The Fabulous Beast by Garry Kilworth Page B

over the last two days. Our spirits were lifted and we began the day thanking God for breathing the breath of Heaven over our flotilla. Anxious to make progress Amerigo called for us to step from our rafts and take up the ribbons again, which most of us did with alacrity. Some will always complain and dispute with authority, for that is the nature of men, but when these rebels saw their fellows begin to haul they soon felt the prickings of pride and walked out to take up the traces before we pulled too far ahead. We had a fair day of it, with light winds and a few short periods of sunshine. It is amazing how the sun may fill a man’s soul with hope.
    The going was not easy, we having to haul the rafts up the slopes of waves the size of Rome’s hills. But for every up there is a down and just when we thought our lungs would split with the effort we found ourselves treading down into watery-green valleys smooth as glass. It was in one such valley that some wild dolphins came and investigated our expedition. They leapt from the water, crying gleefully, wanting play. There were dolphin-imitators amongst us who confused the poor creatures by repeating their calls and even countering them. Some claim that dolphins have a language which can be learned, but while I feel these sea animals might communicate between themselves I have doubts that any human can converse with them in any meaningful way. The tame dolphins can be called to their corrals at night, even be given instructions – a series of commands – but conversation is a much higher skill.
    Today too, sadly, we lost our first comrade. A zealous marine soldier was striding out in front. In his eagerness to be seen to be doing his duty he failed to notice a dark patch on the ocean. This was no subsea monster, nor anything like, but a huge clotted mass of seaweed floating just below the surface. It became entangled around the poor man’s ankles as he strove to navigate this hidden snare.
    A faltered step, a terror-filled moment when he realised he was going down, and then the fall. A gasping choking cry for help, a frantic thrashing of the surface, before the greenery which indeed seemed a living thing enfolded his flailing arms. We saw him struggling with his green trap, unable to reach him. By the time safety ropes were thrown only his head showed above the sea. He seemed unable to lift his hands, the weed perhaps being too heavy for them to penetrate. Then with a last despairing cry he was gone, disappearing beneath the water, most likely entangled forever. We could not even recover the body. None dared traverse the deadly vegetable. The marine was left to float within the enfolding vines, going where the currents took him and his creeper grave.
    Such innocent-seeming perils there are out on the open waters of the world, waiting to entrap unwary walkers. There would be more to follow, we had little doubt. Valour was needed, courage required. At such times we promised one another that we would be vigilant in the protection of our comrades, secretly knowing that no matter how strong the watch there would always be that unseen danger which would manifest itself.
    It is foreseen that we will have at least two months on this desert of water. Those mathematicians, using facts concerning the cycles of planets and stars; and calculating the distance travelled by winds, their strengths and direction; and informed by currents and swells on the ocean, say that our goal is at least 2,000 miles from the Irish shore.
    We walk at 3 miles an hour for 8 hours a day. By this means we understand it will take us two months to cross these watery wastes and reach the Indies. Much of this journey will be drudgery. Some of it will be delightful. A little – a very little we hope – will be fraught with danger. Would that we had wings and could fly such a journey! Today I saw a shearwater skimming the surface of the sea. The first bird I have noted since we left the waders and gulls of