The Pirates in the Deep Green Sea (9 page)

When he had gone down for the first time the others had waited for his reappearance with some anxiety, but now they were twenty times as worried, and every minute seemed longer and longer. James William Cordiall kept looking at his watch and
saying, ‘He's been down for eight minutes now. — For nine minutes. — For ten minutes. But my watch must have stopped! It is longer than that, far longer than that! What does your watch say, Mattoo?'

‘Just the same as yours,' Old Mattoo answered. ‘But maybe there is something the matter with it too.'

‘Twelve minutes,' said James William Cordiall. ‘Thirteen — fourteen.'

He was following the second-hand with his big thick forefinger when Hew cried shrilly, ‘The rope! The rope's broken!'

Sam's breast-rope hung loosely down the side of the boat, and when Old Mattoo began to pull it, it came in easily. The air-line came in too, without resistance.

‘They're broken,' said Hew again.

‘Or someone has cut them,' said Timothy.

Now they stared at each other in utter dismay,
and Timothy's face and Hew's were as white as a sheet, and even the weather-burnt cheeks of James William Cordiall and Old Mattoo looked as grey as old canvas. For two or three minutes nobody spoke, because nobody was willing to say what he thought. But everyone of them had the same idea, and that was that Sam had been trapped in the wreck, and there was nothing they could do to help him.

From this state of sheer despair they were roused by a curious and quite unexpected sound. Someone or something, a short distance to seaward of them, was singing a little song in a little, thin, sharp, reedy voice. Timothy and Hew recognised it at once, and hurrying to the side of the boat cried, ‘Cully, Cully! Come quickly, Cully! Come and help us!'

But James William Cordiall and Old Mattoo, when they saw what sort of a creature it was that Hew and Timothy were talking to, fell into a greater fright than ever. Old Mattoo's whiskers were waving on his cheeks as if a gale were blowing, and James William Cordiall felt such a weakness in his legs that he could not stand and had to get down on his hands and knees. He crawled to the side of the boat and again looked at Cully, who was no more than twenty feet away. And when he saw that there was no doubt about it, but there in the sea was a singing octopus, he had to rest his chin on the rail to keep his teeth from chattering.

Timothy and Hew were shouting as hard as
they could, but Cully paid no attention. Quietly and happily he was singing a song that went like this:

‘I've the tenderest heart in the whole of the sea,

From the Strait of Belle Isle to New Britain;

I've a gift of affection like honey for tea,

And I'd love to be stroked like a kitten;

But nobody ever can sit on my knee,

For I haven't a knee she could sit on!

‘I've been well educated, I've courteous ways,

I don't often talk indiscreetly;

I've eight sensitive arms, and I've learnt how to play

Upon four grand pianos quite neatly —

And yet ladies avoid my embrace, for they say

They don't like to be
hemmed-in
completely.

‘I've an up-to-date mind, I appreciate art,

I'd make an extremely good parent;

But a very grave handicap keeps me apart

From all social pleasures — I daren't

Appear in a place where one has to look smart,

For my stomach, you see, is transparent!'

Then Hew lost his patience, and taking an apple from his pocket threw it at Cully, and hit him squarely on his orange beak. Cully stopped singing, leapt half-way out of the water, and looked north and west and south before he turned and saw the
Endeavour
and the boys leaning over her side. Then he raised one of his feelers, and shook it at them in a disapproving manner.

‘Naughty, naughty!' he exclaimed. ‘Has no
one ever told you to show consideration for others? Don't you know that good little boys respect the repose of their elders? Don't you realise that we who work ceaselessly, tirelessly, and indefatigably need some rest and relaxation? Can't you understand that to rob us of the sleep we require is a rough, rude, brutal, unforgivable thing to do? There was I, after spending a long and weary night on duty, taking an hour or two of rest, enjoying a little nap, a little sleep on the surface of the sea———'

‘You can't have been asleep,' interrupted Hew, ‘you were singing.'

‘And what of that?' asked Cully. ‘There are people who snore in their sleep, aren't there? Some of them make horrible grunting noises, others make the most alarming whistling noises, and some wheeze and snuffle in a quite revolting manner. If I choose to sing in my sleep, that's an improvement on the usual custom which every sensible person ought to welcome, and copy if they can.'

‘Cully,' said Timothy, ‘you talk very nicely, but please stop talking now, and come and help us. We're in dreadful trouble.'

‘Oh dear,' said Cully, ‘what a world it is, to be sure! Trouble here, trouble there, trouble on all sides. Even I, a respectable hard-workings octopus, can't escape it, and as for you poor human beings — well, well, well! But tell me all about it.'

He swam quickly to the boat, and raising two of his feelers, hooked them over her low side, and pulled himself partly out of the water. Then he
rested his beak on the rail, and looked at them with an attentive and friendly stare.

James William Cordiall gave a shrill cry of fear, like a dog that had been kicked, and tumbled into the fish-hold as fast as he could; and Old Mattoo, trembling all over, followed and fell on top of him. But neither Cully nor Timothy nor Hew paid any attention to them, for Timothy was telling Cully as quickly as he could what had happened to Sam Sturgeon. Cully listened attentively and behaved very sensibly. He asked only a few questions, and then in a reassuring voice said, ‘Leave it to me, dear boys. I will go down and get him up again in two shakes of an eel's tail.'

Swiftly he disappeared under the surface of the sea, and both Timothy and Hew were much comforted by what he had said.

‘But how are we going to explain about Cully to Old Mattoo and James William Cordiall?' asked Timothy.

‘We were told to say nothing about him,' said Hew. ‘Nothing about him and nothing about Gunner Boles. They're part of something that we had to keep an absolute secret.'

‘Well, Cully isn't a secret any longer,' said Timothy, ‘and I don't think Gunner Boles is either, because the man that Sam brought up is wearing the same sort of clothes and the same sort of shoes, so he must be part of the secret too. I think we should tell them how we first met Cully.'

In one corner of the fish-hold the man whom
Sam had found in the wreck was leaning against the bulkhead and staring at Old Mattoo and James William Cordiall with a cruel sneer on his face. They, huddled together in the opposite corner, as far from him as they could be, were holding each other's hands and still trembling.

‘You'd better come up on deck,' said Timothy. ‘We've something rather important to tell you.'

‘Is that beast with the orange beak and eyes like a saucer still there?' asked James William Cordiall in a quavering voice.

‘No, he's gone down to rescue Sam.'

‘It was a terrible sight to see him staring over the rail,' said Old Mattoo.

‘Not at all,' said Hew. ‘He's a very friendly octopus when you get to know him.'

Old Mattoo stood up and began to climb the ladder out of the hold, and when he had looked carefully round and made sure that Cully was no longer on board, he came out on deck, and James William Cordiall followed him.

‘We've got something to tell you,' said Timothy, ‘but it's rather difficult to explain because I don't suppose you'll believe it.'

‘There's nothing I would not believe after what I have seen to-day,' said James William Cordiall.

‘No, nothing,' said Old Mattoo. ‘The Great Sea Serpent itself, that I once saw when I was a young man, was a simple homely creature compared with him down there in the fish-hold and that beast with the eyes like a pair of saucers.'

Timothy repeated what he had already told them — that Cully was a friend of theirs, and had gone down to look for Sam and rescue him — and then he described their voyage from South Africa, when they were wrecked and made their first acquaintance with Cully as they lay drifting on the raft. Old Mattoo and James William Cordiall listened without saying a word until the story was finished. Then Old Mattoo shook his head sadly and said: ‘There's not a man, woman, or child in Popinsay that would believe a word of it.'

‘But you've seen Cully, and heard him speak, so you know it's true,' said Hew indignantly.

‘That's the worst of it,' said Old Mattoo with a sigh. ‘That's by far the worst of it.'

‘You may think so,' said Timothy, ‘but Hew and I are very pleased to have an octopus for a friend, and it's a good thing for Sam, too, for none of us could have helped him.'

‘We don't know yet,' said James William Cordiall, ‘whether the beast is going to help him.'

‘Don't call Cully a beast,' said Timothy.

‘And don't look so glum and gloomy,' cried Hew, ‘for there they are!'

A few yards from the boat there was a great swirling in the water, and Cully rose to the surface with Sam in his diver's suit held firmly in two of his right-hand tentacles, and on the other side, in two of his left-hand tentacles—

‘Save us, save us!' cried James William Cordiall. ‘He's found another of them!'

Struggling in Cully's grasp there was indeed another man in a red shark-skin vest and ragged purple trunks, as ugly as the one whom Sam had brought up, and Old Mattoo's whiskers were waving on his cheeks again like an old grey shirt hung on the line to dry, and James William Cordiall's teeth were chattering loudly. Timothy and Hew wished that Sam were aboard to tell them what to do, but Sam in his diving-suit could not help them, and it was Cully who took charge of the situation.

‘Now, now,' he cried, ‘look alive there, and try to be helpful! Don't stand gaping, but do something! I've had a very difficult time, a very trying experience indeed, and I'm nearly exhausted. Mr. Sturgeon weighs a great deal in his diving-suit, poor man, and this horrible, brutal creature in my other hands is doing his best to get away — but take Mr. Sturgeon first, please, and get his helmet off as quickly as you can.'

In spite of what he said, Cully did not seem to be in the least exhausted, for without any difficulty he lifted Sam as high as the rail, and Old Mattoo and James William Cordiall were able to pull him aboard. Timothy and Hew quickly helped him to get out of his diving-suit. Sam was very tired and could hardly speak. His first words were, ‘Take care of that, for there may be something in it' — and he gave Timothy an object that looked like a piece of coral all overgrown with seaweed. Then he sat down on the deck and for some time said nothing more, but Cully made up for his silence.

Cully was master of the situation, and knew it; and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. No one else had a chance of saying anything, for he talked without a moment's pause and seemed likely to go on talking for ever. He pulled himself halfway up the side of the boat, as he had done before, and lifting the second stranger from the sea, set him down rather roughly on the deck. But he still kept a firm hold on him, and whenever the man struggled too violently, squeezed him a little tighter.

‘Just look at him!' cried Cully in his shrill voice. ‘Have you ever seen such a villainous, ugly, uncivilised, and brutal person in all your lives? He gave me a terrible fright when I first saw him. I very nearly screamed, I wanted to swim away as fast as I could! But then I remembered that poor Mr. Sturgeon was somewhere in the wreck, so I plucked up all my courage, and made a dash at that dreadful creature, and by sheer good luck I was able to get hold of him before he hit me. I don't know what I would have done if he had hit me, because I can't bear getting hurt! And I don't think he likes getting hurt either, because after I had squeezed him a little he told me just where to go and look for Mr. Sturgeon. Poor Mr. Sturgeon had gone into a cabin, or some such place, and this fearful ruffian had cut his life-line, and closed the door on him and jammed it with a sort of wedge. But I managed to open the door, and let poor Mr.
Sturgeon out. He wasn't feeling at all well, because I think he had had a fight with this great hulking scoundrel before he got shut in the cabin. So I had to swim all the way back here carrying both of them in my poor delicate little arms, an invalid on the one side, and a prisoner on the other. You can guess how tired I am! Terribly, terribly tired! So please hurry up, and find a piece of rope, and tie this creature's wrists and ankles as tightly as possible, and then I can let him go and have a little rest.'

The second prisoner was tied up, and when he was satisfied that the ropes were tight enough and all the knots properly made, Cully loosened his hold. Old Mattoo and James William Cordiall carried the man down, and laid him beside his companion in the fish-hold. Then they came on deck again, and Cully smiled at them in what was intended to be a very friendly and agreeable manner. But Old Mattoo and James William Cordiall, who by this time had got over their first fright, found his new expression extremely alarming, and Old Mattoo whispered to Timothy, ‘Tell him to stop
oggling
at us like that. I'm an old man, and my nerves can't stand it when he oggles.'

‘You mean ogles, don't you?' asked Timothy.

‘Whatever I mean, tell him to stop it!' said Old Mattoo.

But before Timothy could make any such suggestion, Cully was talking again and inviting himself to tea.

‘I don't want to make a nuisance of myself,' he exclaimed, ‘but it just happens that I'm very, very hungry, and I'm almost sure it must be tea-time. I had a very small lunch, and if it wouldn't be too much bother for you—well, I should love to stay! There's nothing I enjoy more than a party, especially a really good party where there's lots and lots to eat.'