Alexander lowered himself gingerly on to the rocks. He felt something move between his feet and, panicking for a moment, desperately sought a foothold on the slippery rocks beneath him. The water was warm and reached his waist. He stubbed his toe again before finally finding a flat rock on which he could stand.
‘Ready?’ hissed Adrian impatiently.
‘Wait!’ snapped Alexander. ‘Now, begin to push her very gently towards me. O.K. Push.’ The heavy boat came at him with alarming speed, but he managed to guide and steady her as she hit the water with a resounding smack–soaking him completely.
‘Blast,’ He cursed the other two for their stupidity as he wiped his salt-blinded eyes, but at least they had not let the boat go completely and they were hanging on to the rope attached to the stern with grim determination, whilst the boat bobbed up and down below them.
‘Sorry,’ said Eric, apologising for their lack of polish as sailors.
‘Belt up,’ said Adrian grimly. Somehow the soaking of Alexander gave him a sudden, much-needed superiority and his tiny eyes glowed as he wiped his glasses methodically.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘shall we get in?’
Clumsily they both jumped in, whilst Alexander held her on a short rope. Adrian’s weight caused temporary alarm as the boat received the shock of the impact of his heavy body–then Alexander dropped the rope and jumped in himself, shouting: ‘Quick, grab an oar,’ as the newly launched boat veered an erratic course towards the broken trellis of barbed rock.
Eric and Adrian took an oar each of the front set and Alexander sat behind them grasping the other two. ‘Right. In–out–in–out.’ But it was a long time before they managed to synchronise, and meanwhile they were drifting uncomfortably near the balustrade of ragged chalk from the other side of which came the ominous sound of breaking surf.
‘Come on,’ shouted Alexander, ‘we must do better than this. There’re lots of rocks underneath the water. Now–row. In–out–in–out. Come on! In–out–in–out.’
He could see to his dismay that they were already passing over small submerged rocks and the boat was being forced across rather than forward by the wind. He had definitely underestimated its strength–the force of it was certainly nothing like this on the shore. Looking down into the water, Alexander could see them–dark shapes horribly near the surface. In places they almost broke through as the eddying water showed–and there was a sickening scraping and rending as the bottom of the boat was forced across one of them.
‘It’s not good enough,’ yelled Alexander to the bent shoulders in front of him. ‘We’ve got to row harder. We’ll have her aground–or holed. Put something into it–now!’
Impending disaster made them put every ounce of strength into it, but still they seemed to be making very little progress. At least they were no longer being blown sideways on to the miniature reef with its hidden rocks and treacherous surfaces, but they seemed to be literally rowing on the spot. Shouting hoarse encouragement, Alexander spurred them on and Eric appeared almost to bend himself double over the oars, so great were his efforts. At last he noticed that the mouth of the cave was no longer directly opposite them and they seemed to have gained a little. He shouted this encouragingly but there was no noticeable reaction from the two straining oarsmen. Despite their too close shave with the rock the boat seemed to have suffered no structural damage at all and the only water at the bottom of the boat was that which they had shipped in the struggle–at least as far as he could see anyway.
It was soon obvious that they were definitely progressing and they were leaving the cave and the rocks well behind them. Now that immediate danger was past Alexander was beginning to enjoy himself again–he pulled hard at the oars, his wiry body putting every ounce of strength it possessed into the effort. He shouted encouragement to the others but they didn’t seem to hear him as, by now thoroughly synchronised, they pulled together in steady, monotonous rhythm.
‘In–out–in–out–’ shouted Alexander as they rounded the corner and rowed steadily into the bay. It was easier going now that they were not so exposed to the elements of the open sea and in the bay the wind seemed less intense and the pace grew more endurable.
‘O.K. Slack off,’ he shouted, digging Adrian in the back, who seemed unwilling to stop his robot-like actions. ‘Come on,’ Alexander laughed, ‘we’re out of trouble now.’ Adrian slowed down like a clockwork motor and faced him, whilst Eric leaned over his oars, temporarily too exhausted even to turn. Then Adrian raised a flushed, sweat-soaked face to Alexander. He took off his glasses and began to polish the lenses. His eyes were frightened and his tongue ran nervously round his lips, licking at the alien salt that made them so sore. They were rolling now, in and out of the troughs of the slow-moving waves as the mounting swell carried them towards the shore in an oblique line.
To Alexander’s horror, Adrian suddenly looked horribly seasick. His face was mottled and his mouth began to work ominously.
‘Lean over the side, you ass,’ bawled Alexander unsympathetically. The sudden invalid made it just in time and he subsided after a while, his face a dull pasty ochre with beads of perspiration on his forehead. He smelt of vomit and he sat for a moment in heavy dignity, watched with apprehension by the others. Then his shoulders bowed over the side again and he retched with great shudders, his whole corpulent body caught up in the convulsions.
He remained bent over the side for a long time, watching the dark-green water rise and fall around him. He still felt awful but surely it was impossible to be sick any more.
‘Do you want to turn back, Adrian?’ asked Alexander cautiously.
‘No, you idiot,’ came the shaky reply. ‘Go on to the pier as we said we would and then turn back.’
‘Well, you’ll have to row. Sorry, but we can’t get there without you in this swell. Wait a bit till you’re feeling more O.K.’
They sat and rolled in the wave troughs–the pier was a dark shape about half a mile away. He could just make out the irregular pattern of the stanchions and the frilly extravaganza of wrought iron, silhouetted against the florid night sky. Once again, pale clouds raced across the milky face of the faded moon, lace passed before a white orb that was gradually growing harder and more definite as the night wore on. The continual rise and fall was very soothing and Alexander looked across at Eric who was hunched in his seat shivering.
‘Sure you’re O.K., Eric? If you feel like being sick go over the side. The other side–one’s already booked up.’
‘I’m not feeling sick,’ said Eric indignantly. ‘I’m shivering because I’m excited, that’s all.’
Adrian rose majestically and announced that he was fit to continue. It was obviously an effort and Alexander found himself half admiring him for his fortitude. Once again they bent over the oars.
‘There’s an awful lot of water in the bottom,’ said Adrian thickly as he rowed. ‘You don’t think we’re shipping any, do you?’ He sounded as if he needed reassurance.
‘Not a chance. It’s just the water we took on when we launched her. We’ll bale out when we get to the pier.’ Alexander’s tone was contemptuous, dismissive–but he had been watching the rising water level with concern for some time.
‘How far do you think the pier is now?’ asked Eric pathetically, but no one replied. The darkness was deceptive and their rate of progress was very slow. They really were shipping water, Alexander discovered. The level had definitely risen and at the same time as he noticed it Adrian shouted out:
‘Al–the water’s creeping up–it’s all round my ankles and it wasn’t before. What shall we do?’
‘We’d better start baling. I think we ought to turn back.’
‘But we’re almost at the pier.’
‘We’re not–we’re only halfway. P’raps not that.’
‘No, let’s carry on,’ said Adrian suddenly. ‘We can bale as we go and it’s not coming in very fast. Let’s go on.’
‘Adrian, it’s too dangerous. We can’t risk
it,’ Alexander cried. His voice sounded panicky. ‘We must go back. We can’t swim in a sea like this. And you can’t swim anyway, properly, can you?’ The sudden realisation came into his voice. ‘If the boat sank, Adrian, you wouldn’t stand a chance. We must turn back.’
Eric was watching them both as Adrian turned to face Alexander, his face still putty colour.
‘Look, if we can’t even make the pier, what’s going to happen when we make the real attack?’
‘We’ll have more people to row–it’ll be easier.’
‘We’re going on to the pier, Al, whether you like it or not.’
‘We’re not.’
‘We are, and if we don’t you know what’ll happen. Eric–I’ll take over these oars and you start baling.’
Adrian turned, picked up the oars and thrust them back into the water. He had taken command and Alexander was following now. They rowed on, with Eric baling furiously–but the water level continued to rise until the boat was almost half full.
‘For Christ’s sake, Eric. You’re not baling hard enough!’ shrieked Alexander. He was really in a panic. They would never be able to get back now and although they were nearing the pier it stretched nearly a hundred yards from the shore and good swimmer as he was he knew that it would be a hard struggle through the heavy sea. Besides, there was Adrian–how on earth was he to get him to the shore? And what about Eric, who swam a violent and ineffectual breast stroke? The only chance, he decided, the surge of panic clearing for a moment, was to make the pier. At least they could hang on to it perhaps. He shouted to Adrian:
‘Row like hell for the pier–it’ll be about our only chance.’ Adrian said nothing and they bent over the oars whilst Eric shot sheets of water over the side. Gradually they drew nearer and nearer the weed-hung columns that supported the pier; great ornamental struts shaped like elongated Grecian pillars. They could hear the water slapping against them, making a hollow sound that echoed from underneath the pier. It sounded like a strange oriental music as the sea gently buffeted the ironwork, sending out a tremulous resonance amidst the tall forest of girders. The dark shapes loomed before them and as they bore down on the wrought-iron columns Alexander shouted hysterically:
‘There’s a platform–a landing-stage thing–one side of the pier, if we can make that. I didn’t think of it–pull on your left, Adrian.’
But there was no time. They were heading full for the pier and the force of their momentum sent the boat crashing into a girder, tumbling them into the bottom of the boat, in the rising water. They stood up to find themselves almost under the pier–amidst a huge cobweb fretwork of rusting iron that sang metallically as the waves slapped at the hollow columns. Spiderways and miniature catwalks trellised in a frenzy of steel scaffold above and around them and huge scrolls ornamented the girders, the rust running in angry runnels down the dark streaked sides. Despite their predicament they gazed in bewilderment at the riot of stylised eccentricity that had been erected–an iron jungle of spars and stems that twisted and turned in a mad discord of support for the structure above them. Despite the intrusion of the waves and the continual harmony of the echoes about them it was very quiet in the black wonderland that surrounded them. The water looked dark and unpleasant–a near jet-black with a trickle of moonlight breaking gently into it, filtered from the slats between the boards of the pier.
‘I think I could almost believe in your old monster under here, Adrian.’ Alexander was bewildered by the immense complexity of the sinewy girders.
Suddenly the boat began to sink. They hardly believed it at first–all the work they had put into its reconstruction should not be lost so easily–but the boat was already settling in the water.
Adrian began to whimper and then to scream–a falsetto yelp that rang amongst the iron, mockingly rebounding on them, seeming to come from every corner. He stopped as abruptly as he had begun, appalled by his own clamour. The boat was now virtually submerged and already Eric was in the water, splashing about in his sharp, rapid breast-stroke. Alexander looked round wildly for some projection that would give them temporary safety until he could form some other plan–it might be possible to work back along the pier somehow, amongst the struts and girders. But at the moment immediate security was vital. Then he saw it–or at least the possibility of it. A low girder ran across two struts nearby. If he could grab one of the struts he could haul himself up–but what of the other two–to his horror he could see no sign of Eric at all. He was distracted by another whimper from Adrian–his face was transfixed by absolute terror as the boat finally sank beneath them. With a shrill scream he floundered in the water but somehow Alexander managed to keep him afloat, holding his head well back and his mouth free whilst he struck out for the only possibility of safety. Despite Adrian’s considerable weight he managed to grab the rusty strut–the next problem was to haul both himself and Adrian’s dead weight on it. Faced with these problems the blindness of his former panic had disappeared and he felt an innate clarity of mind. With his arm hooked around Adrian’s neck and only one arm free to keep himself afloat, preliminary action was difficult. He began to shout into Adrian’s ear:
‘I’ve got to let you go for a moment.’
‘No! No, don’t!’ Adrian was desperate. ‘Please don’t.’
‘Look, I’ve got to–’ he panted. ‘We’ll drown if–I–don’t. Directly I let you go–strike out for me–it’s not half a yard–just reach out for me–I’m going to grab this–when I’ve got it I’ll grab you–then we can both climb on to that girder–can you see it–do you reckon you can do it?’
Adrian said nothing and Alexander said:
‘O.K., I’m going to let you go–now!’ Adrian gave a piercing scream and clawed at him, grabbing a handful of his hair. Viciously Alexander kicked out at him and caught him in the groin–then he grabbed the strut and reached out for whatever part of Adrian he could clutch at. He drew him towards safety–he seemed to have swallowed quite a bit of water in his few seconds of threshing and he was choking and spluttering alarmingly.
‘Now, hang on to this while I climb up to the girder,’ and he placed Adrian’s waxy hands on the strut whilst he heaved himself up. By a miracle Adrian was still there when he looked down. He felt almost surprise that he should be still clinging on. He put out a hand and Adrian grasped it–but the combination of his weight and his wet slippery hand made it quite impossible to haul him up.
‘Adrian, you’ll have to climb up by yourself–I can’t pull you–you’re too heavy.’ There was nowhere to brace himself on sitting astride the beam, and Adrian could well pull him down, striking both their heads on the numerous cross sections of the girders. Slowly and painfully Adrian began to climb–and in a surprisingly short time he was sitting on the girder beside Alexander, panting, breathless and wheezing.
‘Where’s Eric?’ said Alexander, his voice breaking with sudden nausea. Adrian stared back at him, his little eyes glazed and dull.
‘Perhaps he climbed up somewhere like us–perhaps he didn’t.’
‘He couldn’t be drowned, could he? I mean, he just couldn’t be. There are lots of places he could sit up on, aren’t there?’
Adrian didn’t answer but stared down at the oily-lethargy of the dark water, as if it ran through some underground labyrinth, a black swollen stream tearing at the elegant, rusting masonry of some long-dead civilisation.
‘He could easily have hauled himself up–shall we shout? Eric! Eric! Can you hear me? Are you O.K.? Eric!’
But only the echoed parody of his own voice came back to him and after that had died away there was an immense silence, broken only by the lapping of the water. He tried again–and again, but the result was the same.
Adrian sat silently beside him–then he said: ‘I wouldn’t shout any more–what are we going to do?’
‘But we can’t move without Eric. Don’t be so stupid–we can’t–’
‘We can’t move anyway,’ Adrian snapped sourly beside him. ‘Where can we go?
’ He seemed to have recovered his composure slightly.
‘We can either sit here till morning–wait till the tide goes out–then we won’t, or I won’t have so far to swim–or we can climb back somehow amongst all these girders and things.’
Adrian looked doubtfully at the shadowy cross-section that stretched as far as he could make out.
‘I couldn’t do it,’ he said.
‘Then I’ll swim for help, but I don’t think I could make it with this sea and the tide still in–we’ll have to wait.’
They sat on the girder, surrounded by the echoes of the sea and waited.
‘Jolly funny if your old monster suddenly turned up now–Hey, don’t go to sleep, Adrian, or you’ll fall off.’ He shook him violently and Adrian opened his eyes unwillingly. ‘You definitely mustn’t go to sleep–it’ll be fatal. Keep your eyes open–you must keep your eyes open. Let’s talk or play something. Tell you what, I’ll give you a game of I Spy. Ready?’
‘Yes.’ The response was grudging and Adrian was beginning to shiver violently. He felt sick again too.
‘Right, I’ll begin. I spy with my little eye something beginning with–’ For an hour they ran through every detail in sight even down to nut, bolt, and feather. Having exhausted the entire surround they were silent until Alexander began to call for Eric again.
‘Oh, shut up,’ snapped Adrian viciously.
‘I don’t think you care whether he’s drowned or not.’
‘I said shut up.’
‘Look, Adrian, you haven’t got any power over me any more, you know. You can’t tell me what to do here–it won’t get you anywhere.’
‘Oh yes I can. Just you wait till we get back.’
The Seahorse Page 25
