CHAPTER XV
A MURDEROUS GRIP
Bert was having his first glimpse of the sea since he started on histrip. He was weary of the land which he had traversed so swiftly andsteadily for two weeks past. The impression stamped upon his brain wasthat of an endless ribbon of road, between whose edges his motorcyclehad sped along, until he seemed like a living embodiment of perpetualmotion. That ribbon had commenced to unwind at the eastern end of thecontinent, and there were still a good many miles to be reeled offbefore the race was ended. But now, as he sat on the veranda of thebeach hotel facing the sea whose surf broke on the sands a hundred feetaway, he could feel his weariness dropping away like a cast-off garment.The tang of the ocean was a tonic that filled him with new life, and hisnostrils dilated as they drew in great draughts of the salt air.
"Ponce de Leon was wrong when he looked for the elixir of life in afountain," he thought to himself. "He should have sought for it in thesea."
Before him stretched the mighty Pacific, its crested waves glittering inthe sun. Fishing vessels and coasting craft flashed their white sailsnear the shore, while, far out on the horizon, he could see the trailof smoke that followed in the wake of a liner. Great billows burst intospray on the beach, and the diapason of the surf reverberated in hisears like rich organ music. He drank it all in thirstily, as thoughstoring up inspiration for the completion of his task.
A man sitting near by looked at him with a quizzical smile, franklyinterested by Bert's absorption in the scene before him. With easygood-fellowship, he remarked:
"You seem to be getting a lot of pleasure out of the view."
"I am," replied Bert promptly; "I can't get enough of it."
"There are plenty of people who have got enough of it," he observeddrily, "your humble servant among the number."
Bert scented a story, but repressed any sign of curiosity.
"It's the infinite variety that appeals to me," he said. "The sea isfull of wonders."
"And tragedies," supplemented the other.
He settled back in his chair and lighted a fresh cigar. As he struckthe match, Bert noticed that his right hand was horribly scarred anddisfigured. It looked as though it had been drawn through a harrow whoseteeth had bitten deep. Great livid weals crossed each other on the back,and two of the fingers were gone. And Bert noted that, although hisface and frame indicated that he was not more than thirty years old, hishair was snowy white.
"Of course, that's true," said Bert, reverting to the stranger's lastremark; "storms and shipwrecks and typhoons and tidal waves are thingsthat have to be reckoned with."
"Yes," was the reply, "but I wasn't thinking especially of these.They're common enough and terrible enough. What I had in mind was theindividual tragedies that are happening all the time, and of which notone in a hundred ever hears."
"Do you see this hair of mine?" he asked, removing his hat. "One day atnoon it was as dark as yours. At three o'clock on that same day it waslike this."
He paused a moment, as though battling with some fearful recollection.
"I don't know how familiar you may be with the Pacific," he resumed,"but on this coast there is every variety of monster that you can findin any other ocean, and usually of a fiercer and larger type. Nowhere doyou find such man-eating sharks or such malignant devil-fish. The sharksdon't come near enough to the shore to bother us much. But it's safe tosay that within half a mile from here, there are gigantic squids, withtentacles from twelve to twenty feet long. More than one lucklessswimmer, venturing out too far, has been dragged down by them, and thereare instances where they have picked a man out of a fishing boat. Ifthose tentacles ever get you in their murderous grip, it's all over withyou.
"Then, too, we have what is called the 'smotherer,' something like amonstrous ray, that spreads itself out over its prey and forces it downin the mud at the bottom, until it is smothered to death. It's a terrorto divers, and they fear it more than they do the shark.
"But these perils are well known and can be guarded against. If I'd gotinto any trouble with them, it would probably have been largely my ownfault. But it is the 'unexpected that happens,' and the thing thatmarked me for life was something not much bigger than my fist.
"Have you ever seen an abalone? No? Well, it's a kind of shellfishthat's common on this coast. It has one shell and that a very beautifulone, so that it is in considerable demand. The inside of it is likemother of pearl and there are little swellings on it called 'blisters,'that gleam with all the colors of the rainbow. It's a favorite sporthere to get up 'abalone parties,' just as you fellows in the East gocrabbing. Only, instead of getting after them with a net, we use acrowbar. Queer kind of fishing, isn't it?"
"I should say it was," smiled Bert.
"Well, you see, it's this way. The body of the abalone is a mass ofmuscle that has tremendous strength. It is so powerful, that the nativesof the South Sea Islands use the abalones to catch sharks with. Fact.They fasten a chain to the abalone, and it swims out and attaches itselfto the under side of a shark. Then they pull it in, and no matter howhard the shark struggles and threshes about, it has to come. The abalonewould be torn to pieces before it would let go. It's the bulldog of theshellfish tribe, and a harpoon wouldn't hold the shark more securely.
"On the coast, here, they fasten themselves to the rocks, and as theseare usually covered at high tide, you have to hunt them when the tide islow. You wade out among the rocks until you catch sight of an abalone.Then you insert the crowbar between the shell and the rock. Only theenormous leverage this gives enables you to pry it off. The strongestman on earth couldn't pull it away with his bare hands.
"Usually, we went in parties, and there was a good deal of rivalry as towho would get the largest and finest shells. I forgot to say that,besides the shells themselves, once in a while you can find a pearl ofconsiderable value and great beauty. This occurs so seldom, however,that it is always a red-letter day when you have such a bit of luck.
"One day, a friend had arranged to go abalone hunting with me, but justas we were getting ready to start out, a telegram called him away fromtown, on important business. It would have been the luckiest thing thatever happened to me if I had got a telegram too. We were both muchdisappointed, as on that day we were going to try a new place, where wehad a 'hunch' that we would make a good haul.
"The weather was so fine and I had my mind so set upon the trip, that Idetermined to go it alone. The tide that day would be at low water markat about twelve o'clock. I threw a lunch together, got out my bag andcrowbar and started.
"A tramp of a couple of miles down the beach brought me to the place wehad in mind. It was a desolate stretch of shore, with no houses in sightexcept an occasional fisherman's shack, and the crowds that frequentedthe other beaches had left this severely alone. It was this, added tothe fact that an unusual number of rocks was visible at low tide, thathad made us fix on it as a promising location.
"The day was bright and clear and the sea had never appeared sobeautiful. Looked to me, I imagine, a good deal as it did to you justnow. It has never seemed beautiful to me since.
"The tide was on the ebb, but had not yet run out fully, and I had towait perhaps half an hour before the rocks were uncovered enough topermit me to see the abalones in their hiding places. I spent the timelying lazily on the sand with half shut eyelids, and basking in theinexpressible charm of sea and sky. I never dreamed of the horror thescene would inspire in me a little later on. There was a long swell butlittle surf that day, and there was nothing cruel in the way the wavesdanced in the sunlight and came gliding up, with an air that was almostcaressing, to where I lay stretched out at perfect peace with myself andthe world.
"Soon the ebb had reached its limit and there was that momentaryhesitation before the tide, as though it had forgotten something andwere coming back for it, began to flow in. Now was the time, if I wantedto fill the sack that I had brought along with me to hold my spoil. Iremember chuckling to myself, as I looked around and saw that th
ere wasnot a soul in sight. If this should prove the rich hunting ground Ibelieved it to be, I would have first choice of the finest specimens.
"I slung the bag over my shoulder and holding the crowbar in my lefthand, began to make my way out to the rocks. I had stripped off my outerclothing, and was in the swimming suit that I wore underneath. The waterwas deliciously refreshing, after the sun bath I had been enjoying, andI went leisurely along until I came to where the rocks were thickest.The slope was very gradual, and, by the time I got among them, I wassome distance from the shore. Then I became alert and alive, andbuckled down to my work.
"My friend and I had made no mistake. The rocks were full of abalonesand my bag was soon filling rapidly. I exulted in the thought of thevirgin field that we too would exploit together.
"But, although the shells were numerous and unusually fine in theirmarkings, I could not find any that contained a pearl. That was the onething necessary to make my day a perfect success. I began to hustle now,as the tide was beginning to come in strongly, and before long therising waters would cover the rocks.
"Suddenly, I saw under the green surface a large abalone with its shellgaping widely. And my heart gave a jubilant leap as I saw a large pearljust within the edge of the shell. How I came to do such a fool thing Idon't know, but, with a shout, I reached out my hand to grasp it. Islipped as I did so, and, in trying to steady myself, the crowbar flewout of my left hand and fell several feet away. And just then the shellbegan to tighten. I tried to withdraw my hand, but it was too late. Thatclosing shell held it against the rock as though in an iron clamp.
"A sweat broke out all over me and icy chills chased themselves up anddown my spine. I pulled with all my might, but the shell, as though inmockery, closed tighter. The feeling of that clammy mass of gristle andmuscle against the flesh filled me with a sick loathing that, for themoment, overbore the pain of my crushed hand. So, I imagine, a man mightfeel in the slimy folds of a boa constrictor.
"Instinctively, I raised my other hand, as if to insert the crowbar.Then I realized that it had fallen from my hand. I could see where itlay between two rocks, not six feet away. Six feet! It might as wellhave been six miles.
"I was trapped. The full horror of my situation burst upon me. I wasalone, held fast by that powerful shell that recognized me as an enemyand would never relax of its own accord. _And the tide was coming in._
"In a fury of rage and terror, I struck at the abalone with my left handwhile with all my strength I tried to tear away my right. But I couldhave as soon succeeded in pulling it from beneath a triphammer. Therewere gaping rents in the flesh opened by my struggles and I could see myblood mingling with the green water.
"You have heard of bears and lynxes caught in traps who have chewed attheir imprisoned leg until they left it behind them and hobbled away,maimed and bleeding, but free. I swear to you that I would have done thesame with that hand of mine, if I had been able.
"I thought of a woodsman whom I knew, who had been caught by a fallingtree that had crushed his foot. He knew that if he stayed there thatnight, the wolves would get him. His axe was within reach and hedeliberately chopped off his foot. I didn't have even that chance. I wasin my bathing suit and my knife was in the clothes left on the shore.
"And all this time the cruel, treacherous sea was coming in and the tidewas mounting higher and higher. It purled about me softly, gently, likea cat playing with a mouse. I beat at it angrily with my left hand andit seemed to laugh. It felt sure of me and could afford to be indulgent.It was already above my waist and my knowledge of the coast told me thatwhen it reached the flood it would be ten feet deep at the place where Istood.
"I looked wildly around, in the hope of seeing some one on the shore.But it was absolutely deserted. A little while before, I had beengloating over the fact that I was alone and could have a monopoly of thehunting. Now I would have given all I had in the world for the sight ofa human face. I shouted until I was hoarse, but no one came. Far out atsea, I could glimpse dimly the sails of a vessel. I waved my free handdesperately, but I knew at the time that it was futile. I was a merespeck to any one on board, and even if they trained strong glasses on methey would have thought it nothing but the frolicsome antics of abather.
"Now the water was up to my armpits. The thought came to me that if Ishould keep perfectly quiet, the abalone might think his danger gone andloosen his grip. But, though I nearly went crazy with the terriblestrain of keeping still, when every impulse was to leap and yell, thecunning creature never relaxed that murderous clutch.
"Then I lost all control of myself. It wasn't the thought of deathitself. I could, I think, have steeled myself to that. But it was thehorrible mode of death. To be young and strong and twenty, and to diethere, slowly and inexorably, while six feet away was a certain means ofrescue!
"The water had reached my neck. My overstrung nerves gave way. I tuggedwildly at my bleeding hand. I raved and wept. I think I must have growndelirious. I dimly remember babbling to the iron bar that I could seelying there so serenely in the transparent water. I coaxed it, wheedledit, cajoled it, begged it to come to me, and, when it refused, I cursedit. The waves were breaking over me and I was choking. The spray was inmy eyes and ears. I thought I heard a shouting, the sound of oars. Thena great blackness settled down upon me and I knew nothing more.
"When next I came to consciousness, I was in a hospital, where I hadbeen for two months with brain fever. They had had to take off twofingers, and barely saved the rest of the hand. They wouldn't let me seea mirror until they had prepared me for the change in my appearance.
"I learned then the story of my rescue. A party had come around a bendof the shore when I was at my last gasp. They caught sight of my handjust above the water. They made for me at once and tried to pull me intothe boat. Then they saw my plight, and, with a marlinspike, pried theabalone loose. They tell me that my bleeding fingers had stiffenedaround the pearl, and they could scarcely get it away from me. Theyasked me afterward if I cared to see it, but I hated it so bitterly thatI refused to look at it. It had been bought at too high a price.
"And now," he concluded, "do you wonder that I dread that sleek andcrawling monster that I call the sea?"
Bert drew a long breath.
"No," he said, and there was a world of sympathy and understanding inhis tone, "I don't."