hen these things, growing
larger, until at last the bottom was hidden by their intercoiling forms,
and the tips of tentacles rose darkly here and there into the air above
the swell of the waters.

One came up boldly to the side of the boat, and clinging to this with
three of its sucker-set tentacles, threw four others over the gunwale, as
if with an intention either of oversetting the boat or of clambering into
it. Mr. Fison at once caught up the boat-hook, and, jabbing furiously at
the soft tentacles, forced it to desist. He was struck in the back and
almost pitched overboard by the boatman, who was using his oar to resist a
similar attack on the other side of the boat. But the tentacles on either
side at once relaxed their hold, slid out of sight, and splashed into the
water.

"We'd better get out of this," said Mr. Fison, who was trembling
violently. He went to the tiller, while the boatman and one of the workmen
seated themselves and began rowing. The other workman stood up in the fore
part of the boat, with the boat-hook, ready to strike any more tentacles
that might appear. Nothing else seems to have been said. Mr. Fison had
expressed the common feeling beyond amendment. In a hushed, scared mood,
with faces white and drawn, they set about escaping from the position into
which they had so recklessly blundered.

But the oars had scarcely dropped into the water before dark, tapering,
serpentine ropes had bound them, and were about the rudder; and creeping
up the sides of the boat with a looping motion came the suckers again. The
men gripped their oars and pulled, but it was like trying to move a boat
in a floating raft of weeds. "Help here!" cried the boatman, and Mr. Fison
and the second workman rushed to help lug at the oar.

Then the man with the boat-hook--his name was Ewan, or Ewen--sprang up
with a curse and began striking downward over the side, as far as he could
reach, at the bank of tentacles that now clustered along the boat's
bottom. And, at the same time, the two rowers stood up to get a better
purchase for the recovery of their oars. The boatman handed his to Mr.
Fison, who lugged desperately, and, meanwhile, the boatman opened a big
clasp-knife, and leaning over the side of the boat, began hacking at the
spiring arms upon the oar shaft.

Mr. Fison, staggering with the quivering rocking of the boat, his teeth
set, his breath coming short, and the veins starting on his hands as he
pulled at his oar,