II

And, as if he had not already been in sufficient peril that day, Mr.

Fison went with the boat to point out the exact spot of his adventure.

As the tide was down, it required a considerable detour to reach the

spot, and when at last they came off the ladder-way, the mangled body

had disappeared. The water was now running in, submerging first one

slab of slimy rock and then another, and the four men in the boat--the

workmen, that is, the boatman, and Mr. Fison--now turned their

attention from the bearings off shore to the water beneath the keel.

At first they could see little below them, save a dark jungle of

laminaria, with an occasional darting fish. Their minds were set

on adventure, and they expressed their disappointment freely. But

presently they saw one of the monsters swimming through the water

seaward, with a curious rolling motion that suggested to Mr. Fison

the spinning roll of a captive balloon. Almost immediately after,

the waving streamers of laminaria were extraordinarily perturbed,

parted for a moment, and three of these beasts became darkly visible,

struggling for what was probably some fragment of the drowned man. In

a moment the copious olive-green ribbons had poured again over this

writhing group.

At that all four men, greatly excited, began beating the water with

oars and shouting, and immediately they saw a tumultuous movement among

the weeds. They desisted to see more clearly, and as soon as the water

was smooth, they saw, as it seemed to them, the whole sea bottom among

the weeds set with eyes.

"Ugly swine!" cried one of the men. "Why, there's dozens!"

And forthwith the things began to rise through the water about them.

Mr. Fison has since described to the writer this startling eruption

out of the waving laminaria meadows. To him it seemed to occupy a

considerable time, but it is probable that really it was an affair of

a few seconds only. For a time nothing but eyes, and then he speaks of

tentacles streaming out and parting the weed fronds this way and that.

Then these things, growing larger, until at last the bottom was hidden

by their intercoiling forms, and the tips of tentacles rose darkly here

and there into the air above the swell of the waters.

One came up boldly to the side of the boat, and, clinging to this with

three of its sucker-set tentacles, threw four others over the gunwale,

as if with an intention either of oversetting the boat or of clambering

into it. Mr. Fison at once caught up the boathook, and, jabbing

furiously at the soft tentacles, forced it to desist. He was struck in

the back and almost pitched overboard by the boatman, who was using his

oar to resist a similar attack on the other side of the boat. But the

tentacles on either side at once relaxed their hold at this, slid out

of sight, and splashed into the water.

"We'd better get out of this," said Mr. Fison, who was trembling

violently. He went to the tiller, while the boatman and one of the

workmen seated themselves and began rowing. The other workman stood

up in the fore part of the boat, with the boathook, ready to strike

any more tentacles that might appear. Nothing else seems to have been

said. Mr. Fison had expressed the common feeling beyond amendment.

In a hushed, scared mood, with faces white and drawn, they set about

escaping from the position into which they had so recklessly blundered.

But the oars had scarcely dropped into the water before dark, tapering,

serpentine ropes had bound them, and were about the rudder; and

creeping up the sides of the boat with a looping motion came the

suckers again. The men gripped their oars and pulled, but it was like

trying to move a boat in a floating raft of weeds. "Help here!" cried

the boatman, and Mr. Fison and the second workman rushed to help lug at

the oar.

Then the man with the boathook--his name was Ewan, or Ewen--sprang up

with a curse, and began striking downward over the side, as far as he

could reach, at the bank of tentacles that now clustered along the

boat's bottom. And, at the same time, the two rowers stood up to get

a better purchase for the recovery of their oars. The boatman handed

his to Mr. Fison, who lugged desperately, and, meanwhile, the boatman

opened a big clasp-knife, and, leaning over the side of the boat, began

hacking at the spiring arms upon the oar shaft.

Mr. Fison, staggering with the quivering rocking of the boat, his teeth

set, his breath coming short, and the veins starting on his hands as

he pulled at his oar, suddenly cast his eyes seaward. And there, not

fifty yards off, across the long rollers of the incoming tide, was a

large boat standing in towards them, with three women and a little

child in it. A boatman was rowing, and a little man in a pink-ribboned

straw hat and whites stood in the stern, hailing them. For a moment, of

course, Mr. Fison thought of help, and then he thought of the child.

He abandoned his oar forthwith, threw up his arms in a frantic gesture,

and screamed to the party in the boat to keep away "for God's sake!"

It says much for the modesty and courage of Mr. Fison that he does not

seem to be aware that there was any quality of heroism in his action at

this juncture. The oar he had abandoned was at once drawn under, and

presently reappeared floating about twenty yards away.

At the same moment Mr. Fison felt the boat under him lurch violently,

and a hoarse scream, a prolonged cry of terror from Hill, the boatman,

caused him to forget the party of excursionists altogether. He turned,

and saw Hill crouching by the forward rowlock, his face convulsed with

terror, and his right arm over the side and drawn tightly down. He gave

now a succession of short, sharp cries, "Oh! oh! oh!--oh!" Mr. Fison

believes that he must have been hacking at the tentacles below the

water-line, and have been grasped by them, but, of course, it is quite

impossible to say now certainly what had happened. The boat was heeling

over, so that the gunwale was within ten inches of the water, and both

Ewan and the other labourer were striking down into the water, with oar

and boathook, on either side of Hill's arm. Mr. Fison instinctively

placed himself to counterpoise them.

Then Hill, who was a burly, powerful man, made a strenuous effort, and

rose almost to a standing position. He lifted his arm, indeed, clean

out of the water. Hanging to it was a complicated tangle of brown

ropes; and the eyes of one of the brutes that had hold of him, glaring

straight and resolute, showed momentarily above the surface. The boat

heeled more and more, and the green-brown water came pouring in a

cascade over the side. Then Hill slipped and fell with his ribs across

the side, and his arm and the mass of tentacles about it splashed back

into the water. He rolled over; his boot kicked Mr. Fison's knee as

that gentleman rushed forward to seize him, and in another moment fresh

tentacles had whipped about his waist and neck, and after a brief,

convulsive struggle, in which the boat was nearly capsized, Hill was

lugged overboard. The boat righted with a violent jerk that all but

sent Mr. Fison over the other side, and hid the struggle in the water

from his eyes.

He stood staggering to recover his balance for a moment, and as he

did so, he became aware that the struggle and the inflowing tide had

carried them close upon the weedy rocks again. Not four yards off a

table of rock still rose in rhythmic movements above the in-wash of the

tide. In a moment Mr. Fison seized the oar from Ewan, gave one vigorous

stroke, then, dropping it, ran to the bows and leapt. He felt his feet

slide over the rock, and, by a frantic effort, leapt again towards a

further mass. He stumbled over this, came to his knees, and rose again.

"Look out!" cried someone, and a large drab body struck him. He was

knocked flat into a tidal pool by one of the workmen, and as he went

down he heard smothered, choking cries, that he believed at the time

came from Hill. Then he found himself marvelling at the shrillness and

variety of Hill's voice. Someone jumped over him, and a curving rush

of foamy water poured over him, and passed. He scrambled to his feet

dripping, and, without looking seaward, ran as fast as his terror would

let him shoreward. Before him, over the flat space of scattered rocks,

stumbled the two workmen--one a dozen yards in front of the other.

He looked over his shoulder at last, and, seeing that he was not

pursued, faced about. He was astonished. From the moment of the rising

of the cephalopods out of the water, he had been acting too swiftly

to fully comprehend his actions. Now it seemed to him as if he had

suddenly jumped out of an evil dream.

For there were the sky, cloudless and blazing with the afternoon sun,

the sea weltering under its pitiless brightness, the soft creamy foam

of the breaking water, and the low, long, dark ridges of rock. The

righted boat floated, rising and falling gently on the swell about

a dozen yards from shore. Hill and the monsters, all the stress and

tumult of that fierce fight for life, had vanished as though they had

never been.

Mr. Fison's heart was beating violently; he was throbbing to the

finger-tips, and his breath came deep.

There was something missing. For some seconds he could not think

clearly enough what this might be. Sun, sky, sea, rocks--what was it?

Then he remembered the boatload of excursionists. It had vanished.

He wondered whether he had imagined it. He turned, and saw the two

workmen standing side by side under the projecting masses of the tall

pink cliffs. He hesitated whether he should make one last attempt

to save the man Hill. His physical excitement seemed to desert him

suddenly, and leave him aimless and helpless. He turned shoreward,

stumbling and wading towards his two companions.

He looked back again, and there were now two boats floating, and the

one farthest out at sea pitched clumsily, bottom upward.