and, it seemed, stuck for good this time.
Lunch was a gloomy meal, and as no one could think of any other expedient for freeing the ship they began to resign themselves to remaining inactive until rough weather broke the vast tangles of weed into sections for them. She was still drifting and altering her direction slightly from time to time as she moved, so Luvia felt there was a small chance, at least, of her working herself free if she came into a less congested area.
The amusements provided for the passengers when the ship left Cape Town still being available, Basil carried Unity off for a game of ping-pong. The table, with some basket chairs, occupied a small deck-house.
He beat her three—love, and as they finished the third game she exclaimed: ‘You have come on! I used to be able to beat you easily. D’you remember? That first afternoon at sea when we
played together—before father found out what a rotter you were?’
Basil laughed. ‘Poor old chap, he couldn’t bear to have his pet ideas ridiculed, could he? Yet I’m just as patriotic a Briton as he was, in my own way.’
‘You’re a more agile one than you were, anyhow.’
‘Think so?’
‘Certain of it. Look at the beating you’ve just given me. We’re all a good bit thinner, of course, after our four days’ enforced slimming in the boat. But you look altogether different. Ever so much healthier.’
‘Thank you.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve been hoping for these words of praise on the outward and visible signs of my regeneration.’
‘Have you?’
‘Well, haven’t you noticed anything else about me?’
‘Yes. Since we got back to the ship you’ve given up drinking—at least—except for a glass of wine now and then.’
‘That’s right—d’you know why?’
‘Because you’ve had to do your share of the work and you knew you’d be fitter without it.’
‘Good Lord, no. I’d have seen old Juhani to the devil before I stopped drinking on that account.’
‘Why then?’ Unity looked quickly away as she asked the question, because she already guessed the answer.
‘Because I thought it’d please you, of course.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Does it?’
‘Of course it does. I like you ever so much better. Before, you know, joking apart, you were a bit of a blackguard.’
‘My dear, I know it. But this thing’s changed us all. It’s changed you a lot.’
‘Changed me!’ She looked up in surprise.
‘Rather. You were a most awful little prig, whereas now you’re quite human—you’ve even taken to drink—at least you appear to enjoy a glass of wine now and then.’
It was Unity’s turn to smile. ‘I always did, but father was so damned mean about letting me have it.’
‘That’s not the only thing. You were a pinch-faced prude before, even when your father wasn’t present. Now, you’re so much gayer, in spite of everything, and perfectly natural.’
‘I was full of inhibitions, I suppose. If you’d lived in constant fear of a man like that you wouldn’t have been so cheerful either.’
She made a mocking little curtsy. ‘Thank you, sir, for your compliments on my improvement.’
He laughed. ‘You’re a darling. D’you know I don’t mind really if we are stuck here for a time now we can take things a bit easier.’
‘Don’t you!’ Her eyes opened wider. ‘But there’s such a beastly feeling about the place. The silence, and these miles of weed with God-knows-what horrible creatures in it. Think of that poor wretch who died this morning.’
‘Yes. It was a pretty beastly death, wasn’t it. Still he escaped a long stretch in prison for mutiny and that’s something. Luvia’ll hand the whole group over to be tried directly we make a port, you know.’
She nodded. ‘I suppose he will, but if they continue to do their job as they have done this last week I expect there’ll be a recommendation to mercy. Anyhow, I’m not one of them, and I’d give a lot to be safe in a civilised town.’
‘Um,’ he murmured doubtfully. ‘I can’t say I like this place exactly myself, but I haven’t quite the same inducement as you for wanting to get anywhere particular. Naturally you’re anxious to get home as quick as you can to your family and friends.’
‘I haven’t got much family now father’s dead. My mother died years ago, as I told you. I haven’t very many friends either. Ours wasn’t quite the jolly, carefree household that a girl feels happy about inviting her friends to, so I never had the chance of making many.’
‘There’s the painter chap.’
‘Yes, but that was finished as far as he was concerned when father made me cut him out.’
‘You could always dig him up again.’
‘I’ve thought of that, but I’m not betting on it in case he’s got interested in somebody else.’
‘Anyhow, you’ll have your independence.’
‘Yes, that’s what I’m really looking forward to. Life’ll be fun now I’m my own mistress, and I’ll have money of my own to keep me comfortably.’
‘God, how lucky you are!’ he burst out suddenly. ‘I’d give anything now to be able to go home to England and settle down to a steady job. It’s not much fun being a remittance man. I’m paying for the follies of my youth with a vengeance.’
She pulled up a chair. ‘I don’t know why we’re standing up. Come and sit down and tell me about it. This is the first chance
I’ve had to ask you about yourself. You’re quite young and clever and attractive. What on earth started you off drinking like a fish? Was it a girl?’
He flung himself down in the chair beside hers and stretched his legs. ‘No, it wasn’t a girl. Nothing so romantic. Just my own damned stupidity. You won’t think any the better of me when you’ve heard about it; but I’d like you to know the worst because you’re much too decent to judge me entirely on the past.’
Time slipped by unnoticed while he told her of his inheritance and how he had frittered it away; then of his narrow escape from imprisonment and the useless sort of life he had led since, kicking his heels up and down the world. They were so immersed in their conversation and each other that they would probably have sat on there until dinner-time if a clear hail from the bridge had not brought them back to their present situation.
Full watches were not being kept, but Luvia had detailed the men to take turns at look-out and Hansie was on duty. His shout brought Luvia running up from below.
‘By Jove! It’s nearly sunset,’ Basil exclaimed as he hurried after Unity out of the deck-house. ‘We forgot all about our tea.’
Unity laughed. ‘Poor Synolda. She’ll have had to do all the dirty work for once. Anyhow, I don’t mind. I’ll do it for her another time. What’s Hansie shouting about?’
They walked quickly towards the bridge together and ran up the ladder. Luvia was there with Hansie and De Brissac beside him. Several of the men had come up on deck.
Hansie was pointing excitedly, while the other two men on the bridge were both peering through their glasses.
‘I can’t make it out,’ Luvia muttered.
‘What is it? What’re you looking at?’ Unity asked eagerly.
‘There’s something moving on the weed.’
‘Where? Oh, yes, I see it. That little black dot.’ Basil nodded.
‘I’d say it’s some kind of bird,’ Luvia remarked a moment later.
‘No, no. It is not a bird.’ De Brissac disagreed; and with his powerful military binoculars still glued to his eyes he went on: ‘It has a large black body—quite round. From that stretch down to the weed four slender legs like spindles. At the extremity of each is a black blob. Not feet or claws, but balls rather. Look—it is hopping across the weed like some gigantic flea—yet it moves quite slowly. It is coming nearer.’
Soon, even those without glasses could make out the strange creature fairly clearly, although the sun was setting behind a low
cloud and the mist which had hung about all day still obscured the horizon.
Luvia and De Brissac could now see the strange animal in more detail through their glasses. The body was elongated with a vast round head as big as a small motor car; the two front legs appeared crooked at their tops, but the back ones tapered straight down into bone-like spines before meeting the ball-like feet. It appeared to prod the weed with all four feet simultaneously; the two back legs then shot forward between the two front legs in the manner of a giraffe, which animal was a good comparison with it for height. After each stab at the weed it sailed right up into the air for about fifteen feet, as far as they could judge, drifted slowly down, and repeated the prodding process with its ball-like feet which sent it sailing up again. It was like nothing they had ever seen before and they could not make up their minds if it was a bird, animal, or some gigantic unknown species of insect.
It was still the best part of a mile away when De Brissac gave a shout: ‘Look! a devil-fish attacks it!’
At the same instant the others had also seen the huge tentacle of an octopus shoot up out of the weed and wrap itself round one of the creature’s spindly legs. The nameless beast stabbed violently at the devil-fish with its other three feet for a few seconds, but suddenly seemed to collapse. Next moment it had been drawn under, and in the semi-darkness of the falling night the weed once more appeared to be an empty, lifeless expanse.
The strange tragedy they had witnessed out in the grim weedland and the nature of the curious creature which had fallen a victim to the great octopus, provided them with food for much talk and speculation during dinner.
Vicente was too sore and bruised from his mauling by the octopus to put in an appearance, so Synolda was able to evade his unwelcome attentions again. With Luvia beside her she sat for a long time that night up on the break of the fo’c’sle, and when they parted at her cabin door their last embrace had a warmth about it that left the big, blond Finnish engineer dazed but happy.
Singly the men kept watch for an hour apiece during the night. It was a little before the dawn that Harlem Joe roused Luvia.
‘Well—what is it?’ asked the Finn.
‘Bremer, Baas,’ said the Negro. He was shaking slightly. ‘I’s his relief, but he don’ come give me der call bes’ part of dis hour back as he should. I wakes by myself, and t’inks maybe he’s laid
down on de job. Get me, Baas? Sleepin’ or somethin’; but when I makes der bridge he jus’ ain’t dere.’
Luvia tumbled out of his bunk and soon verified the stoker’s statement. Shouts and hails failed to bring any response from the Swedish seaman. Everyone was roused out and a systematic search of the ship began. It was quite fruitless; the fellow seemed to have vanished into thin air.
Synolda said she remembered vaguely hearing someone call out in her sleep, but thought it was only a dream. No one else had heard anything.
After the unavailing search had been completed and the others had gone below, De Brissac took Luvia by the arm and led him along to a spot on the port side of the ship just below the bridge. He said nothing but switched on his torch and pointed with it.
Luvia stared at the thing upon the deck. He stood very still, his hands felt cold and clammy. It was a single, long tendril of wet, bright-green weed to which De Brissac pointed.
Bremer was gone, and both men knew that in the darkness of the night some stealthy, hideous thing had come up out of the sea to get him.
Dawn was breaking. De Brissac and Luvia faced each other in the grey early light. The strip of bright-green seaweed which told such a terrible story lay on the deck between them.
‘Golly!’ Juhani gulped, ‘I thought my nerve was pretty good, but this scares me more than somewhat.’
The Frenchman nodded. ‘It is uncanny this; horrible to think of that poor fellow pacing the deck here only an hour or so ago and now …’ He left the sentence unfinished, twisting his handsome face into an expressive grimace.
Luvia picked up the trail of seaweed and flung it over the side. ‘Poor Bremer. A darn good seaman too. We’d best not let on to the others about this or they’ll get the jitters.’
‘I agree. In future, too, it would be best that no one is allowed on deck alone—even in the daytime.’ De Brissac turned and together the two men went along to the deck lounge where Unity and Synolda, having been roused early with the rest, were serving morning coffee.
The warm brew raised their spirits a little and De Brissac put an end to speculation about Bremer’s disappearance by announcing: ‘I do not think there can be much doubt about what happened. The nerves of all of us are frayed to breaking point. This horrible quiet is enough to drive anyone insane. Poor Bremer must have had a brainstorm and decided to end it all by throwing himself overboard.’
The explanation was accepted by the others as plausible. Those among them who had done night-duty as watchmen since the ship had been caught in the weed knew, well enough, the strain of standing about, peering out into the darkness trying to focus the hidden landscapes of this desolate sea which seemed to be the very end of the world; startled by the least plop as some fish or animal stirred in it, and unutterably depressed by the thought that their fate might be to die there, prisoners of the slimy weed.