03 Underwater Adventure (11 page)

Then there would suddenly be a stretch of snow-white sand, as bare as the desert. Then would come rock land, a wild tumble of crags and boulders.

He climbed sloping hills and went deep into the valleys to be sure to miss nothing at the bottom of the ravines.

He noticed especially the great number of giant clams, monsters four or five feet wide with their shells agape, waiting for food. If anything should come between them the shells would close like a steel trap. Many a diver whose foot had been caught in those merciless jaws had stayed to spend eternity at the bottom of the sea.

He shivered at the idea - but would have shivered more had he known the fate that one of these giants held in store for a member of the company of the Lively Lady.

At the end of about ten minutes Roger felt the sled swing around and then proceed in the opposite direction. Dr Blake had covered a mile and was now doubling back. He would keep doubling until Roger had surveyed a square mile of the sea bottom.

The floor here was flat and bare and looked like snow. Roger brought the sled down until the runners slid along the ground. Now he was actually sleighing at the bottom of the sea.

He went up over a slight rise, then tobogganed down a long slope. The slope ended in a precipice that dropped away to great depths.

Here was where a sleigh ride would end in disaster in the world above. Roger had a moment of panic as he shot out into space above the terrible abyss - but the sled soared like a bird over the yawning gulch ‘and touched ground again on the other side. Roger’s fear turned to exultation and he would have shouted with glee if he could have done so without losing his mouthpiece.

He was so happy that he failed to notice a hump in the sand until it was too late. The sled ploughed into it and uprooted a large and very much surprised octopus. Having the ability to take on the colour of its surroundings, the beast was nearly as white as the sand. If it had been among brown rocks it would have been brown, or among green plants it would have turned green. But no matter what its surroundings may be an octopus always turns red when it is angry, and this one was a terrible red as it found itself caught on the prow of the glider and carried away at a speed of six knots.

Some of the tentacles were below the deck and some above, and two of them fastened themselves to Roger’s bare back. The parrot-like beak of the creature was within a few inches of his face and the big, almost human eyes glared hatefully into his.

His first impulse was to signal for a stop. But if he stopped, the octopus could disentangle itself from the sled and attack. So long as he kept moving it might be too bewildered or terrified to do anything but hang on. The sac-like body of the beast was beneath the edge of the deck and the motion kept it there. Roger decided to keep going.

The two tentacles that lay on his body bothered him most. He felt them tighten, the suction cups biting into his flesh, in an effort to drag him forward within reach of the brute’s jaws. The great beak opened revealing a hole big enough to take in a head larger than Roger’s. Savage teeth edged the opening.

The octopus was disappointed, for the moment at least. It could not crawl towards him because of the water pressure that glued it to the moving sled, and it could not drag him closer because he was strapped to the deck. But what if the straps should break or slip?

Should he rise to the surface? Then the men in the boat would see him and stop. They would circle around and come to his rescue. But that would take several minutes, and in the meantime … Once able to move, the octopus would not need more than ten seconds to reach back and nip off his head.

No, he must stay down, keep moving, and fight this thing out all by himself.

The sled shot through a school of parrotfish. They were taken by surprise and several of them bumped into the octopus and into Roger’s head and shoulders. He seized one of the big, fat, green-and-gold beauties and thrust it into the jaws that yawned in front of him. Perhaps if he treated his visitor to lunch it would lose interest in him. The fish disappeared into the black inside of the octopus.

The creature did not even trouble to close its jaws. Roger gave up the idea of winning his enemy over by feeding it. This was a case of anger, not hunger. The octopus, he knew, is a highly emotional creature. His companion on the flying sled was too mad with rage to worry about its stomach.

The sharp-rimmed suction cups of the two tentacles that lay along his back were tearing his skin. He felt himself pulled an inch closer to the waiting beak. He drew his knife and sawed away at one of the tentacles where it joined the body. It was as thick as a man’s leg and as tough as rubber, but it had no bone in it. At last the great red snake was cut through, the suction cups relaxed their hold, and the tentacle fell away in the rush of water.

But another immediately took its place! Nor did the temper of the octopus seem to be improved by the operation. The body glowed a more fiery red than ever and the eyes burned with hate.

Roger felt the sled sweep round again and was reminded that he was looking for a sunken galleon. It was hard to keep your mind on it in the presence of such company. He laboriously sawed off another tentacle, and then another. Two more tentacles took their place. One of them strapped down his arm so that he could no longer use his knife.

He realized that he was breathing hard. That would not do. He would quickly use up his air supply, and then what would happen? He must breathe as lightly and shallowly as if he were sitting at ease on the deck of the Lively Lady instead of battling with an octopus on an undersea glider.

A dark shadow fell across him. He looked up to see that he was charging straight towards a cliff that towered fifty feet high and was covered with jutting crags and hooks of rock. He turned the sled upward. It responded sluggishly because of the weight on its bow. It rushed nearer and nearer the cliff, and the waving sea fans and great anemones attached to the base of the precipice loomed larger and every crevice and hole and out-reaching rock was visible.

If he crashed into it, that would be the end of the octopus. But it would also be the end of him and of the sled and of his hunt for the galleon. To protect himself he had to protect his unwelcome passenger. He steered upward sharply and just skimmed the summit, passing so close that the octopus was dragged through the plumes on the reef top.

Again he found himself puffing like a steam engine, and again he throttled down his fear and forced himself to breathe lightly. The two enemies stared at each other in silence for what seemed a very long time while the sled made another transit, and then another. Blood was drifting back from the animal’s wounds, but it did not seem to be seriously disabled by the loss of three tentacles.

A new problem presented itself - seaweed in the form of great coils and festoons of giant kelp. Roger’s wits were beginning to play tricks with him and he could

imagine these long arms to be the tentacles of a monstrous octopus as big as a ship and with no purpose in fife but to strangle and swallow Roger Hunt. He dodged here, there, up, down, to avoid the clutching fingers. He was weak now with fear and exhaustion. Then suddenly he was out of the kelp forest and sliding over a coral garden in which tall Neptune’s sponges stood like Joshua trees.

Then he saw it - the wreck! Or, at least, it was a wreck. He could not be sure it was the Santa Cruz. It lay half buried in sand and covered with seaweed, barnacles, and coral. He soared up over its broken-off mast and looked down on the high poop that certainly could not have belonged to any modern ship. His heart pounded with excitement. But there was time for only a glance and he was carried swiftly away. He dared not signal for a stop - not so long as he had this passenger. A dim shape loomed ahead. In another moment the sled would crash into it. Roger lifted the bow just in time to slide over the back of a big tiger shark.

Smelling the blood trail of the wounded octopus, the shark immediately turned and followed the sled.

It was soon joined by another inquisitive pirate, a great swordfish. Roger, glancing back fearfully over his shoulder, estimated that the sword alone of the monster was eight feet long.

He nervously expected the shark to come nipping at his white heels, laid out invitingly at the back of the glider. As for the swordfish, if it took a notion to, it could ram its sword clear through the sled, and through Roger as well.

He remembered the account of a swordfish that had rammed a schooner and driven its lance through a quarter inch of metal sheathing, three inches of Douglas fir, and two and a half inches of ceiling plank and had left its broken-off sword in the hull as a memento of this feat

The swordfish came alongside on Roger’s left and the shark drew up on his right. The three swam along together, like good friends. The octopus, no longer interested in Roger, twisted to face the swordfish, then turned again to fix its baleful eyes on the shark.

Even a shark is afraid of a swordfish, and with good reason. That mighty sword is one of the few weapons sharp enough and strong enough to pierce the shark’s tough hide. The tiger kept at a safe distance and it was the swordfish that acted first.

It made a sudden rush, plunged its rapier all the way through the balloonlike body of the unfortunate octopus, and ripped it away from the sled. The octopus locked its five remaining tentacles around the body of the swordfish and there followed a titanic struggle that Roger could not wait to see. He was carried swiftly away, and was glad to go. A great feeling of relief poured through him.

But his nerves tightened again when he noticed that the shark, which had dropped back for a moment, had decided not to contend with the swordfish for the carcass of the octopus, but had turned its attention again to the sled. It was following close behind, probably admiring the white soles of Roger’s feet and sniffing the scent that drifted back from the bow of the sled where the blood of the octopus had smeared the deck. In fact Roger himself was contributing a little to the blood smell from the suction disc cuts on his back.

The tiger could not be blamed for supposing that the strange creature fleeing from it was badly wounded, terrified, helpless, and could easily be turned into a good meal.

The sled swept around a curve and started back. Roger hoped the manoeuvre had shaken off his pursuer. But the shark was still close behind - even closer now.

What worried him almost as much as the shark was the chance of missing the wreck. On this transit he would not pass over it but should not be too far away to see it. He must get rid of this hanger-on so that he could give his full attention to his real job.

He thought of the way flying fish escape from sharks and other hungry monsters. They take to the air. Why couldn’t he do the same? He had no idea how the sled would respond, but at least he could try.

The men in the boat were astounded to see the sled suddenly shoot up through the surface, rise into the air, soar for a moment, then plunge again into the sea. Before they could speak it happened again. And then again!

That kid!’ Hal exclaimed in disgust. ‘He just must have his fun - doing stunts when he ought to be watching for the Santa Cruz\ Sometimes I think he’ll never be serious.’

But Roger was very serious. After the first two flights he could still see the shark some distance behind. After the third flight, he was alone. A moment later he caught sight of the wreck, some distance to his left. He signalled for a stop. He let the sled rise and skim the surface. The dinghy circled back and came alongside.

‘What was all the jumping for?’ Hal demanded angrily.

‘I’ll tell you about that later. I’ve found a wreck. Perhaps it’s the Santa Cruz.’

Hal forgot his anger. ‘Great! Where is it?’ ‘Right over there, thirty yards.’ ‘How deep?’ ‘About ten fathoms.’

The two men were about to dive in when Hal noticed the blood on his brother’s back and on the deck of the sled. ‘Why all the gore? Are you hurt?’ ‘It’s nothing,’ Roger said impatiently. ‘Get in there and tell me if I’ve found anything.’

Wearing masks only, their aqualungs having been left on board, Blake and Hal plunged in, swam thirty yards in the direction Roger had indicated, and submerged. Roger unstrapped himself from the sled and climbed into the boat.

Within forty seconds the two were up again, spouting and blowing and red with excitement. They swam back to the boat where Roger waited in tingling suspense.

‘You’ve got something there,’ Blake said as he climbed in. ‘Is it the Santa Cruz?’

‘I couldn’t make enough of an examination to be sure. We’ll come back with the aqualungs.’ ‘How will we find it again?’

‘That’s easy.’ Blake rummaged in a locker and brought out a line with a weight on one end and a flagged buoy on the other. He started the motor and eased the dinghy out to a point directly over the wreck. Then he dropped the weighted line. The buoy floated jauntily on the surface, waving its little red flag.

The dinghy returned to the ship. All on board were thrilled by the news, Skink as much as anyone, but in his own sour fashion. He could be seen scanning the horizon as if looking for an expected visitor. No one noticed turn particularly, since all attention was focused upon Roger and his story of his undersea sleigh ride. Blake treated the cuts on his back.

‘That was a fine piece of work,’ Blake complimented him. ‘You used your head. Now I suppose you want to know what you found.’

He went to the cabin and brought up a sheet of specifications of the Santa Cruz. He and Hal studied them carefully.

‘All right, let’s go and check,’ Blake said. Taking their aqualungs, they set off in the dinghy, sternly refusing Roger’s appeal to let him go along.

‘You need to take it easy. We’ll let you know soon enough.’

In half an hour they were on the way back. Roger, standing at the rail, could hardly wait for them to come within earshot before he called, ‘How about it?’

Dr Blake stood up in the dinghy and cupped his hands around his mouth. His deep voice, softened by distance, came faintly across the water.