The Best of Argosy #5 - The Monster of the Lagoon

by George Worts

  Julie said: “It’s horrible!”

  “I doubt if this appetite has ever been appeased. I now believe the stories we have heard of its devouring a whale, of its swarming over and sinking pearling luggers — devouring every man, every edible thing aboard. This strange acidity in the lagoon may have developed other freaks of nature, but this monster amoeba would have eaten them before they could grow. It has always been master of the lagoon.”

  He looked at Singapore Sammy and shook his head. “I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed about your pearls, Sam. In its search for food, this monster had, I think you’ll find, literally scrubbed the floor of the lagoon clean. Any clam or other bivalve wouldn’t have a chance. It would absorb them, digest the meat and reject the shell.”

  “The other rumors are true,” Sam said doggedly. “We’ve proved they are true. And I heard the pearl rumor on good authority.”

  “There are no bivalves in this lagoon,” Bryce said in his didactic way.

  Pete Cringle muttered: “Just the same, we’re gonna look.”

  “If there ain’t pearls,” Lucky said, “then the whole expedition is a flop. How do you figure we’re goin’ to capture that thing?”

  “We don’t have to capture all of it,” Bryce answered. “A good-sized chunk will do. You saw it in action. What happened when you chopped off a piece of tentacle? Didn’t you see it form a pool on deck? Didn’t you see these pools shoot out tentacles until they found and rejoined the main body? But wait! In some cases you didn’t see this occur. Why not? I’ll tell you! The pools that remained lifeless, that did not shoot out tentacles, that made no attempt at rejoining the main mass were without brain cells!”

  “All you want then,” Larry said, “is a good-sized chunk full of brain cells.”

  “Exactly! I’ll take it back to New York. I’ll give the scientific world a greater surprise than Dr. Carrol’s chicken heart did!”

  “But,” Julie argued, “you say it will stay alive only in water, containing this funny acid.”

  “That’s easy. I’ll take the chunk in lagoon water. I’ll take a supply of the water along. I’ll have it analyzed by the best chemists on earth. We’ll find what the acid is. We’ll duplicate it!”

  “How,” Julie asked, “will you get the chunk you want? We don’t dare let it attack us again.”

  Bryce said optimistically, “We’ll find a way.”

  “We’ll rest up a few days,” Lucky said. “We won’t monkey with that thing again until we’re up to it.”

  The voice of Captain Milikin floated across the water from the Diesel yacht.

  “Miss Farrington! Your mother wants to know if you’ll come over. She’s having hysterics.”

  Julie answered, “Okay. Send over the tender.”

  Singapore Sammy started up out of his deck chair. He fell back with a groan, collapsing.

  He said, “My back got a bad wrench. Somebody had better help me to my cabin. I can’t walk.”

  Bryce and Larry helped him down the stairs to his cabin. They undressed him and rubbed his back with liniment, but the pain did not ease.

  When Larry had gone, Bryce, staring down at the pale, red-headed man in the bunk, said, “Look here, Sam. You’re game to go through with this, aren’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  “If it’s a question of more money —”

  “It isn’t. I’ll go through with it. But we’ve got to be more careful. I want no more men killed. Senga sailed with me for six years. He was like a brother.”

  Chapter 18: King of the Island

  ON THE following morning, Mr. Barling, Julie and her mother were at breakfast under the canopy on the afterdeck when First Mate Bevan McTavish came aft to inform them that a native canoe was approaching from the island.

  They could see it from where they sat. It contained but one man, who sat in the stern, vigorously wielding a crude paddle. They watched his progress with excitement.

  “He must have put out from that point of land,” McTavish said.

  Mr. Barling studied the mysterious stranger through the mate’s binoculars and exclaimed: “He’s a white man!”

  “He’s coming here!” Julie said excitedly.

  The canoe stopped two hundred yards away. Its occupant removed binoculars from a case slung over his shoulder, placed them to his eyes and studied the Wanderer for some time. Then he returned the glasses to their case and resumed paddling.

  When he was a hundred feet away, he shouted, “Wanderer ahoy! Can I come aboard and pay my respects?”

  Mr. McTavish, at the head of the accommodation ladder, answered, “Who are you?”

  The reply came clear and lusty: “I am Jason Rebb — the king of Little Nicobar!”

  “Tell him, by all means, to come aboard,” Mr. Barling said.

  The king of Little Nicobar paddled alongside the accommodation ladder, made his canoe fast, and came springing up the steps. He was a soiled and sun-blackened specimen of forty-five, with a scraggly black beard, bold brown eyes and a wet red mouth. He wore a stained and battered old sun helmet shaped like a mushroom, so wide that it overlapped his narrow, square shoulders. His blue denim shirt and his white drill pants were rags. He wore nothing on his feet. His shiny, new-looking binoculars case lent a striking note to that strange, Robinson Crusoe costume.

  Bold of eye, insolent of smile, he approached. Mr. Barling and Mrs. Farrington he dismissed with a glance. Grinning, he stared at Julie, fresh and cool and lovely in white deck pajamas.

  “I just wanted to welcome you folks to my island,” Mr. Rebb said. “I just wanted to tell you if there was anything I could do, don’t hesitate to call on me. But from the looks of things, you don’t stand in need of much.” He let out a roar of laughter.

  Mrs. Farrington was eyeing him with apprehension. But Mr. Barling was apparently delighted with the informality of this dirty, insolent stranger. He said: “We heard something about a white chieftain here, didn’t we, Julie?”

  Julie nodded.

  “The main reason I came out,” said the king of Little Nicobar, “was, I thought you might be interested in seein’ my tribe. They’re puttin’ on a show tonight — the big yearly orchid ceremony. They dance and they eat one o’ the orchids. You seen ‘em yet?” he asked eagerly.

  “Not yet,” Mr. Barling replied.

  Mrs. Farrington shrank from the very glance of this strange, ragged creature, but Julie was fascinated and so was Mr. Barling.

  They asked him questions. He answered willingly and with a complete absence of shyness and modesty.

  Julie asked him how he had come to be king of Little Nicobar.

  “Why,” he said, “I used to be a magician. I had a variety act — what you call vaudeville in the States. I was goin’ from Java to Malaya in a little hooker. A typhoon turned her inside out, and I got washed ashore here. I’d heard of Little Nicobar — and I was ready. I had some odds and ends in my pockets. When I got ashore and these black fellahs grabbed me, I kept yellin’ ‘Sambio!’ Then I gave ‘em the treat of their lives. I took glass marbles out of their beards and coins out of their ears till they were rollin’ on the beach in hysterics. It’s a pipe when you know how.”

  He was still addressing himself to Julie, still prowling over her with those bee-like eyes.

  “What does ‘Sambio’ mean?” Julie asked.

  “Peace! Peace! There was a native chieftain. I took beads out of his whiskers, and a jackknife out of his hair — and he adopted me! He thought I was the greatest man that ever lived! And when he died, I became the king.”

  “When was this?” Mr. Barling politely inquired.

  “I was shipwrecked here twelve years ago. The old man died two years later.”

  “But — but aren’t these people cannibals?”

  Mr. Rebb threw back his head and laughed. He said, “Aw, that’s old sailors’ talk. There’s no cannibalism in the South Seas any more. It’s been stamped out.”

  Looking at him steadily, Julie sai
d, “We’ve heard that these natives send shipwrecked men into the lagoon, to be eaten by that horrible thing.”

  “Before my time, maybe,” said Mr. Rebb. “But not since. I’ve civilized them. Why! They’re just like children!”

  He was gazing at the bandage and splints about Mr. Barling’s arm. And Mr. Rebb said: “Ho! You were in that fight last night! I heard you two miles away — hollering and shooting.”

  “Have you ever seen that thing?” Julie asked.

  “No, thank you, ma’am. It’s somethin’ not to see. There’s an old legend in my tribe that the man who looks on that thing walks in trouble the rest of his days. It’s death and insanity and trouble — pukka trouble — to look on that thing. What happened?”

  Mr. Barling told him dramatically of their adventure. And the king of Little Nicobar, with a sad head shake, commented: “You were lucky to come out alive.”

  He smoked several of Mr. Barling’s dollar cigars.

  And abruptly took his departure, after repeating his invitation.

  “It’s somethin’ you’ll never see the likes of as long as you live. No white man in the world but me has ever seen that orchid ceremony. You see that little point of land down there?”

  Mr. Barling nodded.

  “Meet me there at nine-thirty tonight. You ladies —” he bowed — “will be as safe as if you was at a lawn party in Devon. Have any of you been to Lake Howard, in the swamps of Puma?”

  “No,” Mr. Barling said.

  “Well, they’re somethin’ like the natives there. You’ll notice their strong Jewish cast. I tell you, folks, I honestly believe this is one o’ the best tribes o’ Israel.”

  Julie said, “Gosh! That’s interesting.”

  Even Mrs. Farrington was interested, although she detested men in dirty shirts.

  And when the king of Little Nicobar had paddled away in his dugout canoe, she said, “Hector, you — you’re not thinking seriously of going ashore tonight?”

  “I’m tempted,” Mr. Barling admitted.

  “But he’s such a ruffian!”

  Julie left them arguing it, and went over to the Blue Goose. Larry and Oangi were at work dismantling the steel bayonets, which had so thoroughly proved their uselessness last night. Lucky Jones and Pete Cringle were busy in the stern with the deep-sea diving outfit.

  She asked them what they were going to do with it, and Lucky said, “Just lookin’ it over, baby.”

  “Where’s Sam?”

  “Still laid up with that bum back.”

  She went below and entered Sam’s stateroom. He was lying on his bunk, his face wan with pain. But he grinned and said, “Slumming again, eh? I hear you had a visitor.”

  Julie told him about the amazing Mr. Rebb.

  She had not said much when the red-headed man’s eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened.

  “I’ve met plenty of his kind,” he said. “They’d steal the pennies off their dead grandmother’s eyelids!”

  “I’d like to see that ceremony,” Julie said wistfully.

  “Don’t be a little sap!”

  She cried: “Who’s being a little sap? It’s a chance in a lifetime!”

  “Guys like him eat little girls like you.”

  “I’m not afraid of him!”

  “No? I’d rather have a date with a bubonic rat!”

  For the first time in their friendship they were having harsh words.

  Julie said angrily. “I’m sorry about your back. But I think it’s given you a grouch. And I’ll see that ceremony tonight!”

  Their nerves were still finely drawn from last night’s terrifying adventure. Julie left in a huff. When the tender had gone, Sam shouted for Larry. And when the mate came in Sam said, “She’s off her nut. It’s that white chieftain. That slimy rat came out and asked them to go ashore tonight. You go over there and argue with Barling. Tell him I said it was too dangerous.”

  Shortly after Larry had gone, Lucky came below. He, too, had a grim, tense look. Larry had told him about Julie’s threat to go ashore tonight.

  “I’m gettin’ fed up, Sam. Let’s make a try for them pearls and get to hell out of here.”

  Sam said, “Keep your shirt on, fellow. We’ve got an agreement with Bryce.”

  “To hell with him! Let him keep his five grand! Pete Cringle is game to make a try for them pearls now.”

  “How?”

  “We’re goin’ ashore. We’re gonna send him down off the beach in that suit.”

  Sam rose up on one elbow and grimaced with pain. “Nothing stirring. Send that kid down here.”

  Lucky yelled, “Pete!” and the boy came below, grinning.

  “You listen to me, sap,” Sammy said. “You’re not going down in that suit.”

  “But it’s safe, Mr. Shay.”

  “Safe! Good Lord! It was safe for Pegleg and it was safe for Senga, too!”

  “But that thing don’t go near the beach in the daytime, Mr. Shay. We proved it.”

  “You saw what it did last night. You saw how fast it is. Stay away from that lagoon!”

  “But I just tried the suit and the pump, Mr. Shay. They work fine. And that thing isn’t strong enough to smash that suit. It’s built for pressure. I been down fifty fathoms in that suit. You know how much pressure is at fifty fathoms?”

  Sammy, still on an elbow, stared at him and he stared at Lucifer Jones.

  “What happened last night must have worked a lot of screws loose. You guys are all on edge. You’re rarin’ for action. Take it easy. Let’s study this thing some more.”

  “If he don’t go,” Lucky said grimly, “I will.”

  Sammy tried to sit up, but his back was full of knives. He shouted for Bryce, and when the scientist came down told him to “talk this pair of saps out of pure suicide.”

  Lucky said, “This guy’s got nothin’ to say to me. Come on, kid.”

  Sam fell back with a groan and the three of them went out. He heard Bryce arguing with them, and he heard Lucky’s snarling responses. He heard them loading the small boat, and he heard them start for the beach. He dragged himself up, almost fainting with pain, and looked out the porthole. Oangi was with them.

  He saw the three men land on the beach, unload the diving suit and the pump, and carry it over the dune to the lagoon. With an agony of effort, he secured his binoculars and placed them to his eyes.

  Pete Cringle was getting into the clumsy steel suit. Now Lucky was bolting down the face-plate. Oangi was working the pump.

  Clumsily, the boy in the steel suit walked across the coral ledge beyond the stone cabin and entered the water, with Lucky standing at the edge, paying out hose and line, holding them up so that they would not drag on the knife-edged coral.

  Watching the lagoon, Sam let out his breath. Oangi was methodically working the pump. Lucky was holding the hose in one hand, the rope in the other. The diver was going down.

  And suddenly he saw the ripple on the calm face of the lagoon. It was moving swiftly from the center toward the shore, toward the stone cabin. An icy pain gripped Sam’s heart. He shouted at the top of his lungs: “Get him out! Get him out!”

  Bryce Robbins, on the deck above, took up the shout. His voice was a thin scream: “Get him out!”

  The ripple was not a tiderip. It was rounder, smoother, and it hadn’t a broken side, as tiderips always do.

  There was sudden activity on the beach. Lucky was hauling in on the line. He was being dragged in to the edge. He ran across the beach to a cocoanut palm and took a turn with the line about it. The line tightened. The fronds began to shiver as if a ghostly wind were stirring them. Then the tree bent. Suddenly the line snapped. It slid like a snake into the water. The hose followed it, dragging the pump along. Hose, rope and pump vanished into the lagoon.

  Above the frantic hammering of his heart, Sammy heard Lucky’s and Oangi’s yells. Then he saw a gray glimmer, like a wave of slime, on the beach. Sun glistened on shooting tentacles.

  Lucky and Oangi ran back
from the beach. With a sick groan, Sammy relinquished the rim of the porthole, dropped his binoculars, and fell back upon his bunk.

  Chapter 19: Devil Dance

  BRYCE came clattering down the stairs. He burst, white-faced and grimacing, into the room. He panted: “It got Pete! It went after Lucky and Oangi! Oh, those damn fools! Those idiots!”

  Sam said weakly, “Yeah. Look out and see if they’re getting away.”

  Bryce looked out the porthole. “They’re just coming over the dune running like mad.”

  “Is that thing after them?”

  “No. They’re getting into the boat — they’re shoving out.”

  Sam groaned, “Oh, that poor damned kid. That poor little sap!”

  He could hear the oars splashing. Bryce said: “Lucky’s at the oars, rowing like a madman.”

  The small boat came alongside. Lucky’s panting and cursing could be clearly heard. Then his unsteady feet were on the stairs. He came down, white-faced, with horrified eyes, and snatched up the bottle of trade gin on the table beside the bunk. He drank a half pint of it and, panting, faced Sammy.

  “It — it got him, Sam!”

  “Yeah, I was watching.”

  “It — it crushed that suit like it was made of wet paper! You — you could see the blood squirtin’ out. It squashed that suit flat and it just tore it to pieces! Oh, that poor kid! Then it came up on the beach after us. You never saw anything happen so fast. There was a hundred of them tentacles in the air at once. It almost got Oangi.”

  “It’s a damned shame,” Bryce said wrathfully, “it didn’t get you, you fool, you damned utter senseless idiot!”

  Lucky swayed a little, with fists gripped at his sides. His lower lip jutted, his black brows came down and in and met.

  “Yeah,” he said. “It don’t cost a dime to say that!” He started toward Bryce and Sam barked: “Steady as you go, you ape! You’ve done enough for one afternoon!”