"Well, sir, she be only good in smooth water, and it's that now. Be you
much in the way of boats, sir?"
"Rather," I answered readily, for I fancied myself in the sculling line,
it being one of my favourite forms of recreation. And I suppose I
looked my words, for my amphibious friend ran the pair-oar down into the
water without more ado.
Though not a skiff, the craft was light and well built, and in a very
few moments I was sending her over the smooth waters of the bay at a
pace which should soon render the village of Whiddlecombe Regis a mere
blur against a wall of green hillside and crimson-clad down--and that
without any effort. The exhilaration of it was glorious--the swift easy
glide, the free open sea, the cloudless blue sky above, and the racing
headlands. Beyond these other promontories appeared; only to be merged
in their turn into the spreading extent of the fast-receding coastline.
The boat went beautifully. I had got her over half a dozen miles in no
time. I would make it a round dozen straight out; then back--and get in
at dusk, in nice time for dinner.
What an ass Bindley was to come down to a place like this merely for the
fun of going to sleep, I thought, as I skimmed onwards; and then it
occurred to me that as this was the only craft of the kind on the beach,
I should have missed the splendid exhilaration afforded by my present
exercise, as she was certainly not built to carry two, and I had
thoughts of hiring her for the time I should be down here, so as to
ensure always being able to take her out when wanted.
I had, as near as could be judged by time, about accomplished my
prescribed dozen miles, and was pulling the boat round to return, when
in spite of the exercise I felt chilly. Then as I faced out to seaward
and perceived the cause I felt chillier still--and with reason.
Fog.
Creeping up swiftly, insidiously, like a dark curtain over the sea it
was already upon me. Heavens! how I pulled. But pull I never so
lustily, send the light craft foaming through the water as I was doing,
the dread enemy was swifter still--and all too subtle. Already the
coastline was half blotted out, and the remainder blurred and
indistinct, but up-Channel the sea was still clear. Well, by holding a
straight course now, and keeping what little wind there was upon my
right ear, I could still fetch the land even if I did not soon run into
clear weather again.
But the smother deepened, lying thick upon the surface. Already the air
seemed darkening, and now a distance of half a dozen yards on either
hand was all that was visible--sometimes not as much.
Was it demoralisation evoked by this sudden blotting out of the world
around, as I found myself alone in the dark vastness of this spectral
silence?--for now I felt tired and was obliged to rest on my sculls more
than once. And again and again, though hot and perspiring, I shivered.
Now through the silence came the whooping of a steamer's siren.
Another, further out, answered in ghostly hoot. Heavens! what did this
mean? Had I, while resting, been insidiously turned round and was now
sculling my utmost out into mid-Channel--and--right into the path of
passing shipping? And with the thought it occurred to me that no sound
of the shore--the striking of a church clock or the bark of a dog, for
instance, reached my ears. The thought was an uncomfortable one--almost
appalling. One thing was clear. Further rowing was of no use at all.
Again rose the hoot of that spectral foghorn, and as it ceased I lifted
up my voice and shouted like mad. But the steamer was probably not near
enough for those on board of her to hear my yell, and from the
repetition of the sound she seemed to be passing.
It was now almost dark. Shivering violently, I put on my coat and
waistcoat--which I had thrown off when beginning my pull--but they were
light summer flannels and of small protection--and looked the situation
in the face. Here was I, in a cockleshell of a craft, which even the
smallest rising of the sea would inevitably swamp, shut in by thick
impenetrable fog anywhere out towards mid-Channel, and drifting Heaven
knew where, with nothing to eat, nothing to drink, and a long night
before me to do it in. I might be picked up, but it was even more
likely I might be run down, and with the thought I seemed to see a
black, towering cut-water rush foaming from the oily smother, to crash
into my little craft and bear me down drowning and battered beneath the
grim iron keel.
Time went by; it must have been hours--to me it seemed years. In the
overwhelming unearthly blackness of the fog I sat and shivered, a prey
to the most unutterably helpless feeling. If it were only daylight, and
the fog would lift, I should be picked up in no time in so congested a
waterway as the Channel was at this point. But such a consideration now
only served to enhance the horror of the position, for it wanted hours
and hours to daylight, and here I was, with no means of showing a light
except a matchbox containing some dozen and a half of wax vestas, and
right in the way of anything that came along. That was an idea anyhow.
I might light a pipe. The glow, tiny as it was, might attract notice in
the dark. But though a greater smoker than the average I am not one of
those who can enjoy tobacco on an empty stomach, and the latter
condition being all there, I soon had to desist, and think of the cosy
dinner we should now long since have been sitting down to, Bindley and
I, in the snug inn at Whiddlecombe Regis; which, whether it lay north,
south, east or west of me at that moment, Heaven only knew.
It may be guessed I had expended a good deal of lung power in periodical
shouting. I had heard fog-horns whooping from time to time, but more or
less distant, and once I had heard the powerful beat of a propeller and
the rush of a great liner, quite near by. But as Fate would have it, at
that critical point I had shouted myself well-nigh voiceless, and the
clank and clatter on board and the wash of her way must have drowned my
feeble attempts, for she passed on, and presently a succession of waves
furrowed up by her passage caused my little cockleshell to dance in the
most lively fashion. Thus I was left alone in the blackness once more,
sick and faint with hunger, and my teeth chattering with the cold, to
such an extent that it seemed to me the very noise they made ought in
itself to attract the attention of passing craft.
After that I seemed to fall into a state of semi-somnolence for a time,
out of which I was roused by the motion of the boat. I awoke with a
start. There was a freshening in the air, as though a breeze were
springing up; and indeed such was the case. The fog, too, had lifted,
for I could see stars. But the momentary exultation evoked by this idea
subsided in a new alarm. The sea was getting up, and I needed not a
reminder of the old salt from whom I had hired the boat that the latter
was only good for smooth water. Here was a new peril, and a very real
one. And there was a decidedly "open sea" kind of whiff about the
freshening breeze.
I pulled the boat round so as to keep her head to the waves, which
seemed to be increasing every moment. Their splash wetted me, rendering
the cold more biting than ever, and then--a strange roaring sound
bellowed in my ears. A huge green eye shot forward in the darkness, and
a tall dark mass towered foaming above me. At that moment I opened my
mouth and emitted the most awful yell that ever proceeded from human
throat. Then came the crash--as I knew it would. I seemed to be shot
forward into space, then dragged through leagues of cold and rushing
waters, while gripping something hard and resisting as though life
depended on it. Then another shock, and I knew no more.