Read Online Dolphin Island by Arthur C. Clarke - Free Book Online
Authors: Arthur C. Clarke
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promised a treat.
“Good,” he said briskly. “Everyone at the jetty in twenty minutes.”
Johnny was there in five. It was the first time he had ever been aboard a boat (the
Santa Anna
, of course, hardly counted, for he had seen so little), and he was determined not
to miss anything. He had already been ordered down from the cruiser’s crow’s-nest,
thirty feet above the deck, when the Professor came aboard—smoking a huge cigar, wearing
an eye-searing Hawaiian shirt, and carrying camera, binoculars, and brief case. “Let’s
go!” he said. The
Flying Fish
went.
She stopped again at the edge of the reef, when she had emerged from the channel cut
through the coral.
“What’re we waiting for?” Johnny asked Mick as they leaned over the handrails and
looked at the receding island.
“I’m not sure,” Mick answered, “but I can guess—ah, here they come! The Professor
probably called them through the underwater speakers, though they usually turn up
anyway.”
Two dolphins were approaching the
Flying Fish
, jumping high in the air as if to draw attention to themselves. They came right up
to the boat—and, to Johnny’s surprise, were promptly taken aboard. This was done by
a crane which lowered a canvas sling into the water, as each of the dolphins swam
into it in turn, it was raised on deck and dropped into a small tank of water at the
stern. There was barely room for the two animals in this little aquarium, but they
seemed perfectly at ease. Clearly, they had done this many times before.
“Einar and Peggy,” said Mick. “Two of the brightest dolphins we ever had. The Professor
let them loose several years ago, but they never go very far away.”
“How can you tell one from the other?” asked Johnny. “They all look the same to me.”
Mick scratched his fuzzy head.
“Now you ask me, I’m not sure I can say. But Einar’s easy—see that scar on his left
flipper? And his girl friend is usually Peggy, so there you are. Well, I
think
it’s Peggy,” he added doubtfully.
The
Flying Fish
had picked up speed, and was now moving away from the island at about ten knots.
Her skipper (one of Mick’s numerous uncles) was waiting until they were clear of all
underwater obstacles before giving her full throttle.
The reef was two miles astern when he let down the big skis and opened up the hydrojets.
With a surge of power, the
Flying Fish
lurched forward, then slowly gained speed and rose out of the water. In a few hundred
yards, the whole body of the boat was clear of the sea, and her drag had been reduced
to a fraction of its normal amount. She could skate above the waves at fifty knots,
with the same power that she needed to plow through them at ten.
It was exhilarating to stand on the open foredeck—keeping a firm grip of the rigging—and
to face the gale that the boat made as she skimmed the ocean. But after a while, somewhat
windswept and breathless, Johnny retreated to the sheltered space behind the bridge
and watched Dolphin Island sink behind the horizon. Soon it was only a green-covered
raft of white sand floating on the sea; then it was a narrow bar on the skyline; then
it was gone.
They passed several similar, but smaller, islands in the next hour; they were all,
according to Mick, quite uninhabited. From a distance they looked so delightful that
Johnny wondered why they had been left empty in this crowded world. He had not been
on Dolphin Island long enough to realize all the problems of power, water, and supplies
that were involved if one wished to establish a home on the Great Barrier Reef.
There was no land in sight when the
Flying Fish
suddenly slowed down, plopped back into the water, and came to a dead halt.
“Quiet, please, everybody,” shouted the skipper. “Prof wants to do some listening!”
He did not listen for long. After about five minutes, he emerged from the cabin, looking
rather pleased with
“Good,” he said briskly. “Everyone at the jetty in twenty minutes.”
Johnny was there in five. It was the first time he had ever been aboard a boat (the
Santa Anna
, of course, hardly counted, for he had seen so little), and he was determined not
to miss anything. He had already been ordered down from the cruiser’s crow’s-nest,
thirty feet above the deck, when the Professor came aboard—smoking a huge cigar, wearing
an eye-searing Hawaiian shirt, and carrying camera, binoculars, and brief case. “Let’s
go!” he said. The
Flying Fish
went.
She stopped again at the edge of the reef, when she had emerged from the channel cut
through the coral.
“What’re we waiting for?” Johnny asked Mick as they leaned over the handrails and
looked at the receding island.
“I’m not sure,” Mick answered, “but I can guess—ah, here they come! The Professor
probably called them through the underwater speakers, though they usually turn up
anyway.”
Two dolphins were approaching the
Flying Fish
, jumping high in the air as if to draw attention to themselves. They came right up
to the boat—and, to Johnny’s surprise, were promptly taken aboard. This was done by
a crane which lowered a canvas sling into the water, as each of the dolphins swam
into it in turn, it was raised on deck and dropped into a small tank of water at the
stern. There was barely room for the two animals in this little aquarium, but they
seemed perfectly at ease. Clearly, they had done this many times before.
“Einar and Peggy,” said Mick. “Two of the brightest dolphins we ever had. The Professor
let them loose several years ago, but they never go very far away.”
“How can you tell one from the other?” asked Johnny. “They all look the same to me.”
Mick scratched his fuzzy head.
“Now you ask me, I’m not sure I can say. But Einar’s easy—see that scar on his left
flipper? And his girl friend is usually Peggy, so there you are. Well, I
think
it’s Peggy,” he added doubtfully.
The
Flying Fish
had picked up speed, and was now moving away from the island at about ten knots.
Her skipper (one of Mick’s numerous uncles) was waiting until they were clear of all
underwater obstacles before giving her full throttle.
The reef was two miles astern when he let down the big skis and opened up the hydrojets.
With a surge of power, the
Flying Fish
lurched forward, then slowly gained speed and rose out of the water. In a few hundred
yards, the whole body of the boat was clear of the sea, and her drag had been reduced
to a fraction of its normal amount. She could skate above the waves at fifty knots,
with the same power that she needed to plow through them at ten.
It was exhilarating to stand on the open foredeck—keeping a firm grip of the rigging—and
to face the gale that the boat made as she skimmed the ocean. But after a while, somewhat
windswept and breathless, Johnny retreated to the sheltered space behind the bridge
and watched Dolphin Island sink behind the horizon. Soon it was only a green-covered
raft of white sand floating on the sea; then it was a narrow bar on the skyline; then
it was gone.
They passed several similar, but smaller, islands in the next hour; they were all,
according to Mick, quite uninhabited. From a distance they looked so delightful that
Johnny wondered why they had been left empty in this crowded world. He had not been
on Dolphin Island long enough to realize all the problems of power, water, and supplies
that were involved if one wished to establish a home on the Great Barrier Reef.
There was no land in sight when the
Flying Fish
suddenly slowed down, plopped back into the water, and came to a dead halt.
“Quiet, please, everybody,” shouted the skipper. “Prof wants to do some listening!”
He did not listen for long. After about five minutes, he emerged from the cabin, looking
rather pleased with
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