A few feet away, out of range of the axe, and lifting itself bodily out of the water, was the dread form of the cuttle, apparently all head, with distended gills and monstrous eyes.
The sailor's feet were planted wide apart.

With frenzied effort he hacked at the murderous tentacles, but the water hindered him, and he was forced to lean back, in superhuman strain, to avoid losing his balance.

If once this terrible assailant got him down he knew he was lost.

The very need to keep his feet prevented him from attempting to deal a mortal blow.
The cuttle was anchored by three of its tentacles.

Its remaining arm darted with sinuous activity to again clutch the man's face or neck.
With the axe he smote madly at the curling feeler, diverting its aim time and again, but failing to deliver an effective stroke.
With agonized prescience the sailor knew that he was yielding.