by Philip Roy
On the surface I could also call Ziegfried. This time the reception was clear.
“Alfred! I’ve been trying to reach you for hours! You made it through the storm?”
“It’s pretty quiet at a hundred feet.”
“You were spotted, Al, by a Norwegian freighter. People have been talking about it on the news. The Coast Guard might send a ship to investigate. Did you see a ship last night?”
“Yes. I saw a submarine too. A really big one.”
“Wow! Listen, Al. Don’t say too much right now. You know what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“It sounds like you’re sailing in heavy traffic. Perhaps you should change your strategy?”
“I will. I am.”
“Good. How’s everything working?”
“Perfect!”
I wanted to tell Ziegfried about getting pulled out in the storm, but didn’t want to worry him.
When we finished talking, I heard a noise in the sub. Turning around, I saw something slide down on the floor. Startled, I jumped up and stared at it. It stopped moving. It was green and gray and soaking wet. Coming closer, I realized it was a clump of seaweed. I scratched my head and looked up the portal but saw nothing but open sky. I picked up the seaweed and climbed out. There was no one around.
“That’s impossible! A piece of seaweed can’t come flying in all by itself!”
I threw it into the water, half expecting some creature to show itself. Perhaps it was a really smart seal that liked to toss things onto rocks. I stared for awhile but never saw anything.
Back inside, I was about to climb onto my seat when something came down the portal again. Turning, I saw the clump of seaweed. I couldn’t believe it. I picked it up and looked up the portal, but there was no one.
Someone is playing a trick on me, I thought. But that was impossible; I was miles from anywhere. Climbing the portal, I looked around but there was only water and sky. This time, instead of tossing the seaweed into the sea, I carefully laid it outside the hatch and went back inside. I climbed onto my seat, but kept glancing at the portal, in case the seaweed should reappear.
It did! I couldn’t believe it. This time I raced over with the intention of running up the ladder. But when I looked up, I saw a face looking down at me. It had piercing beady eyes and a long curved beak.
“A seagull! Hello!”
The seagull twisted its head and strained to look inside the sub. I picked up the seaweed to give it back but when I looked up again, the gull was gone. I laughed. The mystery was solved.
It was such a rocky ride it was wise not to eat anything. There were seasickness pills if I needed them but I was determined to get my “sea legs.” It took about an hour to come within sight of land, where the sea was calmer. I spent much of that time with my head out the portal and a rope tied around my waist. I was trying to make a friend. I had no idea how a seagull could be so far from land. Perhaps he had been caught in the storm.
I was standing in the portal when a small clump of seaweed hit me on the head. It didn’t hurt but it scared the heck out of me. Looking up, I saw the seagull hovering in the sky.
“Wow! You’ve got really good aim!”
I went inside and brought back a slice of bread and tossed it onto the back of the sub. The seagull promptly landed and gobbled it up. Just five feet away, it looked at me for more. I went inside and returned with another slice. He was waiting. He reached out with his beak, took a few steps closer and stopped.
“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”
The seagull tried to claim the bread without coming closer.
“If you want it, you have to take it.”
He wanted it very much. He stepped closer and strained his neck as far as possible. Finally, he grabbed one corner and tore it free. He swallowed it in two quick movements, then looked for more.
“Sorry. I have to keep an eye on my rations.”
He twisted his head, trying to get a better look at me. “My name is Alfred. If we are going to be friends, I should give you a name. Hmmm . . . I think I’ll call you . . . ‘Seaweed.’”
Seaweed quickly developed the habit of sitting on the hatch whenever it was open. He had the uncanny ability to recognize whenever I was going to eat. If I opened a can of peaches or a box of crackers or peeled an orange, Seaweed would cry out, and I would toss a little bit up the portal, which he would deftly catch and swallow. I had to be careful what I threw in his direction, because he would eat anything. I also learned that it was the height of rudeness to eat in the presence of a seagull without sharing, as he let me know with really loud squawking — so loud I couldn’t eat at all unless I passed some his way.
I had pulled a carrot from the carrot sack and was about to toss up a small bite to Seaweed when there were some beeps on the radar. Coming to the control panel, I was so absorbed in the screen that I forgot all about him, and continued to chew the carrot, without sharing it. The next thing I knew, there was a thump in the sub behind me, and there, standing like a forgotten guest, was Seaweed. He stared all around the inside of the sub as if to say, “This is a weird place.”
Then he fixed his beady eyes on me, and the rest of the carrot.
“Oh. Seaweed. I’m sorry. I forgot.”
I took one more bite and tossed the remainder to him, who made it disappear in a snap, then promptly climbed the ladder of the portal as if he were an expert in climbing ladders. I watched with amazement. This was no ordinary seagull.
The beeps on the radar were fishing boats. Likely, they were lobster fishermen coming out to check their traps after the storm. I guessed I was in Deadman’s Bay, or thereabouts, but couldn’t be sure until I came close enough to identify land features. The closer I drew, the smaller the swells were. A mile from the fishing boats I dove beneath the surface and raised the periscope. What I couldn’t know was that Seaweed was riding on top of it.
I passed the boats thinking I was invisible. But the fishermen spotted Seaweed, then the periscope. Word had already spread that a submarine had been seen in the area. The fishermen wasted no time reporting what they saw. Meanwhile, I took refuge in a small cove, dove to seventy-five feet and went to bed. I assumed Seaweed would simply take shelter on shore. I wondered if I would ever see him again.
In the twilight I surfaced and opened the hatch. Seaweed promptly appeared. I greeted him, stretched and yawned. The sea had calmed. I turned on the short-wave and searched for Ziegfried. He wasn’t answering. That was strange. Ziegfried had advised me to stay out of the line of ships. It seemed a good idea to hug the coast and look for places to hide in case anyone came searching for me.
Once it was dark I started the engine and sailed out of the cove. Seaweed stood tall on the hatch and pointed out to sea with his beak. Half a mile out, we turned south and began to follow the coast. Through the periscope I could see lights here and there on the shore — tiny villages, isolated cottages, the occasional island hermit. Ziegfried said not to be surprised to meet strange people in strange places. The sub could sail into the most forbidding passages where even pirates and intrepid sailors couldn’t go.
We motored around Cape Freels, and entered Bonavista Bay. We sailed through the night on a wavy sea beneath a clear sky. Seaweed rode the hatch, except when I was eating. Then he scampered inside and squawked for his share of the spoils. I never fed him first because he would only expect more. I saved him the last bite, which he would gobble instantly, then search for more. Once he was convinced there was no more, he would climb the ladder. Gradually, however, he began to linger inside. He was very interested in the radio, especially in certain songs, and especially if I was singing to them while pedalling the bike. Once or twice I caught him swinging his head from side to side with the music.
“Seaweed. You are not a normal seagull. I wonder if you are a bird at all.”
Seaweed squawked as if to say, “So? You don’t look much like a bird either.”
We passed several islands in the night. Then,
as we came around one, happily singing and squawking along with the radio, there was a loud beep on the radar. I glanced at the screen and saw an object coming directly towards us. It was only six miles away. Peering through the periscope, I saw the lights of a ship. I climbed the portal and scanned the sea with the binoculars. Seaweed hopped out and stood on the hull. Straight ahead, we saw the vessel. I was pretty sure it was the coastguard.
“Quick! Seaweed! We’ve got to dive!”
I made a sweeping gesture with my arm but Seaweed just ignored it.
“Hurry up! Get inside! We have to go!”
He didn’t move. Running inside, I opened a can of tuna fish.
“Mmmmmmm . . .” I said.
Seaweed came down the portal in a flash. I flipped the automatic hatch switch, shut the engine and dove to a hundred and fifty feet. The ship closed to four miles. I turned off the radio and sat quietly and shared the tuna fish with Seaweed.
The coastguard vessel came right over us, went a mile past, then turned around. It knew we were there. It came back and passed over us again and continued for two miles in the other direction and stopped. I was anxious to get going but didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t contact Ziegfried unless we surfaced, and I didn’t want to do that. The coastguard would detect us as soon as we started to move — by battery for sure, and maybe even by bicycle, I wasn’t sure. It would have superior listening devices and might even know when we were bouncing sonar waves off it. So we sat and waited. Seaweed was good company. I tried to compensate for the lack of radio by singing softly, but he didn’t care for it much. He preferred the radio.
The coastguard began to move again. It started a series of passes in a grid-like pattern, but was getting further away each time, which told me they didn’t know where we were exactly. When it was nine miles away I decided to run the batteries and see if we could slip away.
It didn’t work. Minutes after we started to move, they changed their course and came after us again.
“Rats!”
Suddenly I had an idea. I rose to the surface and started the engine. Seaweed climbed the portal and kept watch on the open hatch. I pointed the bow towards shore and cranked up the engine as fast as it would go. The coastguard pursued us.
“They’re chasing us, Seaweed!”
Seaweed squawked.
I gazed at the radar. The coastguard ship was slowly closing the distance between us.
“I don’t think she’s going a whole lot faster than we are.” I scanned the shore for lights — a fishing village. There was one to our left. I cut the engine, coaxed Seaweed inside, dove to fifty feet, engaged the batteries and turned right. On battery power the coastguard would catch us quickly. But we had a nine-mile head start. They could also track us when we were running by battery. And they did. I watched the sonar as their direction changed to accommodate ours. They were planning to cut us off. As they got closer they would realize we had submerged. I wanted them to think we believed we were escaping. Then, after one mile in that direction, I shut off the batteries, climbed up on the bicycle and turned back towards the fishing village.
The whole strategy was based on the hope they wouldn’t detect us if we were moving by bicycle power. I shut the sonar and radio off and tried not to make any loud noises. The bicycle was well greased and quiet. Seaweed settled comfortably on the wooden floor and shut his eyes.
If they knew where we were we would hear their engine at least a mile a way. Stealthily, like a bat under water, I pedalled down the coast, rising ever so gently until the periscope extended above water. When I saw the lights of the little fishing village I turned into the cove. There were seven or eight fishing boats tied to the wharf. I slipped in beneath them and settled to wait for the fishermen to come.
We didn’t have to wait long. In little over an hour I heard the coughing of a diesel engine. I could tell it needed a tune up. Ziegfried had taught me well.
A few minutes later another engine started, and then another. I engaged the batteries and got ready to leave. As soon as the boats started to move I followed them. About a mile from shore they cut their engines. We immediately took off. They would begin pulling their traps. The last thing I wanted was to get tangled in lobster traps.
Two miles away I turned on the sonar. Only the seven fishing boats flashed on the screen. Our escape had been successful. Rising to the surface, I opened the hatch and let Seaweed stretch his wings. I started the engine and headed down the coast. Whoever would have guessed the ocean would be such a busy place?
Chapter Thirteen
There were many islands, large and small, in Bonavista Bay. We passed them as we ran the engine for three hours in the early morning. I kept a close eye on them with the periscope. Ziegfried said there were islanders who kept telescopes pointed out to sea. And many kept short-wave radios, too, and would certainly have heard of the sightings of a submarine and be anxious to see it for themselves. I decided to risk it anyway; our escape from the coastguard gave me confidence in our stealth ability.
Before looking for a place to sleep for the day, I decided to try to reach Ziegfried.
“Alfred! Have you heard? Somebody spotted a submarine in Bonavista Bay. The coastguard is searching for it. They say the navy might too. Isn’t that interesting?”
“I guess so.”
“Nobody knows who it could be. They’re afraid it might be a foreign sub . . . you know, a spy sub.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, Al. You should give me a call sometime, if you ever get to a phone. Okay?”
“Oh. Okay. I will.”
“Good. Make any friends lately?”
“Um, yes. One.”
“Good stuff! Call me, okay?”
“I will.”
I understood. There were people listening in on the shortwave. Ziegfried didn’t want to give anything away. I would have to find a telephone. But where?
On one small rocky island I spotted a sheltered cove. There weren’t any cottages in sight.
“Seaweed! Do you want to come inside or stay out while I sleep?”
I looked up the portal and saw Seaweed staring back down.
“Coming in?”
He looked around but didn’t answer. “Well, I’m going to bed.”
I flipped the automatic hatch switch. Seaweed hopped off the hatch and landed on the bow. As the sub descended he flew to a rocky ledge on the island. I caught a glimpse of him with the periscope just before I went under. I went down fifty feet, turned the lights and radio low and went to sleep.
It was dark when I woke and rose to the surface. Having seen no one in the morning, I expected no one at night, and so never bothered to check with the periscope first. To my surprise I was greeted with a bright light. Behind it stood a tall figure in a colourful dress, and, what looked like a whole barnyard of animals. I couldn’t see the lady’s face but half a dozen dogs, twice as many cats, a goat and bird or two — it was hard to make it out in the dark. Seaweed flew over to the sub as soon as he saw me, and came right to the hatch, so that I could have touched him if I wanted to.
“Hello there!” called the lady. “Creature from the deep.”
“Hello.”
“Are you from Atlantis?”
“No. Newfoundland.”
“You don’t look like a Newfoundlander to me.”
Neither do you, I thought, but didn’t say that out loud.
“Are you by yourself?”
“Yes. Well . . . except for him.”
I nodded towards Seaweed.
“All creatures of the sea are welcome here. Would you like to come in for tea?”
I hesitated. I looked around to see if anyone else was there.
“We live alone here. My friends and me.”
I noticed she called her pets “friends,” just as Ziegfried did.
“Um . . . I guess I could.”
“Wonderful! It has been so long since we had a creature from the sea come in for tea.”
I wondere
d who the last guest was.
I jumped to the rock and tied up the sub carefully to keep it from banging against the rocks. Seaweed stayed on the hatch; he wasn’t fussy about the dogs and cats. The dogs were fussy about me. They sniffed me from head to toe and made it impossible to walk.
“Ladies!” said the lady with the light, “give our guest some room, please!”
I followed her up the path to her cottage, built right into the rock. It was sheltered on three sides and open on one to the sea and sunrise.
“My name is Sheba. Like the queen. Welcome.”
“Thank you. My name is Alfred.”
“Like the king.”
“There was a King Alfred?”
“Alfred the Great! King of the Saxons. What kind of tea would you like?”
She smiled. She was tall, like Ziegfried. She had long, red hair that streamed down her back and shoulders in chains of little curls. Her face was bright and shiny. She had wide, green eyes and a large, red mouth. Every time she spoke she looked directly into my eyes. Her eyes twinkled. I liked her very much.
“Isn’t there only one kind of tea?”
“Only one kind of tea?”
She examined me as if I were a fish she had pulled from the sea.
“Isn’t tea just tea?”
“Oh my stars no. There are as many kinds of tea as there are shades of green. Do you know how many shades of green there are?”
“No.”
“Thousands.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll tell you what: I’ll choose a tea for you and you see if you like it. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I followed her into her kitchen. There were hanging pots and pans, bottles and jars, with powders and spices and every sort of thing. There were dried flowers and herbs hanging from the rafters and potted plants with tomatoes and peppers growing beneath bright lights. There were urns and bowls and vases, and some of the vases were filled with dried flowers and some with fresh. It was an indoor garden. Everything was bright and colourful.
