The Strife of the Sea

by T. Jenkins Hains

Instantly the boats were jerked half under water. Settling back as far as they could, they both tried to keep the bows of the towing craft from being towed under, and the line had to be slacked again and again to save them. Away they went, one behind the other, the ray leading, Samuels’ boat next, with him in the stern-sheets, holding a turn of the line which led over the runner in the stem, and the new keeper, standing with steering oar in hand, slewing his flying craft first one side and then the other to keep dead in the wake.

The breeze making from the sea sent the spray over the boats in sheets, but they held on. The devil was heading for the bar under full speed, for the iron had pricked him sorely in the side, and he was a little taken aback at this sudden reception. He could not yet grasp the situation, and would circle about before coming close to the small craft again. But there was something dragging upon him that began to cause alarm. There was a line to the thing that pricked so sore. The feeling at first caused a desire to escape from the unknown enemy, but gradually as the pain increased anger began to take the place of fright, and he tried to find out just who his enemies were. He swerved near the can buoy and broached clear of the sea to get a better view. The crash he made as he struck the sea again sent the spray high in the air, and the line was whirled out with renewed force.

But the men behind him had no thought of letting go. With lance in hand Samuels waited patiently for a chance to haul line. As long as the toggle would hold there was little chance for the iron drawing, for the skin of the ray was as tough as leather, and the flesh beneath it was firm.

On and on they went, the flood tide setting strong against them. The swell from beyond the bar was now felt, and the ocean sparkled in the sunshine where it was ruffled by the outside breeze. Two, three miles were traversed, but there was no slacking of the tremendous pace. The ray evidently intended to get to sea before attempting to make any change in his actions. He was going at a ten-knot gait, keeping now close to the bottom, and heading right through the north breaker, which rolled in curved lines of white foam upon the bar. The channel he cared not the least for, and Samuels watched the roaring line of white with concern. The small boats would make bad weather of the surf, even though the sea was smooth, for the swell rose high and fell heavily, making a deep rumbling snore which grew louder and louder as they approached. Far away the lighthouse shone in the sunshine, and the buoys stood out like black specks to mark the way through the channel.

Samuels got out his hatchet ready for a sudden cut at the line if the surf proved too dangerous. They were nearing the inner line of breakers, and it would be only a matter of minutes before they were either through or swamped. There must be some hasty judgment, but it must be as accurate as it would be hasty, for there would be no chance to change his mind when the water rose ahead. It was breaking in a good fathom and more.

The sea-devil seemed to know what was in store for the boats towing behind. He broached again and took a good look astern where they flew along behind him. Then with redoubled speed he tore through the inner line of breaking water, and before Samuels could grab the hatchet to cut loose, his boat rose upon a crested breaker and plunged headlong over into the trough beyond, pulling the assistant through, and almost swamping him. It was now too late to let go. Ahead was another wall of rising water which would break in an instant, and the only thing to do was to go on and trust to the boat’s riding over it all right. To turn the slightest, one side or the other, meant to be rolled over in the rush of foam.

Samuels held on grimly. Once outside he hoped to haul line and come to close quarters with the devil. Then he would deal with him in a more satisfactory manner. That long lance would be brought into play, and the fight would be with the odds upon his side. But he had reckoned somewhat hastily with this outcast of the ocean. All the fearless cunning of the sea-scavenger was being brought into play. The pain in his side where the iron held was making him more and more savage. He saw it was useless to run away, for the iron held his pursuers to him. He had only intended to make a short run at the beginning, and then turn to meet whatever there was in the shape of a foe. There was little fear in his make-up. The sudden alarm at the stroke of the iron was merely the natural instinct of the wild creature to keep out of harm’s way. He had intended to come back and try his hand with the small craft, only he would not run into unknown trouble. It would be wiser to take things easy and approach the matter slowly, watching a good chance to make a rush in when a fitting opportunity occurred. But because he would go slow he would be none the less implacable. He had never withdrawn from a fight yet, and his peculiar tenacity had more than once brought him off victor when the odds were against him. He was wary—an old wary fighter who began the struggle slowly only to learn the forces opposed to him. When the issue was well begun he would break forth in a fury unequaled in any other denizen of the ocean. The continual pain of the pulling-iron was now goading him into a condition of frenzied fury. In a moment he would turn, just as soon as he had the small craft well into the foaming water, where he knew it would be difficult to navigate.

Samuels had thought of the ray’s probable run for shoal water, and dreaded coming up with him in the surf. He could not turn his small boat broadside to the breakers without getting rolled over and swamped, and his oars would be useless to pull clear with the iron fast. He hoped the ray would make for the bottom in the deep water beyond and pull him through. Just as the outer breaker rose ahead the line suddenly slacked.

This was what Samuels dreaded most, and he began to haul in hand over hand. Instead, however, of the line leading ahead, it suddenly let off to starboard, and he was forced to let it go and take to his oars to keep the boat’s head to the sea that was now upon her. He called to the new keeper, who let go the line between the boats, to take out his oars also. Both now headed straight for the crest, which instantly broke over them, half filling Samuels’ craft and settling her almost to the gunwales. At that moment the line came taut with a jerk. It swung the boat’s head off broadside to the sea, and the next minute the breaker rolled her over and over. As it did so a giant form rose like a huge bat from the foam with mouth agape and flukes extended, its tail stretching out behind, and the line from the harpoon trailing. Down it came with a crash which resounded above the roar of the surf, and the boat disappeared from view.

Samuels had by good luck been thrown clear of the craft when the sea struck, and his head appeared a fathom distant just as the devil crashed down. It was a close call. Then, as the half-sinking boat returned slowly, bottom up, to the surface, he made for it with all speed.