by Philip Roy
“That’s what my friend says.”
I was surprised how similar Reggie’s and Sheba’s descriptions of mermaids were.
“If you sail around the Mediterranean long enough I’m pretty sure you’ll hear mermaids for yourself. Have you been on the Med before?”
“Nope.”
“Well, you’re going to love it. And the Greek islands … just heavenly. But I don’t think anybody’s allowed to dive in Greek waters without government authority, which is probably impossible to get.”
“I know. I’m not planning to dive for anything, just to look. I won’t touch anything.”
“But what if you see a treasure?”
“I guess I’d report it.”
“Sounds pretty exciting. Maybe you’ll see mermaids. I’ve got half a mind to go back there myself. How are you going to get through the Strait of Gibraltar with your submarine?”
“I’m pretty sneaky.”
“This I can believe.”
“But I obey the Convention on the Law of the Sea … mostly.”
“The Convention?”
“Yah.”
“I see. And what about pirates?”
“I’ve never run into any. Have you?”
“Oh, yes! Vicious, vicious characters! If you ever see pirates, Alfred, slip beneath the waves and sail away as fast as you can. Pirates don’t care how old you are; they don’t care about anything except what they can steal from you and how they can hurt you.”
“Have they ever stolen anything from you?”
“Lots! Many times! But what really scared me was seeing a sailboat after it had been attacked by pirates and all its crew killed.”
“Killed? Really?”
“Cut to pieces.”
“Oh my gosh!”
“Yup. The whole deck was covered in blood. Made me sick to my stomach. Everything bad you ever heard about pirates is true, and worse!”
“But I think I should be pretty safe in my submarine.”
“I think so. But be careful. What you want to watch out for is a sailboat that looks like it is in trouble but isn’t. That’s one of their tricks. They’ll be waving a white flag and looking distressed. Then, when you get close enough they’ll open fire on you and take your sub. More than likely they’ll kill you.”
“But how can you know? What if it really is a sailboat in distress?”
“You should be able to tell if you keep your eyes open. Take a darn good look with your binoculars before you get too close. Ask them to identify themselves and bring the whole crew on deck. If you get the slightest sense of anything suspicious, stay away, and call the authorities.”
I appreciated the advice from such a seasoned sailor. I hoped I’d never run into pirates. If I did, I hoped my premonition feeling would be working.
After three days it was time to return to sea. We went out together, sailboat and submarine, just five miles or so. Reggie and Seaweed sailed above, Hollie and I directly below so that we would appear as one beep on anyone’s radar screen, even though there was no longer a radar net in place. When I heard Reggie cut his motor, I cut ours and brought the sub up beside the boat. It was the middle of the night; we were all wide-awake.
“This is as far as we go for now, young captain,” said Reggie. “But I’ve got a feeling we’ll meet again some day. The sea has a way of bringing good friends together again.”
“I hope so,” I said. And I really did.
Reggie stood up and saluted me. I saluted back. He started his engine and turned around. I felt sad watching him go. He looked so alone. He lived all alone. He didn’t even have a crew, like I did. Speaking of which … Seaweed was still on his boat. As they disappeared into the darkness I started to wonder … then heard a familiar call and my first mate flew back to the sub.
“Goodbye, Reggie!” I called out.
“Goodbye, mate! Keep your eyes peeled for pirates!”
I would indeed.
Chapter Fourteen
THE WIND CURLED UP the corners of Hollie’s mouth and made Seaweed work to keep up as we approached the Portuguese coast. Both needed the fresh air; we had been submerged too long. It had been a rough, four-day sail from the Azores. We had stayed on the surface only long enough to charge the batteries, about four or five hours at a time, then dove and enjoyed the peace and calm at one hundred feet. I got a lot of exercise pedalling but it was a long time for a dog and seagull to stay cooped up. Hollie had enjoyed our hike in the Azores and was anxious to do it again. I wasn’t sure when I could make that happen but would try.
We were about twenty miles from land, still in international waters, when I thought I heard the radar beep. I went inside. Nope, nothing on the radar screen. I climbed back up the portal. Hollie was still under my arm. Once again, I thought I heard the radar beep. The wind was strong. Occasionally we would hear Seaweed squawk above us, but the radar beep was a very particular sound, nothing like a seagull. I went back inside and watched the screen. Nothing. Soon there would be north-south sea traffic along the coast, I imagined, just like back home, but so far, nothing. I climbed the portal one more time, raised my hand to block the sun and … was that something in the water directly ahead? … BANG!!! We hit something! We collided with something floating just beneath the surface. The force of impact almost knocked me out of the portal backwards. I only had one hand free to grip the hatch; the other hand was holding Hollie, and I squeezed him so tightly he yelped. The sub was rocking back and forth trying to push whatever it was out of the way. I rushed inside and shut off the engine. I took a quick look in the bow to see if there was a leak. Nope. I put Hollie down and went back out. Lying in the water in front of us was a full-length container, the kind they lift on and off trains and stack on top of freighters. They stack them by the hundreds without tying them down and it is common for a ship to lose a few in a storm. Most sink, but they can float, depending upon what they are carrying. Then they become extremely dangerous to sailboats and other vessels. No wonder the radar was beeping irregularly. In a large wave, part of the container probably stuck out of the water and the radar picked it up, then, it disappeared again.
I strapped on the harness, climbed out onto the bow and looked for a dent. There was a big tear in the container, but I couldn’t find a dent in the sub. Ziegfried’s ingenious design allowed the sub to take a hit without denting easily. It was like a steel ball with a wooden core and a rubber layer between, which would bounce when it hit something.
I had two thoughts: that I wanted to know what was in the container — after all, it was anyone’s for the taking now — and that I should try to sink it, so that it wouldn’t collide with another vessel.
I waited for a while to see if the tear we had created would sink the container. I didn’t want to tie up to it if it were going to the bottom of the sea. After an hour or so, it hadn’t sunk any deeper. It was floating with its top just on the surface, so that you could walk across it, although waves washed over it. I tied the sub loosely to two corners, so that if the container did suddenly plunge to the bottom, I could quickly undo the ropes. Then, I tied a longer rope to my harness and climbed out to take a closer look.
The tear was near the top. I saw a cardboard box caught in the ripped metal and the box was light enough to float. I jumped onto the container, crouched down and held onto the edge of it with my hands as I made my way over to the tear. If a wooden or fiberglass sailboat ever struck a container like this it would shatter its hull and sink in a hurry. What a dangerous way to transport things!
Bending down, I couldn’t reach the tear. I had to jump into the water. It wasn’t too cold but the waves were pressing the sub and container together. I would just take a quick peek and get out of there. I reached the tear, gripped the wet cardboard box and pulled it apart. Out streamed little girl’s dolls wrapped in plastic. They floated. Was the container filled with toys?
As far as I could tell, about two feet of air was trapped inside the container, and it was filled with float
ing boxes. I tried to see deeper inside but it was too dark, so I went back to the sub for a flashlight and gaff. The gaff was five feet long, with a hook on one end. With my arm outstretched, I could reach about eight feet. I jumped back into the water, hooked my harness rope around the jagged metal of the tear, stuck the gaff into the hole with one hand and turned on the flashlight with the other. The flashlight showed hundreds of boxes jammed tightly against the top of the container. That’s what was keeping it afloat. I grabbed hold of another box with the gaff and gave it a tug. The wet cardboard came apart easily and small toys in plastic packages came floating towards me and went out the hole. There were squirt guns, balls, yo-yos, toy guns, baby dolls, Frisbees, skipping ropes, and so on, all made out of plastic or rubber and all floating. It was such a strange feeling seeing the toys float by, as if Santa Claus’ bag had fallen out of his sleigh when he was flying over the ocean. I felt an urge to grab the toys so that they wouldn’t be wasted but there were too many of them. And what would I do with them? Where would I keep them? Then the light of the flashlight fell across pictures on the sides of other boxes and I saw two things that I really did want: motorized toy boats and pellet-rifles. I figured the motorized boats would come in handy somehow. And the pellet rifles? Well … I had always wanted one, and never got one.
Problem was, those boxes were wedged in tightly on the far side of the container. I tried to dislodge them by pulling on some other boxes, but it didn’t work. Lots of boxes drifted past me and went out the hole. If I wanted the guns and boats I had to climb inside the container, and that was just not a good idea. I knew it wasn’t a good idea. I even said out loud that it wasn’t a good idea. I said it loudly as I climbed inside and reached out with the gaff. The guns and boats weren’t far away; I just had to reach … but my weight shifted the balance of the container. It tilted suddenly and I dropped the flashlight. Now I couldn’t see, except for the light around the hole, but that was partly blocked by the boxes drifting out of it. I should have paid attention to that too, because that was changing the buoyancy of the container. I just wanted those guns and boats so much, and I was almost there … just a little further … and … the container started to sink!
One would think that a sinking container would be enough to make anyone panic and forget about a couple of toys, but I made one last desperate lunge for the box of pellet rifles, and in so doing, wedged my rope tightly into the jagged metal of the hole. I took a deep breath as the two feet of air in the container was very suddenly replaced with seawater and the whole thing no longer had any reason to stay afloat. On one hand, it was great that I didn’t panic; panicking at sea is always dangerous. On the other hand, I had grown a little too comfortable in such situations, knowing I could hold my breath for two full minutes. That wouldn’t help me much at the bottom of the sea.
As the rope grew taut, the container, the toys and myself, began to descend. Still, I knew there was a small safety feature in the fact that the container was moored to the sub by two of its corners, even if just loosely. Surely the sub’s buoyancy would keep the container from sinking more than a few feet. What I hadn’t foreseen was that I had tied the two ropes to the top of the portal, so that as the container started down, it merely pulled the sub over.
It was, in fact, about to pull it upside-down! Suddenly I thought of Hollie and flung myself out the hole. The rope was caught but I pulled it with all my might. I had one second of panic before I was able to pull it free. Looking up about ten feet, I saw the sub being pulled down onto its side. I reached one side of the container and freed one of the ropes. I was now about fifteen feet below the surface and the side of the portal was just about touching the surface. Waves must have been rushing inside the sub. I reached the other rope and pulled hard. Please! Please, let go! Slowly, but what felt like forever, the rope loosened from the other corner. I let it go. The sub was on its side. I stared up at it, nearly twenty feet above me. Boxes kept floating out of the container and drifting up past me. “Please right!” I said to the sub, begging … and then it did.
As I swam up to the surface, I looked down and watched the container slowly disappear beneath me. I wondered how far it would fall before the pressure would flatten it like a tin can. I swam over to the sub and climbed up.
“Are you okay in there, Hollie?”
I heard his excited bark. Thank Heavens he was okay. I looked up in the sky and saw Seaweed gazing down, probably wondering what the heck I was doing. I waved.
“It’s okay, Seaweed,” I shouted. “Just a stupid mistake.”
“Stupid” hardly described it. What was I thinking?
Toys in plastic packages littered the surface where the container had gone down. Everything not airtight in plastic went to the bottom of the sea. Lucky for me the pellet-rifles, with their wooden shafts, were plastic-wrapped. I found six of them. I inflated the rubber dinghy and Hollie and I paddled around picking up toys until we had made quite a pile of them in the dinghy. I didn’t know what to do with the toys but couldn’t leave them. We also retrieved eight motorized toy boats, made of tin, each about ten inches long. Hollie was very pleased to get his jaws around a rubber ball. Even Seaweed got involved in the cleanup, dropping out of the sky and picking up brightly coloured packages in his beak and tossing them into the portal. He had remarkably good aim.
But I didn’t feel that I deserved the toys for which I had foolishly risked all of our lives. At twenty miles from the coast Seaweed would likely have survived but Hollie and I would have perished, had I not escaped the sinking container. For a little while it seemed like the right thing to do was to punish myself by denying myself the pleasure of playing with the pellet-rifles. But I could not resist opening one, removing the little pouch of pellets taped to the butt of the gun, pumping the gun and shooting it. Then, I tied an empty can on top of a couple of balloons, set it adrift and practised shooting. The gun ripped holes through the can as if it were paper. Then I shot the balloons. I would have to find another way to punish myself; the guns were simply too much fun.
Somehow, I found space for all the toys we picked up. I stuffed them into the corners and recesses of the sub. Some went into the engine compartment, some under the floor and some under the mattress on my bed. Hollie was tickled pink with his rubber ball and played with it continually. Seaweed tried a couple of times to catch it but there was no way Hollie would let him near it. He even knew it by name. If I said, “Where’s the ball?” he would immediately appear with it. But he wouldn’t give it to me.
We were approaching the coast of Portugal about two hundred miles north of Lisbon, as far as I could tell. Fifteen miles from shore we picked up the first vessel on radar, then a second one, then a whole bunch! I steered south in an arc and blended in with a steady stream of sea traffic. The ships sailing north kept closer to shore than those sailing south. I tried to keep at least five miles from any other vessel and turned on our lights. It was better to hide by looking just like any other ship — a distant light on the water.
But keeping five miles away from other vessels proved harder than I thought. Some were faster than others. I kept an eye on the radar and tried not to let any ship get close enough to identify us. I wanted everyone to think we were just another sailboat sailing to the Mediterranean for a vacation, not a submarine from Newfoundland searching for Atlantis.
The trickiest thing was crossing the lines of traffic and submerging to sleep. To any ship watching their radar closely it would look like we had sunk. I crossed the lane at the speed of a sailboat, looked for a bay with other boats in the water and submerged. I doubted anyone would trace our movement into a bay, count how many boats were moored in the bay, then notice that one light had just vanished from their screen. But it was possible.
I carried Hollie up the portal for one last breath of air before going down to sleep. Portugal loomed in front of us like a sleeping giant. Lights spread out across the hills like fireflies. The sun would soon be up. Hollie held his nose sharply in the ai
r. He could smell land.
“Soon, Hollie,” I said. “Soon.”
Chapter Fifteen
IT FELT AS IF WE were a soap bubble swirling around and around before going through the bathtub drain. Dozens of ships, large and small, were merging from north and south towards the funnel that was the Strait of Gibraltar. The thicker the traffic at the top of the funnel, the harder it was for us to stay on the surface, until, finally, we couldn’t anymore. As the sun rose and the nearest ship closed to two miles, we submerged. We disappeared from sight and radar. We really had no choice. I supposed we could have sailed on the surface with our flags all quite legally, since we were still outside the twelve-mile zone of any country, but passing through the Strait would bring us within the legal jurisdiction of both Britain and Spain, and somebody would surely want to know what business we had coming into the Mediterranean.
The Strait of Gibraltar is a narrow channel between Europe and Africa. The northern side belongs to Spain, except for the very bottom tip, which is owned by Britain — a sore spot for Spain. The southern side belongs to Morocco, except for the top corner, which is owned by Spain — a sore spot for Morocco. At its narrowest point the Strait is only eight miles wide. But it’s one thousand feet deep. The top three hundred feet has a strong current pouring into the Mediterranean from the Atlantic. The bottom seven hundred feet is pouring back out! And the space where the two currents meet is a wave, just like on the surface, except that it’s three hundred feet below! Military submarines leaving the Mediterranean submerge below the wave, shut everything off and drift out with the current, silent and undetected. Subs coming in do the same, above the wave. Well, that sounded easy enough. We would behave just like any other submarine pretending not to be there.
But I needed to sleep first. On battery power I steered towards shallower water. Morocco seemed a better choice than Spain because they didn’t have as powerful a navy, nor were they in an angry dispute with Canada. By mid-morning we settled on the bottom at two hundred and fifty feet, ten miles offshore from Tangiers. I shut everything off and fell into a blissful sleep. The last thing I heard was Hollie sigh.