So interested was he that he read it again; and by that time he had learned enough to surprise him, even to terrify him, notwithstanding the writer’s assurance that the power and ferocity of the creatures had generally been exaggerated.
He was a lad of sound common sense. He had never wholly doubted the tales of desperate encounters with devil-fish, told in the harbour these many years; for the various descriptions of how the long, slimy arms had curled about the punts had rung too true to be quite disbelieved; but he had considered them somewhat less credible than certain wild yarns of shipwreck, and somewhat more credible than the bedtime stories of mermaids which the grandmothers told the children of the place.
Here, however, in plain print, was described the capture of a giant squid in a bay which lay beyond a point of land that Billy could see from the window.
That afternoon Billy put out in his leaky old punt to “jig” squid for bait. He was so disgusted with the punt—so ashamed of the squat, weather-worn, rotten cast-off—that he wished heartily for a new one all the way to the grounds. The loss of the Never Give Up had brought him to humiliating depths.
But when he had once joined the little fleet of boats, he cheerfully threw his grapnel into Bobby Lot’s punt and beckoned Bobby aboard. Then, as together they drew the writhing-armed, squirting little squids from the water, he told of the “big squids” which lurked in the deep water beyond the harbour; and all the time Bobby opened his eyes wider and wider.
“Is they just like squids?” Bobby asked.
“But bigger,” answered Billy. “Their bodies is so big as hogsheads. Their arms is thirty-five feet long.”
Bobby picked a squid from the heap in the bottom of the boat. It had instinctively turned from a reddish-brown to a livid green, the colour of sea-water; indeed, had it been in the water, its enemy would have had hard work to see it.
He handled it gingerly; but the ugly little creature managed somehow to twine its slender arms about his hand, and swiftly to take hold with a dozen cup-like suckers. The boy uttered an exclamation of disgust, and shook it off. Then he shuddered, laughed at himself, shuddered again. A moment later he chose a dead squid for examination.
“Leave us look at it close,” said he. “Then we’ll know what a real devil-fish is like. Sure, I’ve been wantin’ to know that for a long, long time.”
They observed the long, cylindrical body, flabby and cold, with the broad, flap-like tail attached. The head was repulsively ugly—perhaps because of the eyes, which were disproportionately large, brilliant, and, in the live squid, ferocious.
A group of arms—two long, slender, tentacular arms, and eight shorter, thicker ones—projected from the region of the mouth, which, indeed, was set in the centre of the ring they formed at the roots. They were equipped with innumerable little suckers, were flexible and active, and as long as the head, body and tail put together.
Closer examination revealed that there was a horny beak, like a parrot’s, in the mouth, and that on the under side of the head was a curious tube-like structure.
“Oh, that’s his squirter!” Billy explained. “When he wants to back up he points that forward, and squirts out water so hard as he can; and when he wants to go ahead he points it backward, and does the same thing. That’s where his ink comes from, too, when he wants to make the water so dirty nobody can see him.”
“What does he do with his beak?”
“When he gets his food in his arms he bites out pieces with his beak. He hasn’t any teeth; but he’s got something just as good—a tongue like a rasp.”
“I wouldn’t like to be cotched by a squid as big as a hogshead,” Bobby remarked, timidly.
“Hut!” said Billy, grimly. “He’d make short work o’ you! Why, b’y, they weighs half a ton apiece! I isn’t much afraid, though,” he added. “They’re only squid. Afore I read about them in the book I used to think they was worse than they is—terrible ghostlike things. But they’re no worse than squids, only bigger, and—”
“They’re bad enough for me,” Bobby interrupted.
“And,” Billy concluded, “they only comes up in the night or when they’re sore wounded and dyin’.”
“I’m not goin’ out at night, if I can help it,” said Bobby, with a canny shake of the head.
“If they was a big squid come up the harbour to your house,” said Billy, after a pause, “and got close to the rock, he could put one o’ they two long arms in your bedroom window, and—”
“’Tis in the attic!”
“Never mind that. He could put it in the window and feel around for your bed, and twist that arm around you, and—”
“I’d cut it off!”
“Anyhow, that’s how long they is. And if he knowed you was there, and wanted you, he could get you. But I’m not so sure that he would want you. He couldn’t see you, anyhow; and if he could, he’d rather have a good fat salmon.”
Bobby shuddered as he looked at the tiny squid in his hand, and thought of the dreadful possibilities in one a thousand times as big.
“You leave them alone, and they’ll leave you alone,” Billy went on. “But if you once make them mad, they can dart their arms out like lightning. ’Tis time to get, then!”
“I’m goin’ to keep an axe in my punt after this,” said Bobby, “and if I sees an arm slippin’ out of the water—”
“’Tis as big as your thigh!” cried Billy.
“Never mind. If I sees it I’ll be able to cut it off.”
“If I sees one,” said Billy, “I’m goin’ to cotch it. It said in the book that they was worth a lot to some people. And if I can sell mine I’m goin’ to have a new punt.”
But although Bobby Lot and Billy Topsail kept a sharp lookout for giant squids wherever they went, they were not rewarded. There was not so much as a sign of one. By and by, so bold did they become, they hunted for one in the twilight of summer days, even daring to pry into the deepest coves and holes in the Ruddy Cove rocks.
Notwithstanding the ridicule he had to meet, Bobby never ventured out in the punt without a sharp axe. He could not tell what time he would need it, he said; and thus he formed the habit of making sure that it was in its place before casting off from the wharf.
As autumn drew near they found other things to think of; the big squids passed out of mind altogether.
“Wonderful queer,” Billy said, long afterwards, “how things happen when you isn’t expectin’ them!”
CHAPTER IV
Recounting the Adventure of the Giant Squid of Chain Tickle, in Which the Punt Gets in the Grip of a Gigantic Tentacle and Billy Topsail Strikes With an Axe
One day late in September—it was near evening of a gray day—Billy Topsail and Bobby Lot were returning in Bobby’s punt from Birds’ Nest Islands, whither they had gone to hunt a group of seals, reported to have taken up a temporary residence there. They had a mighty, muzzle-loading, flintlock gun; and they were so delighted with the noise it made that they had exhausted their scanty provision of powder and lead long before the seals were in sight.
They had taken the shortest way home. It lay past Chain Hole, a small, landlocked basin, very deep, with a narrow entrance, which was shallow at low tide. The entrance opened into a broad bay, and was called Chain Tickle.
“What’s that in the tickle?” Billy exclaimed, as they were rowing past.
It was a black object, apparently floating quietly on the surface of the water. The boys gazed at it for a long time, but could make nothing of it. They were completely puzzled.
“’Tis a small bit o’ wreck, I’m thinkin’,” said Bobby. “Leave us row close and see.”
“Maybe ’tis a capsized punt.”
When they were within about thirty yards of the object they lay on their oars. For some unaccountable reason they did not care to venture nearer. Twilight was then fast approaching. The light was already beginning to fail.
“’Tis a wonderful queer thing!” Billy muttered, his curiosity getting the better of him
. “Row ahead, Bobby. We’ll go alongside.”
“They’s something movin’ on it!” Bobby whispered, as he let his oars fall in the water. “Look! They’s two queer, big, round spots on it—big as plates.”
Billy thought he saw the whole object move. He watched it closely. It did stir! It was some living thing, then. But what? A whale?
A long, snakelike arm was lifted out of the water. It swayed this way and that, darted here and there, and fell back with a splash. The moving spots, now plainly gigantic eyes, glittered.
“’Tis the devil-fish!” screamed Bobby.
Another arm was lifted up, then a third and a fourth and a fifth. The monster began to lash the water—faster and yet more furiously—until the tickle was heaving and frothy, and the whole neighbourhood was in an uproar.
“Pull! Pull!” cried Bobby.
Billy, too, was in a panic. They turned the head of the punt and pulled with all their might. The water swirled in the wake of the boat. Perceiving, however, that the squid made no effort to follow, they got the better of their fright Then they lay on their oars to watch the monster.
They wondered why it still lay in the tickle, why it so furiously lashed the water with its arms and great tail. It was Bobby who solved the mystery.
“’Tis aground,” said he.
That was evidently the situation. The squid had been caught in the shallow tickle when the tide, which ran swiftly at that point, was on the ebb. The boys took courage. Their curiosity still further emboldened them. So once more they turned the punt about and pulled cautiously towards the tickle.
There was less light than before, but still sufficient to disclose the baleful eyes and writhing arms of the squid when the boat was yet a safe distance away. One by one the arms fell back into the water, as if from exhaustion; slowly the beating of the tail subsided. After a time all sound and motion ceased. The boys waited for some further sign of life, but none came. The squid was still, as if dead.
“Sure, he’s dead now,” said Billy. “Leave us pull close up.”
“Oh, no, b’y! He’s but makin’ believe.”
But Billy thought otherwise. “I wants that squid,” he said, in a dogged way, “and I’m goin’ to have him. I’ll sell him and get a new punt.”
Bobby protested in vain. Nothing would content Billy Topsail but the possession of the big squid’s body. Bobby pointed out that if the long, powerful arms were once laid on the boat there would be no escape. He recalled to Billy the harbour story of the horrible death of Zachariah North, who, as report said, had been pursued, captured and pulled under water by a devil-fish in Gander Bay.3
It was all to no purpose, however, for Billy obstinately declared that he would make sure of the squid before the tide turned. He admitted a slight risk, but he wanted a new punt, and he was willing to risk something to obtain it.
He proposed to put Bobby ashore, and approach the squid alone; but Bobby would not listen. Two hands might be needed in the boat, he said. What if the squid were alive, after all? What if it laid hold of the punt? In that event, two hands would surely be needed.
“I’ll go,” he said. “But leave us pull slow. And if we sees so much as a wink of his eye we’ll pull away.”
They rowed nearer, with great caution. Billy was in the bow of the boat. It was he who had the axe. Bobby, seated amidships, faced the bow. It was he who did the rowing.
The squid was quiet. There was not a sign of life about it. Billy estimated the length of its body, from the beak to the point of the tail, as twenty feet, the circumference as “the size of a hogshead.” Its tentacular arms, he determined, must be at least thirty-five feet long; and when the boat came within that distance he shuddered.
“Is you sure he’s dead?” Bobby whispered, weakly.
“I don’t know!” Billy answered, in a gasp. “I thinks so.”
Bobby dropped the oars and stepped to the bow of the punt. The boat lost way and came to a stop within twenty feet of the squid. Still there was no sign of life.
The boys stared at the great, still body, lying quiet in the gathering dusk and haze. Neither seemed to feel the slight trembling of the boat that might have warned them. Not a word was spoken until Billy, in a whisper, directed Bobby to pull the boat a few feet nearer.
“But we’re movin’ already,” he added, in a puzzled way.
The boat was very slowly approaching the squid. The motion was hardly perceptible, but it was real.
“’Tis queer!” said Bobby.
He turned to take up the oars. What he saw lying over the port gunwale of the boat made him gasp, grip Billy’s wrist and utter a scream of terror!
“We’re cotched!”
The squid had fastened one of its tentacles to the punt. The other was poised above the stern, ready to fall and fix its suckers. The onward movement of the punt was explained.
Billy knew the danger, but he was not so terrified as to be incapable of action. He was about to spring to the stem to strike off the tentacle that already lay over the gunwale; but as he looked down to choose his step he saw that one of the eight powerful arms was slowly creeping over the starboard bow.
He struck at that arm with all his might, missed, wrenched the axe from the gunwale, and struck true. The mutilated arm was withdrawn. Billy leaped to the stern, vaguely conscious in passing that another arm was creeping from the water. He severed the first tentacle with one blow. When he turned to strike the second it had disappeared; so, too, had the second arm. The boat seemed to be free, but it was still within grasp.
In the meantime the squid had awakened to furious activity. It was lashing the water with arms and tail, angrily snapping its great beak and ejecting streams of black water from its siphon-tube. The water was violently agitated and covered with a black froth.
In this the creature manifested fear and distress. Had it not been aground it would have backed swiftly into the deep water of the basin. But, as if finding itself at bay, it lifted its uninjured tentacle high above the boat. Billy made ready to strike.
By this time Bobby had mastered his terror. While Billy stood with uplifted axe, his eyes fixed on the waving tentacle overhead, Billy heaved mightily on the oars. The boat slowly drew away from that highly dangerous neighbourhood. In a moment it was beyond reach of the arms, but still, apparently, within reach of the tentacle. The tentacle was withdrawn a short distance; then like a flash it shot towards the boat, writhing as it came.
Billy struck blindly—and struck nothing. The tentacle had fallen short. The boat was out of danger!
But still Billy Topsail was determined to have the body of the squid. Notwithstanding Bobby’s pleading and protestation, he would not abandon his purpose. He was only the more grimly bent on achieving it. Bobby would not hear of again approaching nearer than the boat then floated, nor did Billy think it advisable. But it occurred to Bobby that they might land, and approach the squid from behind. If they could draw near enough, he said, they could cast the grapnel on the squid’s back, and moor it to a tree ashore.
“Sure,” he said, excitedly, “you can pick up a squid from behind, and it can’t touch you with its arms! It won’t be able to see us, and it won’t be able to reach us.”
So they landed. Billy carried the grapnel, which was attached to twelve fathoms of line. It had six prongs, and each prong was barbed.
A low cliff at the edge of the tickle favoured the plan. The squid lay below, and some twenty feet out from the rock. It was merely a question of whether or not Billy was strong enough to throw the grapnel so far. They tied the end of the line to a stout shrub. Billy cast the grapnel, and it was a strong, true cast. The iron fell fair on the squid’s back. It was a capture.
“That means a new punt for me,” said Billy, quietly. “The tide’ll not carry that devil-fish away.”
“And now,” Bobby pleaded, “leave us make haste home, for ’tis growin’ wonderful dark—and—and there might be another somewhere.”
So that is how one of the
largest specimens of Architeuthis princeps—enumerated in Prof. John Adam Wright’s latest monograph on the cephalopods of North America as the “Chain Tickle specimen”—was captured. And that is how Billy Topsail fairly won a new punt; for when Doctor Marvey, the curator of the Public Museum at St. John’s—who is deeply interested in the study of the giant squids—came to Ruddy Cove to make photographs and take measurements, in response to a message from Billy’s father, he rewarded the lad.
CHAPTER V
On the Face of the Cliff: Wherein Billy Topsail Gets Lost in a Perilous Place and Sits Down to Recover His Composure
In summer, when there chanced to be no fish, or when no bait was to be had, and the fish were not to be jigged, Billy Topsail had idle time, which he was not slow to improve for his own amusement. Often he wandered on the cliffs and heads near the harbour—not always for gulls’ eggs: sometimes for sheer love of the sky and space and sunlit air. Once, being bound for Breakheart Head, to watch the waves beat on the rocks below, he came across old Arch Butt.
“Wonderful sea outside,” said the old fisherman. “Wonderful sea, Billy. ’Tis as big a tumble as ever I seed stirred up in a night.”
“An’ you’ll not be takin’ the punt t’ the grounds?” Billy asked, in surprise.
“I’m not able, lad. ’Tis too much for any paddle-punt. Sure, the sea’s breakin’ right across the tickle. ’Tis so much as a man’s life is worth t’ try t’ run out.”
“Isn’t you got a salmon net off Shag Rock?”
“I is that,” Arch answered; “an’ I’m wantin’ bad t’ get to it. ’Tis set off the point of Shag Rock, an’ I’m thinkin’ the sea will wreck it, for ’tis a wonderful tumble, indeed. ’Tis like I’ll not be able t’ get out afore tomorrow mornin’, but I’m hopin’ I will.”
“An’ I hopes you may, Skipper Arch,” said Billy.
It was a fine wish, born of the fresh breeze and brightness of the day—a word let drop from a heart full of good feeling for all the world: nothing more. Yet within a few hours Billy Topsail’s life hung upon the possibility of its fulfillment.
The Sea-Story Megapack Page 14