Look who's back boys and girls!! #some readers stand up in excitement, others cringe in fear#
Among viewers of Jackson's KK, there seems to be a general concensus that First Mate Hayes is right up there with Englehorn and Kong himself as one of the coolest, most badass characters in the movie. I entirely agree. This is why, when glancing over my fics to date, I was a bit puzzled and shocked to see that I hadn't done a story yet which primarily centered on him. Then I remembered there'd been a scene in the galley of the Venture where he and Lumpy had gravely told Carl and Preston about how they'd encountered a castaway several years ago while working on another ship. I felt that that poor survivor's tale deserved to be told in full, and that Hayes was just the man to tell it. One thing led to another, and this fanfic was the result!
Seemingly carved out of finest Egyptian alabaster, a half moon floated above the tranquil surface of the Red Sea, its light transforming the water into a limitless sheet of polished silver. Churning a furrow across it, softly muttering and strewn with lights of its own, was the Venture, headed for the Gulf of Aden and the Indian Ocean.
Benjamin Parker Hayes generally loved being at the steamer's helm, especially on fantastic nights like this, where there was no one in the wheelhouse but him, the sky, the stars and a calm sea as he held the familiar wood of the tiller and felt the engines throb below his feet. Then too, here in the tropics there was always a warm, pleasantly sultry mantle of air hanging about you, which suited Hayes plenty well.
Tonight though, the engines seemed to pump with all the horrid, maddening insistence of Poe's telltale heart, driving the first mate's own heart rate up to wild new heights, and the luxurious, indolent cloak of tropical warmth seemed suddenly constricting, smothering. It'd been that way for the past eight days, ever since Jimmy had told him about how that arrogant nitwit of a director, Carl Denham, evidently planned not to go to Singapore, but to Skull Island instead!
Very, very few things on God's green earth seriously frightened the first mate. He'd been in the thick of the unspeakable hell called The Great War over in Europe after all, battling both on his feet and in the trenches. Yet now, as it never failed to do, just thinking of the island's name, and the possibility-no, probability-that they might be going there, made Hayes's husky brown body twitch in a quick spasm of fear.
He wasn't the only one ill at ease on the tramp steamer. Although he'd as yet said nothing to his fellow sailors about what Jimmy had told him-it was still too early to tell for absolutely certain what Denham planned to do, and Hayes also knew better than to go yell "Fire!" among his superstitious comrades-that didn't mean Jimmy hadn't brought the subject up to others in conversation. Besides, the subdued, yet heated, arguments between the director and the captain weren't exactly beyond the notice of passerby.
Yes, somehow, someway, the nerve-plucking knowledge was disseminating all through the Venture's crew, like blood from a wound radiates out into a stricken man's shirt fabric. The crew was becoming infected with a psychological malaise, that vertigo of the morale that makes a person, even if in no immediate prospect of danger, feel like he or she has a few dozen crickets skittering around inside their stomach. His fellow crewmembers, normally hard-boiled as could be, had become antsy, spooky as deer, often lost focus now when doing tasks.
Hayes shook his head in frustration. It didn't need to be this way! He and Englehorn had known each other for five years, trusted each other with absolutely anything and everything, including their lives. He knew that if ever there was a man who had both feet on the ground, it was Rudi Englehorn. The German was the one who was unmistakably dominant on this vessel, and everyone agreed that it would be a cold day in hell before he ever acted the minion. Then why, why, was he playing ball for the likes of that loser pig of a director, willingly plunging them into unspeakable danger?
Yes, the last voyage had ended poorly, with the majority of the cargo, whether alive or inanimate, ending up damaged, swiped at various ports, or perishing en route. And then there'd been the fire in the hold…Hayes decided the less he thought about that incident, the better, and shoved it out of his mind. Still, desperate as Englehorn's finances were, there were other ways that they could recoup their losses, and there was no excuse to endanger every single soul on board by going to…well, that place. Hayes jerked again.
He decided to soothe his ever twisting nerves by saying one of his favorite poems out loud. Sea Fever, by John Masefield.
"I must go down to the seas again," he intoned, "to the lonely sea and the sky/ And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel's kick and the wind's song-"
His attention was seized then by the footsteps of another man, casually walking through the wheelhouse door. Looking over a square shoulder, Hayes saw Yuri Ekimov approaching him. In his late-20's, Ekimov's Russian ancestry was evident not just in his surname, but in his brilliant blue eyes, thick brown hair, and pale complexion. Despite his lean appearance, everyone aboard knew that the young sailor was deceptively strong, and not a half bad navigator.
"Say Ben, sorry to interrupt your one-man poetry recital," Yuri joshed in his thick accent, "but it's time for me to come up and take that wheel off your hands."
"Yeah, it's about that time," Hayes confirmed, glancing at his watch. Drawing back from the helm, he gave a vigorous stretch and yawned. "Lord, will it be great to sit down, then sleep," he sighed.
"I'm sure I'll be saying the exact same thing myself in several hours," Ekimov grinned, mustache curving in tandem with his upper lip.
As the young Russian took control of the ship, Hayes asked him, "I understand that you were out there on deck with some of the other fellas while Carl and Herb were doing evening shots of Ann and Bruce."
"Prademeh," Yuri confirmed.
"What did they do, if I may ask? Anything really interesting?"
"Well, Carl basically had Ann and Bruce walk together down the deck several times. Then he had Ann looking at the rising moon with a sort of dreamy expression on her face. They also did a scene where Bruce's character pressed his courtship with hers a bit more strongly, and it ended in him getting her to do a simple sort of waltz with him. Now, as for me, I prefer a lady who can do the Barynya or a Russian Quadrille when I'm courting!!"
Hayes lightly smiled in response.
"Anyhow," Yuri finished, "Ann did a great job, and as always looked like a goddess. There's something very special about her indeed," the Russian sighed fondly. Catching himself, he shot Hayes a rather embarrassed look before adding, "But as usual, Baxter overacted somewhat. I don't know why he insists on bringing a macho attitude into nearly every line he says and every single action he performs before the camera," he snorted scornfully.
"I think he's getting a little better as time goes by though. Miss Darrow has a surprising way of keeping him in check from what I've seen."
"That's sure true!" Yuri chuckled.
A swift, knowing smile flashed across Hayes's normally stoic face before he changed the subject.
"Well Yuri, you just keep on holding her on course like you're doing. I'm going to have something to drink in the galley and then jump into my bunk," Hayes told him before turning on his heel and striding out.
"Fair enough," Ekimov grunted. "Goodnight Ben."
The first mate was greeted by the heated, salt-smelling breeze as he plodded out onto the upper deck. Walking to one of the metal ladders that extended down to the main deck, he turned and, demonstrating surprising limberness for such a huge man, climbed down the rungs.
Opening a side door and striding into the hallway, he headed for the galley, where he intended to enjoy a well-needed, relaxing beer in solitude before going to his quarters. Stepping inside, he was surprised to see that he had company. It was Ann, easy on the eye even in a worn rose shirt, sitting at the table with a glass and a bottle of Red Label whiskey, head tilted forward as she ran her sleek fingers rather firmly through her flaxen curls.
It occurred to Hayes in that spilt second that Ann was jittery and troubled herself, and that he'd best retreat before he startled her. But it was too late.
She saw him and jerked upright in her chair with a thin, yelped "Ahh!" of shock, her great cobalt blue eyes widening like an owl's in her peach face.
Remorse rushed through Hayes's body as he apologized, "Oh Gosh Mam-Ann-, I didn't even know you were sitting in here! It's just me, Mr. Hayes."
Ann looked up at him, doubtfully, still tense. Then the strain in her muscles dissipated, and she let out a breath, saying in a protracted sigh, "Thank God. But boy, you could've chosen a better time to drop by on me."
"I'm very sorry for giving you such a fright Mam," Hayes earnestly repeated. "Of course, it doesn't help matters all that much when your skin color helps you blend in with the shadows so well," he wryly added.
Calming down, Ann delicately laughed. "I suppose not!"
Going to the fridge where the beer was kept, his back to Ann as he opened the lid and selected a bottle, he inquired, "So, how are you taking to these beautiful nights on the Red Sea, Miss Darrow?"
"They're grand as grand can be. I never knew how magnificent the stars and the moon could be beyond the city lights," she answered approvingly as he turned back to return to the table, picking a seat across from her. "Every day here brings wonderful new experiences. I'm seeing brand new worlds that I'd read about, but was never truly able to appreciate-until now!" she eagerly gushed. "Do you remember for example, how the sea was all pea green yesterday Mr. Hayes? Wasn't that something?"
"A striking sight," he agreed, really more to humor her. He'd seen the ocean in all its hues many times before. Noting the glass of whiskey she was sipping at, Hayes commented in perplexity, "Say, I didn't know you were the type of girl to drink, Miss Darrow," as he opened his own alcoholic beverage.
She gave a fleeting, awkward smile, her top incisors flashing. "I'm generally not. I've been known to enjoy the odd bottle of liquor with friends back in New York though, and I occasionally have a glass or two whenever I'm feeling upset or jittery-like tonight," she added. "But no, I don't exactly have a yen for the stuff."
Her words made a ribbon of suspicion slither into the first mate's mind. So she most likely knows now too, he thought.
To test it, he asked, "What's eating you exactly Miss Darrow?"
She looked at him, eyes blank, hesitant. Then, to his bafflement, they became flinty and hard, the pale skin of her brows knitting south in anger. "What's eating me Mr. Hayes?" she repeated, voice taking on an edge. "What's eating me is that Carl Denham is a complete faker!"
"How's that?" he asked, purposefully playing dumb.
"Don't tell me that you, of all people, don't know Mr. Hayes," she skeptically responded, giving him a pointed, sidelong glance.
"Oh, I think I do know Miss Darrow," he grimly replied, feeling the tension welling up inside once more, and a palpable pity that now the angelic woman before him would be forced to share in it too. "But go on."
"That man coaxes me into being his leading lady and going onto this ship by saying that we're all traipsing off to exotic, sunny Singapore. Now I find out from Percy that we're not going there, and we never were to begin with!"
"He's right, unfortunately. Have you confronted Denham about it yet?" Hayes carefully asked her. If this woman was going to take her wrath out on someone, he earnestly hoped that the director, not him, would be the one at the receiving end.
Ann gave a scornful, hate-tinged puff through bared teeth. "Hah, I gave him hell about it!" she spat. "I'd frankly be surprised if you hadn't heard it up in the wheelhouse."
In spite of his own apprehension, Hayes grinned at the image, replying "No actually, but I'd have loved to have seen you doing it. Did you manage to bully any more of the truth out of him?"
"Yes, but it was like pulling several teeth. But I think he's finally leveled with me in regards to what his real plans are, more or less."
"I suppose he told you the name of the…the place where he really wants to film?"
Nibbling her lip, Ann nodded tensely, her gaze now sweeping downward to the wooden tabletop. "He said that just because it was called Skull Island didn't mean it was actually a dangerous place, any more than Cape Fear is frightening or Block Island is covered with building blocks, or that Satan boils his spaghetti in Hell's Kitchen-and so on."
She stopped to take another gulp of scotch.
"But it does spook me anyhow Mr. Hayes! Makes my hair stand on end," she whispered.
"With very good reason Miss Darrow," he said meditatively, speaking more to himself than her.
That piqued her interest. "What do you mean? Have you ever been there?"
"No, I haven't," he admitted, shaking his head. "And I don't know anybody alive who has been. In fact, it hasn't 'officially' been discovered yet, far less placed on the map."
"Then why in the world do you and Carl even think it's real to begin with, especially if you don't have the proof?" Ann puzzled, deeply confused as she attentively searched his face, as if trying to read for additional information.
"Because Miss Darrow, I've heard plenty told about it, here at sea. And just because something isn't on a map or hasn't been seen by Western eyes doesn't mean it isn't there."
"Very true," she slowly nodded.
"But the biggest reason why I'm as certain that it exists as I am of anything…Well, it's because of a rather unsettling experience Bert and I had several years ago on a Norwegian vessel," he revealed.
"Lumpy?" she said in amazement, recognizing the cook's true name. "You and Lumpy knew each other and worked together even before coming on the Venture?"
"By a serendipitous chance, we did," he affirmed. "What happened to us seven years ago though, was anything but that. In fact, I really don't think you should hear it Miss Darrow," he warned, feeling uneasy at the very idea and considering taking his leave.
Sometimes though, people just don't know what's best for them. "I can bear it," she confidently assured him. "If we're going there, I need to find out more about this place, no matter how horrid what you have to say is," she implored. "Carl won't tell me Hayes, because I don't think he even knows himself."
Hayes was adamant. "No Miss Darrow, this is something that even many men probably shouldn't hear, far less a sweet girl like you."
The expansive blue eyes rolled wearily in their sockets. "Benjamin Hayes. You don't have to try to shelter me from the ways of the world! I've come across it all before."
"Well, not anything like this mam," Hayes responded, crossing his arms. "I'm going to take this to my cabin now," he announced, gesturing at the bottle, "and for your part, forget I ever said anything about the island."
"For cripes sakes, quit the act Mr. Hayes!" Ann snapped with an unexpected savagery as he began to rise from his seat. "There are times when I think it's sweet for a man to guard me from distress, and times like now when it only annoys me to no end! You owe it to me to tell me what I may be getting into, so I can prepare myself for it!"
The first mate blinked his eyes in something nearing shock at the actress's outburst. He decided he'd rather have her distressed at the secondhand account over being sore at him. With a husky sigh, he sat back down, leaned forward, and meshed his great brown fingers together.
"All right," he told her. "This is the full story, and as true as can be, Miss Darrow."
"All you need to know," he began, "is that in the fall of 26', Lumpy and I were working jobs on a Norwegian barque, or windjammer."
"What exactly is a windjammer?" Ann cut in.
"It's a huge sailing ship, with four tall masts, a wooden deck, and an iron hull, used mainly for transporting cargo. Ours was called the Sort Sel, or Black Seal in Norweigan."
"Thanks. I don't know very much about ships, I'm afraid."
"That's OK, Miss Darrow. Anyway," the first mate went on, "on this particular voyage, we were headed to Batavia, near the west tip of Java, with a cargo of grain. It was more or less uneventful as voyages went. When we were eight days away from docking though, a hundred or so miles due west of Sumatra, that all changed…" He hesitantly tapered his account off, looking into Ann's face as he weighed the wisdom of telling her the grim parts.
"Go on Mr. Hayes," she urged eagerly, "and don't you leave anything out."
"Well," he recalled, "even seven years later I can remember the incident clearly. It was a dazzling, hot morning, no clouds, and a slow breeze in our sails. We'd all eaten breakfast and were attending to our duties. Bert was throwing the leftovers off the ship's stern while I was repainting a portion of the deck. Suddenly, we heard Claude Peltier, who was up in the crow's nest at the time, yell out, 'Castaway! Castaway in the water, half a mile to port at two o' clock!'"
"Naturally, I and everyone else dropped what we were doing and rushed to the port side, while the first mate immediately turned the Sort Sel hard to port, heading right for the unfortunate man, who was perched on a crude wooden raft."
"Did that poor fellow see that you were coming to help him?" Ann asked.
"Absolutely. I think in fact, that he saw our ship even before Claude saw him. He was hardly able to do much more than kneel, but he was bouncing up and down and waving his arms, although weakly."
"Anyhow, as our ship approached him, we could see that he'd made a raft, only slightly longer than his body, out of logs and branches, tied together with vines and creepers. There was a sort of stick frame near the head end, to which he'd attached a couple large palm fronds, I guess to protect him from the sun."
"Smart thinking," Ann said approvingly.
Hayes nodded in agreement. "Some crewmembers lowered a lifeboat, paddled out, and brought him aboard. I stayed on the deck myself, but helped hoist him out of the lifeboat when it returned."
He paused, spine tingling at the memory that blossomed once more in his head, like a cankerous bud. "The fellow I helped pull to safety was an Englishman, in his mid-thirties, with sleek red hair and blue, haunted, frightened eyes. By the looks of things, he'd been in the water, drifting and alone, for three or four days. He…he was in truly horrid shape Miss Darrow."
"Oh my goodness," Ann whispered. "To be all alone like that...just waiting to die…I bet he looked like death warmed over after being on that raft for so long."
"You bet he did," Hayes grimly assured her. "Even though he'd had the sense to make a crude sunshade, he was still terribly sunburned, to the point where he had blisters and was beet red. His skin was also chafed raw and bleeding in some places, where his clothing or the logs had been rubbing against it. But the worst he'd suffered at the hands of the sea was dehydration. He'd gone without water long enough that his skin was all wrinkled, his eyes looked hollow, sunken, and he was drifting in and out of delirium. But that was only the half of what he'd suffered."
"Oh my, you mean that he'd gone through even worse Mr. Hayes?" Ann gasped, her fingertips gliding up to her parted lips. "That's already too much for a man to suffer!"
"Yes, he had Miss Darrow. Once on deck, we could see that he had bloody rips in his shirt and trousers, each one a wound that we figured he must've somehow received even before he ended up in the water."
"What sorts of lumps had he taken, Mr. Hayes?" Ann enquired, now a little timorously.
"Well, his left shoulder looked like it had been dislocated with a massive sideways blow from something heavy, yet covered in sharp things as well, then was later popped back into place when he got away. At least, that's what I thought from the way his shirt and his shoulder were all gashed at that place. He also had a sort of big, half-circle bruise across his forearms, and puncture marks in both the top and bottom of it, as if something had grabbed him that way, hard enough to crush the flesh and pierce his skin, but had then released him."
"Each of his lower legs, especially the calf muscles, had been bitten at least four times. I guessed-correctly, as it turned out-whatever caused them was deliberately trying to hamstring him, just like wolves will with a deer. He also had two deep slashes, one right down his back, one over the small of it at an angle. It looked like a tiger had clawed him, except there were just three claw marks instead of five."
"Last of all, there was a sort of glancing stab wound on his right side, like someone had tried to get a knife between his ribs, but they hadn't been in the best position to do it."
"I can't believe he could've been injured so badly and still be able to make a raft, then manage to hang on for days on end at sea in addition to that," Ann responded, voice permeated with incredulous shock. "Those wounds just make me cringe."
"Even more so when you're actually looking at them," he said. "But he still didn't look like he was beyond help though. Four of the crew brought him to the galley, where they placed him on the table so Jens, our ship's doctor, could examine the fellow and treat his wounds. Meanwhile, several of us brought him some food, which he gratefully accepted, and plenty of water. Not surprisingly, he drank it down like a crazy thing."
"I would sure imagine," Ann said. "Did he tell you anything about what had happened to him?"
"Yes, but that came a bit later. After Jens had cleaned and bandaged his wounds, and he'd had enough to drink and eat, he thanked us greatly of course for rescuing him and giving him water, food, and medical attention. He then briefly informed us that his name was Kermit Oxley, that he was from an English village called Swansea, and that he'd escaped from 'the very Devil's island,' as he put it. But he was far too tired to go into more detail, so we found a bunk for him, carried him there, and let him sleep."
"Kermit slept for at least eighteen hours, if I remember right. Now and again, he'd wake up and drink deeply of the water we'd put by his bedside. Like I told you before, he'd gone so long without water that he was suffering periods of delirium, and he had three of those during the first couple hours before the water fully got into his system."
"What did he do or say during those times? Anything especially odd?" Ann asked.
"I didn't see the greater part of them myself, but I would hear him scream and yell in pure terror during those times. Sometimes Kermit would begin rapidly pleading or praying, although I don't think he understood any of what he was saying. If you were in the room with him, he would thrash in the sheets, kick, struggle, punch at the air."
"Besides screaming and pleading, he also gasped out pretty whacko-sounding things about dragons, darkness, fighting with demons, monsters, savages, and so on."
"Really Mr. Hayes? What did you make of that talk? It would scare the daylights out of me," Ann shuddered, "and that's saying something."
"I didn't really know what to dope out from it at the time, actually," the first mate shrugged. "It gave us something of a very unsettling feeling though, like maybe he truly had seen and experienced such things, and that he'd suffered major harm from them. On the other hand though, a man in the state Kermit was in could well see and say practically anything when delirious. So who could tell?"
"Finally though, after a little more than a day had passed, Kermit essentially was back to normal. He could walk and speak okay, took meals in the galley, went out on deck, and seemed healthy-except he still had that strained, troubled, traumatized look in his eyes."
"I don't know exactly why he chose to give us his account so soon. Maybe Kermit felt somehow that he had to warn us, warn everyone, as fast as possible. Perhaps it was because by getting it out into the open, he felt it could release some of the anguish and horror. Or maybe he just wanted it to be his epitaph," the first mate speculated out loud.
"As the sun was just beginning to touch the horizon that afternoon, I was spending some free time fishing off the side when Lumpy and Heru, an Indonesian sailor, came and told me that Kermit had requested for everybody to meet in the galley, because he was going to tell about how he came to be here."
"When we came in, Kermit was seated in a chair, shaved, his red hair combed, wearing fresh clothes. He looked uncertain, yet determined. Everyone else was standing or sitting in front of him. When we were all assembled, he thanked us once more for helping him. Then, he seemed to gather up his courage, and began."
"He told us that before all these events had started, he had been sailing on a British cutter known as the S.S. Orion, out of Goa, India, helping to patrol shipping lanes as a lance corporal. He claimed that one of the ships they encountered during their voyage was a fishing vessel from Ceylon. As was standard procedure, they boarded it, to check for any illegal cargo. They didn't find any, but they saw that in his quarters, the ship's captain had several utterly gorgeous turquoise-green pearls, like nothing they'd ever seen. He also had a fur seal skull, and they were all at a loss at how someone whose ship had no reason to leave the northern Indian Ocean had obtained such a thing."
"According to Kermit, the captain claimed that both the stunning pearls and the fur seal skull were gifts from one of his cousins, an experienced pearl diver who had been missing for several months, and was now presumed to be dead. Shortly before he vanished though, the cousin had returned from one voyage and told the captain that he'd stumbled across a craggy jungle island, far out in the ocean, where there were incredible beds of oysters. From them, he'd harvested many pearls, of a color and luster which he'd never seen or imagined. He was known to have gone there twice more, allowing the captain to have a few pearls before selling the rest after the first visit, then giving him the skull of a bull fur seal after the second trip, saying that there were large colonies of these animals on the island's beaches. The third time he went though, he never returned."
"Oh my, that's sure spooky," Ann shivered, eyes flickering with unease.
Hayes nodded, feeling somewhat spooked himself. "Very much so. But all Kermit and his shipmates on the Orion could think about after that was those fabulous pearls, and the valuable seal skins waiting to be harvested. With the barest of directions given by the Ceylonese captain, they headed southward, to find and claim that island."
"They did find it, I'm betting," Ann ventured.
"That's right. Kermit said that around dawn one day, the Orion encountered a thick, huge bank of fog, right in the middle of the ocean. The fog seemed to be obscuring an island, so they carefully went closer. But to their dismay, the fog also turned out to be hiding many rocky reefs and pinnacles too. The Orion's hull was stove in. Within half an hour it sunk, and Kermit was one of only five people to battle through the powerful surf to shore and survive."
Ben Hayes found himself looking not at Ann then, but more through her, past her, as he took another pull at his beer. "At that point," he said distantly, "his story became truly weird, and absolutely chilling. He and his surviving shipmates all managed to find each other, and collected themselves. The area of the coastline that they'd been stranded on was too rocky and dangerous to camp on, so they all headed into the island's jungle. As they walked, they occasionally encountered old, cracked, half broken, strange structures of stone-idols, statues, platforms, temples, houses-that had been built by human beings, but were clearly long abandoned."
"Kermit also attested that as they walked, they often traveled on trails through the jungle that reminded him of the ones deer make in the forest. Those trails though, were so wide that they were more like thoroughfares, with great clawed tracks of various shapes in the mud that he said were as immense as car hoods. Along the way, they saw strange gliding lizards that reminded him of ones that he'd seen in the Dutch East Indies, frogs the size of hares, a feathered lizard, odd parrots that had naked heads and necks like vultures, orb-weaving spiders bigger than your palm, and were harassed by mosquitoes that he said were the size of sparrows. Once they encountered two strange, flightless birds that he said looked like a cross between a Pteranodon and a marabou stork, which peered at them for several seconds before running off into the jungle."
One of Ann's penciled eyebrows rose in a skeptical arch as she lightly cocked her head. "Feathered lizards Mr. Hayes? Enormous clawed tracks and mosquitoes big as sparrows? Sounds to me like either this Kermit was either not nearly as okay as he seemed, or that he sure knew how to tell one helluva convincing tall tale."
"Hey, I know it doesn't make any sense either Miss Darrow," the first mate conceded, "and I halfway felt he was either addled or seriously embellishing his account too. And yet…well, astounding things and creatures are being discovered all the time these days, and he spoke so sincerely that you just knew that he was telling us things just as he'd perceived them."
"At any rate, his group climbed on top of a craggy ridge to get a better look at their surroundings. When they did, they laid eyes on a huge, jagged section of stone wall near the bottom that Kermit said was a hundred feet high, and in contrast to the other ruins they'd seen, looked as sturdy as it had been on the day it was completed centuries ago, winding off into the distance on both sides of his vision."
"Hmm. Sounds an awful lot like the Great Wall of China to me," Ann said thoughtfully. "Even I know that the Chinese made that to keep out invaders, and it sounds like that huge wall was probably made for the same reason too, I'm guessing."
"Right on the money Miss Darrow," Hayes said, pleased with her deduction abilities. "Kermit told us that they'd all had the same impression too. At that point though, one of the men in their group, Russell Fletcher, saw several faint plumes of smoke rising into the air, more or less to the southwest. That meant other people were here on the island with them, and they decided to head in that direction. They couldn't get over or through the great wall though, so they were forced to just walk alongside it for a few minutes. To their good luck however, they soon discovered what seemed to have been an ancient drainage channel that had been carved into the bottom, and slipped through it in single file, out into the jungle on the other side."
At that, Hayes couldn't help but halt, and fidget involuntarily.
"Then what happened to Kermit, Russell, and the others, Hayes?" Ann excitedly prodded.
"That was the point when things got really ugly and scary for them, Miss Darrow," Hayes informed her. "Make no mistake, this part of it will hurt. It even left us speechless, which is saying something for sailors," he pointed out.
"Just keep on like you're doing Mr. Hayes," Ann impatiently urged. "Don't think you have to protect me somehow."
After taking a deep breath and a swallow of beer, Hayes continued, "Kermit said that shortly after they'd gotten under the wall, they came into a clearing where they saw a herd of huge animals. As for what kind they were-well, he told us himself that he knew that he'd seem as mad as a March hare, crazy as a loon to say this. 'But I swear on the very lives of my blessed mum and my father, and the Holy Scriptures themselves, good chaps,' he proclaimed, 'that this is the cold hard truth about what we saw in that field. There was a whole herd of duckbilled dinosaurs before us, grazing like cattle.'"
Watch for Chapter Two, the concluding chapter, at a later date. And of course, let me know what you thought!