_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.
[Illustration: THEN LIKE A FLASH IT SHOT TOWARD THE BOAT.]
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.
FOOTNOTE:
[3] Stories of this kind, of which there are many, are doubted by the
authorities, who have found it impossible to authenticate a single
instance of unprovoked attack.