to save me. With utter desperation I stood on the dory's thwart, balanced myself as it rocked and tipped, then leapt for the rigging.
I drove the dory under. It sank with a burble of air, then rolled upside down. And I dangled from the bobstay, staring down as a shark came flitting over the sandy bottom and, rising in a gray streak, ripped the dory in half.
The knowledge that no man was offering to help mespurred me on to help myself. I found enough strength to swing up my legs and wrap them round the bobstay. Then I pulled myself along it, and over the rail to the deck.
I lay on my back, panting like a dog. High above me stood the man on the mainyard, his head tipped down, his hands behind him to hold the mast. But he only stared; he made no effort to help me.
The man at the wheel was the same. His arms still spread across the spokes; he hadn't moved at all since the first time I'd seen him. Then I rolled onto my side and saw the man at the capstan, as uncaring as the others.
“Won't you help me?” I asked. “Won't anyone help me?” But he didn't even turn his head.
I got up and started toward him. I staggered from exhaustion, but made it close enough so that I could see him more properly. Then the horror of what I saw made me forget my own pains. The man was dead. He was nailed to the capstan.
I reeled away, going aft toward the wheel. I passed the mainmast and, glancing up, saw that the lookout there was dead as well, fixed to the mast by a great spike driven through his chest. I didn't bother going up to the quarterdeck, for I saw the dried blood that caked the helmsman's hands, and didn't want to go any closer than that to a man crucified to a wheel.
Panic struck me. I felt it in my legs and in my head, a dark rushing of blood that at once emptied me and filled me.
The brig rocked in a swirl of currents. The land slid past her shrouds and her masts, and I sensed that the tide was changing. When I whirled around toward the harborentrance, I saw the
Dragon
with her sails set, hauling off toward the south.
“Wait!” I screamed. “Wait!” But it was futile. I could imagine Abbey and Butterfield looking over the side and seeing my dory floating past, in shards and splinters. I could understand their thinking I'd been lost to the waves or the sharks. But I couldn't possibly imagine why they'd weigh anchor and give me up as soon as this.
A new rush of horror swept through my veins at the thought that I was now marooned on a ship manned by corpses. My own shouts seemed to echo in my head, for there was no sound at all in that wicked place. The ship was silent, and a stillness hung over the island. Not even a bird moved through the trees or the sky. The island was like a living thing—a beast with its breath the distant surf—that had risen and struck, and now lay quietly waiting.
Suddenly into that silence came a voice, old and cracked and creaky. It came up through the deck, up from below.
“Three fathoms down,” it said. “Three fathoms down. I'm Davy Jones.”
Chapter 14
A N O LD F RIEND
T he voice taunted me, calling now from right below my feet, now from the foot of the mizzen. “I'm Davy Jones,” it said again. Then came a rustling, scratching sound before it called again from behind me.
“Three fathoms down. Three fathoms more.”
I whirled to face it, but stared only at an empty deck.
A screech, and an eerie, chattering laugh sounded. “Throw me a line, matey.”
“Where are you?” I shouted.
“Who
are you?” My voice was swallowed by the trees and the thrum of distant surf. There was only the stillness for an answer.
The sharks circled round the brig. The dead men stood their horrid watch. And I felt drawn to that one voice, that one life in an empty-world, for surely—-whatever it was—it was alive.
The companion-way was open, and I went down without a glance at the helmsman. I came into a ship that seemed to have been suddenly abandoned just hours before, yet oozed the
I drove the dory under. It sank with a burble of air, then rolled upside down. And I dangled from the bobstay, staring down as a shark came flitting over the sandy bottom and, rising in a gray streak, ripped the dory in half.
The knowledge that no man was offering to help mespurred me on to help myself. I found enough strength to swing up my legs and wrap them round the bobstay. Then I pulled myself along it, and over the rail to the deck.
I lay on my back, panting like a dog. High above me stood the man on the mainyard, his head tipped down, his hands behind him to hold the mast. But he only stared; he made no effort to help me.
The man at the wheel was the same. His arms still spread across the spokes; he hadn't moved at all since the first time I'd seen him. Then I rolled onto my side and saw the man at the capstan, as uncaring as the others.
“Won't you help me?” I asked. “Won't anyone help me?” But he didn't even turn his head.
I got up and started toward him. I staggered from exhaustion, but made it close enough so that I could see him more properly. Then the horror of what I saw made me forget my own pains. The man was dead. He was nailed to the capstan.
I reeled away, going aft toward the wheel. I passed the mainmast and, glancing up, saw that the lookout there was dead as well, fixed to the mast by a great spike driven through his chest. I didn't bother going up to the quarterdeck, for I saw the dried blood that caked the helmsman's hands, and didn't want to go any closer than that to a man crucified to a wheel.
Panic struck me. I felt it in my legs and in my head, a dark rushing of blood that at once emptied me and filled me.
The brig rocked in a swirl of currents. The land slid past her shrouds and her masts, and I sensed that the tide was changing. When I whirled around toward the harborentrance, I saw the
Dragon
with her sails set, hauling off toward the south.
“Wait!” I screamed. “Wait!” But it was futile. I could imagine Abbey and Butterfield looking over the side and seeing my dory floating past, in shards and splinters. I could understand their thinking I'd been lost to the waves or the sharks. But I couldn't possibly imagine why they'd weigh anchor and give me up as soon as this.
A new rush of horror swept through my veins at the thought that I was now marooned on a ship manned by corpses. My own shouts seemed to echo in my head, for there was no sound at all in that wicked place. The ship was silent, and a stillness hung over the island. Not even a bird moved through the trees or the sky. The island was like a living thing—a beast with its breath the distant surf—that had risen and struck, and now lay quietly waiting.
Suddenly into that silence came a voice, old and cracked and creaky. It came up through the deck, up from below.
“Three fathoms down,” it said. “Three fathoms down. I'm Davy Jones.”
Chapter 14
A N O LD F RIEND
T he voice taunted me, calling now from right below my feet, now from the foot of the mizzen. “I'm Davy Jones,” it said again. Then came a rustling, scratching sound before it called again from behind me.
“Three fathoms down. Three fathoms more.”
I whirled to face it, but stared only at an empty deck.
A screech, and an eerie, chattering laugh sounded. “Throw me a line, matey.”
“Where are you?” I shouted.
“Who
are you?” My voice was swallowed by the trees and the thrum of distant surf. There was only the stillness for an answer.
The sharks circled round the brig. The dead men stood their horrid watch. And I felt drawn to that one voice, that one life in an empty-world, for surely—-whatever it was—it was alive.
The companion-way was open, and I went down without a glance at the helmsman. I came into a ship that seemed to have been suddenly abandoned just hours before, yet oozed the
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