“Good Lord!” said Swanscott, “what’s up, Captain?”
“I don’t know, sir,” said the old man, seriously enough. “I don’t understand it one bit. We must go aboard.” He turned to the Mate, “Where did that hawser carry away, Mr. Marsh?” he asked.
“Didn’t carry away at all, sir,” replied the officer. “Must have come free off the bollard or the bitts, or wherever that fool Bo’sun made it fast!”
“Mighty queer,” said the Captain, and went down to see whether the boat was all ready; for he was in trouble to discover what had happened, and intended personally to investigate this curious happening.
Presently he and the two friends, with three of the boat’s crew, stood on the soaked decks and looked round. The Captain looked forrard and aft; then he put his hands to his mouth:
“Bosun!” he sang out. “Bo’sun!”
But there came back only the little hollow echoes from the high bulkhead of the t’gallant fo’c’sle, and the low break of the half-poop. He turned to one of the men.
“Back into the boat, my lad, and go across to the yacht. Ask Mr. Marsh to pass you down two ox three lamps. Smart, now!”
When the lamps arrived they were distributed among the party, and a thorough search was made; but nothing was found. The four men and the Bo’sun had gone utterly and entirely; and the only supposition that could be made was that the wreck had shipped a heavy sea during the squall and washed some of the men overboard, and that the rest had been lost in trying to save them; for it was folly to suppose that one sea, or even a series, would remove five men from the different parts of the decks of the derelict; for except under the circumstances suggested by the Captain, if the wreck had been much swept by water, the crew would have taken refuge in the rigging until the squall was gone. And you must know that all the time under their reasoning everyone was vaguely uneasy. The explanation was possible, just barely possible, but certainly improbable. But then, again, so was any other explanation that anyone had to offer. Hay thought of the Captain’s talk about “sailors’ lights,” and stopped himself; for it made him uncomfortable and miserable; so that in a less impressed mood he would have reproved himself for feeling superstitious.
“And you know,” said the Captain in an undertone to Swanscott and Hay, “you know she ain’t sloppin’ any water aboard to speak of, an’ I can’t see how she done much in that squall. It was stiff, that’s so; but there was no time for the sea to rise. It’s a corker.”
Presently they left the wreck and went aboard the yacht for a consultation. Here it was decided finally to wait for the morning, and then to see what could be done in the way of blowing the wreck to pieces, though the Captain was not sanguine, for, as he said: “You can’t get at ’er to put the charges in.”
It was at this point that the Second Mate arrived on the scene.
“I hope you’ll forgive me, sir,” he said, looking at the Captain and the owner. “I feel it’s cheeky of me to push myself in like this; but the Mate tells me you’re giving up the idea of our salving the derelict,” and he nodded towards where she lay, with the searchlight still playing upon her.
“Yes,” said Swanscott gravely. “We can’t allow anyone else to risk it aboard of her, even if we could get them to go. I’m very grieved indeed about what has happened.”
“Well, sir,” said the Second Mate, “let me go. I’ll go alone. I’m not afraid. I’ll lash myself secure and rig a few life-lines. The salvage money means a lot to me, sir. I wish you’d let me.”
At first both the owner and the Captain were firm that no one else should be allowed to risk their lives aboard the somewhat mysterious wreck; but in the end he showed himself so determined and without fear that they allowed him to have his way, and, more than this, to take three of the men with him, if he could induce them to volunteer; which, indeed, he managed by sheer force of personality, persuading them and holding up to them that their share of the salvage money would more than double their wages; for it had been agreed by the owner and the Captain that the bulk of the salvage should by rights belong to the plucky Second Mate and the three men who accompanied him.
“And a good sailorman he is, too,” said the Captain, “an’ plucky as they’re made.”
The tow-line was once more passed, and the Second Mate himself saw to the making fast of it; also to the re-lighting of the side-lights, which were found to be out. Then he rigged life-lines along the decks, and so prepared to meet whatever danger there was ahead.
Presently the yacht took up the tow, and the watches settled down somewhat; but no one went to sleep, for the loss of the four men and the bo’sun had upset everybody; the curious mystery that hung about their death had tinctured the general gloom with queer thrills and wonderings.
For a good hour the yacht went forward at a slow pace through the night, and her side-lights could be seen burning clearly about a hundred yards astern, for the Captain had given orders to shorten the tow-rope.
The Captain and the owner and his friend were all grouped together under the weathercloth on the weather side of the bridge, and the old man was spinning them a yarn about another curious happening which had come to him one night in mid-ocean some ten years before. Abruptly his tale was cut short by an astonished shout from the Mate:
“My God! She’s parted again, and both lights are out!”
“What!” yelled the old Captain, and jumped into the after corner of the bridge, where he could see, unimpeded by the angle of the weathercloth. “Yes, she’s gone again, mister. There’s some devilment in this. Man that searchlight—smart, now! Starboard your hellum. Smartly now, my lad!”
This latter to the man at the wheel.
The yacht came round in a big curve, and half a minute later the great beam of the light drove out through the darkness to port. It swept across the empty miles, showed nothing, and abruptly drove back again in a wider circling. Then they saw the derelict, a good two miles away to port.
“Got her again!” sang out the Mate. “Lord! How’s she got left all that way?”
The man’s astonishment was plain; and the Captain was equally surprised.
“Full speed ahead!” he shouted. “Keep the light on her,” and within six minutes they were reversing to leeward of her. The Captain leaned over the end of the bridge and hailed: “Mr. Jenkins!” he shouted (that being the Second Mate’s name). “Mr. Jenkins!” But there came no answer, beyond the vague echoing of his voice from the iron side of the ship, and strange little mocking echoes which seemed to sound vaguely about her empty, lumber-stacked decks.
“Starboard lifeboat!” shouted the Captain. Then, to the Mate:
“Bring up half a dozen rifles and cutlasses, and arm the crew. Put a lamp for every man in the boat. Call the other watch. Pass them out rifles and ammunition, and have the port lifeboat ready to lower away. Keep the searchlight going.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” answered the Mate, and hurried away to obey, whilst the Captain turned to the owner and Mr. Hay.
“I don’t know what it is, sir,” he said. “But if you’re coming, you’d best have some sort of weapon, and your friend too. There’s something devilish aboard that craft, you mark my word; but whether carnal weapons is any use, the Lord He knows. I don’t.”
Five minutes later they were away in the boat and aboard of the derelict, gazing fearfully round, not knowing what they might see. Yet from end to end they searched her; from the dank and water-sodden fo’c’sle to the deserted wheel, where, but a few short minutes before—as you might say—one of their shipmates had stood. And now everywhere the silence, and the utter mystery that shrouded the end of the nine men who had gone utterly during the night, leaving no trace of any kind to tell what extraordinary thing had happened.
When the search had been completed the Captain gathered the men together, whilst he held a short consultation with his owner and Hay, in which it was decided to stand by the wreck during the rest of the night, and to make a more drastic search by daylight. A
s they talked they could hear under their feet the constant dull grind of the timbers, and the low, hollow boom and swirl of the great bulk of water in the holds rolling and rumbling to and fro; and this, combined with the peculiar and frightening mystery which now hung about the vessel, made everyone very thankful when the Captain gave the word to get down once more into the boat and return to the yacht.
During the remainder of that night the yacht steamed slowly round and round the derelict, keeping her searchlight playing full upon her; and so the dawn came in presently, and they prepared to make their great attempt to solve the mystery. As soon as the day had broken properly two boat-loads of men, fully armed, were sent aboard the wreck, the Captain, Swanscott, and Hay accompanying them. Then, the search began in earnest. Every piece of timber on the decks was shifted, lest they should prove to be shelters for anyone or anything; the fo’c’sle was visited, and the forepeak examined; but only to find that even here the water had entered, showing that she was full, fore and aft. The after-cabins were inspected; for it was found that a couple or three feet of air-space existed between the poop-deck and the surface of the water; though, indeed, the rolling of the vessel sent the great bulk of fluid from side to side in a manner that nearly drowned the searchers, whilst several were hurt more or less by the blows of the various objects afloat in the saloon and cabins. Yet nowhere—though not a cabin was left unexplored—did they find anything remarkable; only everywhere the dismalness of the water, and the smell of dampness and brine; and all the while, under the feet, the great bulk of water in the holds rolling to and fro, and the dull grinding and pounding of the water-logged timbers.
The search occupied the whole of the day, and all day the yacht had towed the derelict landwards, for Swanscott had sworn now to tow her into port, even though they towed only by day and removed the men to the yacht at right and stood by for each dawn.
In the late afternoon the Captain removed most of the men to the yacht, leaving half a dozen with their rifles to guard the man at the wheel, under the command of the Third Officer.
“What on earth can it be, Captain?” said Hay that evening at dinner for about the hundredth time. “Could it be an octopus?”
“ No, sir,” said the Captain. “You don’t get octopuses in these seas. The devilment’s something in that packet herself. She’s a wrong ‘un.”
“How do you mean—a wrong ’un?” asked Swanscott seriously.
“Well, sir,” said the Captain, “I don’t quite know what I do mean, except just that. If I said she was haunted, you’d laugh; but she’s a wrong ’un, you mark my word, sir. I’ll have those men aboard here again as soon as ever it gets dark.”
“Well, Captain,” said Hay, “it’s getting dusk now,” and he pointed at the open ports. “I know I’ll feel happier when they’re aboard again.”
Even as he spoke there was a loud shouting on deck, and the Mate’s whistle was heard blowing shrilly.
“My God!” said the old Captain, “she’s parted again. My God! We’re too late; we’re too late!”
They rushed on deck after him, and here they found that it was as the Captain had said. The “tow” had just parted, and showed dimly away astern in the dusk. Something extraordinary was happening aboard of her, for strange cries and sounds came over the sea, but never a shot to tell of any fight.
In two minutes the boats were manned, each main armed, and the yacht was running down at full speed on the derelict, her searchlight playing upon the wreck, yet showing nothing. She dropped the two boats within fifty yards, and they raced to the side of the wreck. There was a scramble aboard, with Swanscott and the old Captain leading; lanterns were passed up, and the rest of the men followed, whilst the searchlight played from end to end of the derelict craft. There was an absolute silence as the Captain put his hands to his mouth and sang out:
“Mr. Dunk! Mr. Dunk!” which was the Third Mate’s name.
There came no answer; and the search began again, every man nervous, and glancing fearfully behind and on every side. Yet not a sign of any kind could they find of the men or of their arms, nor anything to show that there had been any struggle. The wreck looked as if no living thing had stood aboard of her for months.
“Into the boats!” said the Captain, and there was the beginning of a rush, which, however, he checked. “Easy now, lads! Easy! Easy!” he shouted. “Keep your heads!” And so in a few minutes they were all back on the yacht.
On the bridge Swanscott held a long talk with his Captain, with the result that all night they stood by the derelict; steaming slowly round and round her, and keeping the searchlight full upon her. The next morning the Captain and the two friends went aboard the wreck with the carpenter and two boat-loads of men, who were set to work building a big, roughly made, but powerful shelter on the poop, using for the purpose the timbers which comprised the deck-load. This was finished by the afternoon, and a strong sliding door was fitted. There were left also a number of openings round the sides and in the roof; but these were crossed closely with iron-bars which the engineers supplied.
Returning to the yacht, Swanscott called all hands together and told them that he intended to pass the night in that shelter aboard the wreck, and that he wanted volunteers to accompany him. At first no one offered; but suddenly one of the firemen said he had no wife, and he would risk it, and after that others followed, until a dozen had come forward. These Swanscott took aboard with him, all armed, both with rifles and revolvers and cutlasses; they were all naval reserve men, and knew how to use their weapons. He gave directions to the Captain to hide every light, and keep the masthead light and sidelights unlit, also the searchlight. The yacht was to lie about a hundred yards away, and the instant he fired a shot the searchlight was to be flashed upon the wreck, to and fro, to see whether anything could be seen. No sound was to be made in the yacht, and there was to be no smoking; whilst every man left aboard was to line the nearest rail, and be ready with his rifle, but no shot to be fired until the Captain passed the word. This was the general trend of the orders for the night.
As soon as Swanscott, his friend Hay, and the dozen seamen and firemen had entered the shelter he pulled across the sliding-door and secured it. Then, having passed the word for absolute silence, and stationed a man at every barred opening, he settled down to wait. Presently the dusk was upon them, and soon the night, and after that the darkness, slowly intense, almost unnaturally so it seemed to Hay, whose more sensitive spirit was open to a thousand vague influences. Far down under them, as the ship rolled, they could hear the gloomy motion of the water in the holds, and odd whiles the dull grind of the sodden baulks would change into lumpish poundings and bodgings as there came a heavier swell under the vessel. Of wind there was none, save occasionally a little breath that would come sighing out of the night, making slight eerie sounds through the barred openings, and passing on again into the distance, leaving a double silence, because of the contrast. And so the hours passed on. Every now and again Swanscott would tiptoe quietly from man to man to make sure that all were awake and watching; but, indeed, there was little fear of anyone sleeping in that dark silence, for there was an utter weirdness and suspense in the night all about them, as it might be said, and each man was tensely awake; so that Swanscott had to be careful when he made his rounds not to touch any man suddenly, lest he cry out or turn blindly upon him in the darkness.
Then, after a great time had passed; there came a sound foreign to all the natural sounds of the ship and the slight movements of the men. It seemed to Hay, who was the first to notice it, that a vague, strange noise passed up through their midst. It was quite distinct from the dull booming of the waters in the hold, and could not be mistaken for any sound of the sea conducted upward by the framework of the vessel. It was near, very near, among them, so it seemed; and Hay heard the breathing of the men stop, as they harked, fiercely tense, to this thing, which might betoken some unknown horror right among them.
Then Swanscott realised that it was ne
cessary to learn, and he struck a match. As the light flared up the men moved nervously and restlessly, but they all saw that the shelter was empty of everything except themselves.
There came a further space of silence; then, abruptly, Hay knew that something was near the shelter; it was more as if his spirit knew than any coarser sense. He reached out and touched Swanscott, and Swanscott thrilled under his touch, so that Hay perceived that he too had learned. Then Swanscott slipped from his hand, and there was not a sound in the shelter; thus Hay perceived that the men also were aware of something, and held each his breath—listening.
Suddenly, like thunder in that confined space, a shot was fired, and the flash lit up Swanscott’s face momentarily. The following instant a great glare of light blazed upon the structure, pouring in at the barred openings and showing each man tense and strained, holding his weapon ready, and looking blindly towards where Swanscott stood with his smoking revolver in the middle of the shelter. He was staring upward through one of the barred openings in the roof. The blinding glare of the searchlight swept away from the house, leaving all in darkness; but now Hay was at one of the openings, and saw the huge shining jet of the light sweep forrard along the decks of the wreck. Then with a jerk it lifted and poised itself in mid-air, motionless, showing every detail of the mizzen-mast right above their heads. Hay saw something incredible, and craned his head more, so that he could see higher. There were dozens of strange men coming down out of the night—coming down from aloft—down the mizzen rigging. There was a sound of confused shouting from over the sea from those in the yacht, and still the searchlight burned relentlessly, showing those strange men constantly descending out of the night.
“Stop!” shouted Swanscott abruptly. “Stop, or we fire!”
“Onto them; lads!” shouted a voice far up in the night. “Wipe them out!”
The House on the Borderland and Other Mysterious Places Page 45