An Island Called Moreau by Brian W. Aldiss

in exceptionally clear English. Maybe the Master thought so as well; but he contented himself by shouting a threat at Foxy’s retreating back before stomping off toward the crane.
    George, muttering darkly to himself, cast about on the ground, picked up his dusty hat, and rammed it on his head. As if in so doing he regained his courage, he went galloping off toward the harbor, overtaking the Master, waving his stubby arms and yowling, much as he had done previously.
    I stood in the shade of a tree, watching, certain that there would be trouble between Dart and Maastricht. The latter was too drunk at present; but later he might be a valuable ally against Dart. The two of us would be more than a match for Dart, for all his armament, if we stayed outside the compound. And Maastricht had a carbine.
    Maastricht stopped laughing as Dart approached and began shouting instead. Dart shouted back. A slanging match developed. I saw Dart stoop and seize Maastricht’s half-empty bottle from where it stood on top of the caterpillar track. He flung it out toward the open sea.
    Uttering a few curses, Maastricht climbed awkwardly into the crane and started it up. George set up a loud hullabaloo. The workers were running past where I stood, jostling to get back to their rocks and their cement. Satisfied, Dart turned away. I walked forward.
    Maastricht started up the crane. It began to crawl slowly along the harbor edge. He leaned out of the cab to shout to George, who was furiously conducting the workers. As he did so, he caught my eye, and raised a thumb in a gesture of defiance to the fates. I signaled back. And at that moment the crane tipped forward.
    I saw the far track go over the edge of the concrete in a shower of mortar. Slowly, the machine canted to one side. Maastricht swore, tugging at a lever. Its engine roared and the track spun. Then the whole thing slewed over and plunged into the lagoon.
    I yelled and broke into a run.
    The scene was one of tremendous confusion.
    The Beast People milled about on the edge of the water, uttering a medley of cries. Most of them appeared in genuine terror—though here and there I saw furtive gloating at the disaster. Many plunged to the edge of the water, jumping on the rocks and collapsed cement wall without daring to venture into the alien element. One old fellow with a face like a horse fell in; in the scramble to rescue him, others joined him in the water. Never was there so much screaming and crying!
    And George—he was the most demented! He charged madly to and fro, hooting madly. Finally, he flung himself in the lagoon and was forced to scramble out again at once.
    All this was marginal to my attention. My eyes were fixed on the great confusion in the water where the crane had gone down. One corner of the cab and a section of track was above water. Bubbles came billowing up. There was no sign of Maastricht. I kicked my shoes off.
    â€œRoberts, please—please save him!”
    I heard Dart’s words as I dived in.
    On the first dive I found Hans. Slicing under the cab, kicking strongly in the muddied water, I came on his naked back and right leg. He was struggling. A great deal of sand and muck had been churned up, but I saw that his arms had in some way been trapped in the entrance of the cab and were wedged from inside. His head was in the cab, the rest of him outside, as though he had almost been flung out as the machine tipped over. I seized and shook his shoulder to let him know that help was on the way before returning to the surface to regain breath.
    I went down again through the upper door of the cab, plunging down to him through the clouded water. Diesel oil seeped up past my eyes.
    Maastricht’s face was close to mine, full of anguish. His carbine and its strap had caught in the grip by the door, trapping his arm as he had tried to jump free. His left arm was still fighting to release himself. It took me only a moment to push the weapon out of the way