silver walk to the ocean’s depths. And then? I stopped, my eyes turned inward, as I tried to decide which was more likely, the bleached bones on the siren’s rocks or the friendly underwater world of an E. Nesbit story in the
Strand
magazine.
“Have you had quiet guard?” Banner asked, coming to relieve me.
“Not a shrimp stirring.” Nevertheless I dreamed of wet mermen that night, their heads covered with spotted scarves, cutlasses between their teeth, their eyes red and bloody, water dripping from their scales andtheir wild hair as they pulled themselves onto the raft from the shining sea.
Next morning we were ready to make up a boarding party, but Arthur had changed his mind. He did not wish, he said, to split our forces if there were any danger of having to fight. Instead he spent the day watching the other vessel through the binoculars, and by the evening he had decided it was deserted.
We stood guard that night also just the same, and in the morning we made ready for the expedition. Arthur himself would go with us; Hunter and I would paddle. “Darling,” Sonya said to me while she and I inflated the dinghy. “Could there really be anyone there?”
“Arthur doesn’t think so.”
“But there might be?”
“I suppose.”
She twitched her nose in thought. “Here, wait a sec,” she said, and went inside the cabin. When she returned, she had brought her little silver Christopher. She gave it to me. “I don’t believe in taking chances,” she said.
I said, “Oh, darling!” and Sonya said, “Well …” and Arthur came out of the cabin, and told us to hurry.
We set off. Arthur sat in the dinghy, and Hunter and I took up the paddles. We began to move away, watched by the others who had gathered on deck to see us go. The women put up their hands to wave. “Good luck, good luck!” Banner cried.
As the distance widened between us, for the first time I saw the raft in the context of the water that surrounded it, and realized how small it was, ourfloating home, which had seemed roomy and secure enough when we were on board. Now, on all that waste of water, there were only the raft and this other vessel on the horizon and the tiny rubber dinghy crossing from one to the other. It was going to be a painful crossing for me, I realized. Already the muscles of my arms and shoulders were aching, and as the sweat dripped into my eyes from my forehead, I began to feel dizzy. “Take ten,” Arthur said suddenly, and we rested.
We toiled on under the hot sun towards the vessel, and as we drew nearer we could see its outlines more clearly. It really did look as if it had been built from a model in a child’s picture book of Noah. There were open pieces of deck at the prow and stern, but the rest was covered with a peaked roof, partly torn away by the gale, and the ark rode high in the water, and lopsidedly as if the cargo were badly stowed. Nothing moved on board. Arthur shouted, “Ahoy! Ahoy there!” and the sound died on the open water without reply. He shouted again. The rubber dinghy bumped against the side of the ark. “Christ!” Hunter said, “what a pong!”
It was true; the stench was horrible. “Something has died,” Arthur said. “Will you see if you can find a place to tie up, Mr. Clarke?’ We paddled all round the ark, and found nothing, nor was there any sign of occupation other than the stench. “Perhaps if Captain Hunter were to hoist you on his shoulders, Mr. Clarke, you would be able to climb on board,” Arthur said. I climbed up, and pulled Arthur after me. We stood uncertainlyon the empty deck at the prow, and Arthur shouted again, “Is anyone here?” This time we thought we heard a faint reply from the interior. There was a door in front of us, and I opened it.
Through the open door, the stench came out to overwhelm us. It was like something living, like warm flesh suddenly released from the constriction of a corset. I gave way before it, and, rushing to the side, was
Strand
magazine.
“Have you had quiet guard?” Banner asked, coming to relieve me.
“Not a shrimp stirring.” Nevertheless I dreamed of wet mermen that night, their heads covered with spotted scarves, cutlasses between their teeth, their eyes red and bloody, water dripping from their scales andtheir wild hair as they pulled themselves onto the raft from the shining sea.
Next morning we were ready to make up a boarding party, but Arthur had changed his mind. He did not wish, he said, to split our forces if there were any danger of having to fight. Instead he spent the day watching the other vessel through the binoculars, and by the evening he had decided it was deserted.
We stood guard that night also just the same, and in the morning we made ready for the expedition. Arthur himself would go with us; Hunter and I would paddle. “Darling,” Sonya said to me while she and I inflated the dinghy. “Could there really be anyone there?”
“Arthur doesn’t think so.”
“But there might be?”
“I suppose.”
She twitched her nose in thought. “Here, wait a sec,” she said, and went inside the cabin. When she returned, she had brought her little silver Christopher. She gave it to me. “I don’t believe in taking chances,” she said.
I said, “Oh, darling!” and Sonya said, “Well …” and Arthur came out of the cabin, and told us to hurry.
We set off. Arthur sat in the dinghy, and Hunter and I took up the paddles. We began to move away, watched by the others who had gathered on deck to see us go. The women put up their hands to wave. “Good luck, good luck!” Banner cried.
As the distance widened between us, for the first time I saw the raft in the context of the water that surrounded it, and realized how small it was, ourfloating home, which had seemed roomy and secure enough when we were on board. Now, on all that waste of water, there were only the raft and this other vessel on the horizon and the tiny rubber dinghy crossing from one to the other. It was going to be a painful crossing for me, I realized. Already the muscles of my arms and shoulders were aching, and as the sweat dripped into my eyes from my forehead, I began to feel dizzy. “Take ten,” Arthur said suddenly, and we rested.
We toiled on under the hot sun towards the vessel, and as we drew nearer we could see its outlines more clearly. It really did look as if it had been built from a model in a child’s picture book of Noah. There were open pieces of deck at the prow and stern, but the rest was covered with a peaked roof, partly torn away by the gale, and the ark rode high in the water, and lopsidedly as if the cargo were badly stowed. Nothing moved on board. Arthur shouted, “Ahoy! Ahoy there!” and the sound died on the open water without reply. He shouted again. The rubber dinghy bumped against the side of the ark. “Christ!” Hunter said, “what a pong!”
It was true; the stench was horrible. “Something has died,” Arthur said. “Will you see if you can find a place to tie up, Mr. Clarke?’ We paddled all round the ark, and found nothing, nor was there any sign of occupation other than the stench. “Perhaps if Captain Hunter were to hoist you on his shoulders, Mr. Clarke, you would be able to climb on board,” Arthur said. I climbed up, and pulled Arthur after me. We stood uncertainlyon the empty deck at the prow, and Arthur shouted again, “Is anyone here?” This time we thought we heard a faint reply from the interior. There was a door in front of us, and I opened it.
Through the open door, the stench came out to overwhelm us. It was like something living, like warm flesh suddenly released from the constriction of a corset. I gave way before it, and, rushing to the side, was
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