Gaslit Nightmares

by Lamb, Hugh;

  All about the decks, in the scuppers everywhere, in confused bunches, lay the running rigging, just as the seas of the last gale she had encountered had washed it; but of the wreck of the missing spars there was no sign.

  The deck planking was covered thickly with a kind of dry, mossy substance that crackled beneath our tread, showing that, at one time, the vessel’s decks had been, perhaps, for weeks under water.

  I had just shut down the lid of the signal-locker, in which I had been vainly searching amongst a bundle of mouldering bunting for some colour which might denote the nationality of the derelict, when I was startled by a loud shout from below. Hastily descending, I found my three companions grouped together in front of the main entrance to the cuddy, and evidently in a state of high excitement.

  ‘Let’s get away, Brown,’ one of the seamen was saying; ‘I’ve had enough of this cussed old hooker!’

  ‘What’s the matter, Dyson?’ I asked of the bo’sun, who stood wiping his forehead with his neckerchief, and looking rather scared.

  ‘Matter enough, sir, in there,’ replied he, pointing to the dark cabin entrance. ‘We just stepped in, an’ Brown struck a light, when, who should we see, when we turns round, but Old Nick hisself, leanin’ against the mizzenmast, an’ grinnin’ at us like one o’clock!’

  ‘Nonsense!’ I exclaimed angrily. ‘I’m ashamed of you, bo’sun, I am indeed! The idea of you talking such rubbish!’ and, stepping into the cabin, which was almost in darkness, I struck a match from the open box in my hand, and looked around. I must confess that, as I did so, I heartily excused the boatswain and his mates their terror, for, although I did not budge an inch, I was scarcely less frightened myself for a minute or two.

  Exactly facing me, and not more than a foot away, supported, apparently, by the casing of the mizzenmast, was a human skeleton, gleaming whitely in the feeble light of the match.

  The men were now close at my heels, and telling the other seaman, whose name was Johnson, to go up on the poop, clear away the sail, and open the main skylight and booby-hatch, I struck some more matches, and proceeded farther along the large saloon.

  Presently down came a flood of glorious sunshine, streaming into the cabin, illumining with its rays the poor skeleton – lashed to the mast, as we soon discovered, by many turns of the chain main-tack – and revealing a scene of confusion and disorder almost indescribable.

  The stateroom doors were all either shattered to pieces by bullets, dozens of which were embedded in the woodwork round about, or, wrenched altogether from their hinges, were lying on the floor, which was littered with all kinds of female and male wearing apparel, broken bottles, papers, straw, crockery, cutlery, and all the usual paraphernalia of a big ship’s saloon and pantry, and, to boot, the contents of its passengers’ luggage.

  Mould, damp, and mildew were everywhere; and everywhere, spite of open doors and skylights, was a foetid, rotting, nauseous odour that seemed to hang thickly about and defy dispersal.

  We searched the berths, but they were all empty, and then, as if by mutual consent, we found ourselves once more facing the grim emblem of mortality that grinned at us from its iron bonds.

  ‘What do you think of it, Dyson?’ I asked at length.

  ‘Lashed there alive, sir,’ muttered the old boatswain, as he pointed to the bony arms of the skeleton, which, as I now observed, were indeed tied back behind the mast, ‘an’ for the Lord knows how long, carried about the sea. I never did hear tell of such a thing,’ he went on, ‘but my mind misdoubted somethin’ was wrong, spite o’ the pretty figgerhead, when I sees how the craft’s name had been a-wiped out. There’s been rum doin’s aboard here, sir; but I can’t get the hang o’ the thing rightly.’

  ‘I wouldn’t stay a night aboard her,’ here put in Johnson, ‘if anybody could give me a hundred pounds down in solid coined gold.’

  ‘Same here, matey,’ chimed in Brown; ‘I don’t think I ever got such a bad scare afore, an’ who knows what might happen to a feller in the dark night-time.’

  The papers strewn about the saloon floor were mostly, as I soon discovered, blank leaves of log-books, and the greater number were simply parcel-wrappers. Not one scrap of writing or print even rewarded my search, and I began to think that everything had been carefully gone over before. At this moment, and just as the boatswain and myself were on our knees gingerly turning over some of the clothing, most of which had evidently at one time been of rich and costly material, we were startled by Brown’s voice shouting down the skylight, ‘Mr Staunton, sir, the ship’s signalling us; and there’s a big squall comin’!’ We hastily ran out on deck and up the poop ladder. There, abeam, was the Minnehaha busily clearing up and stowing her light sails; whilst, just beyond her, the sky was black as night. From her peak hung the ensign, which, even as we looked, blew out flat, a small square of bright colour against the dark background of wind, rain, and sea, which was coming along like a racehorse. Now she fired three guns in quick succession, and before the echoes of the last one had died away, we were in the boat, and pulling like madmen away from the derelict.

  We had scarcely gone a hundred yards before I saw that it was too late. The squall would be upon us ere we could cover a quarter of the distance to the Minnehaha. For a moment I hesitated, then shouting, ‘Back, men, for your lives!’ I brought the rudder hard over, and in a few minutes more we were scrambling up the derelict’s side. Bringing the remainder of the provisions and the waterkeg on board, we passed our boat astern. Not a bit too soon had we gained shelter, for, already, not more than a cable’s length away, roared the furious squall, coming with a rush of wind and white water heavy enough to have swamped the stoutest boat that ever floated.

  It struck the old derelict fairly abeam, heeling her over, over, over, till I really thought she was going to turn turtle with us altogether. But she was probably used to this kind of thing, for in a minute or two, during which her lower yardarms ploughed great white furrows in the water, she righted, and slowly turning her stern to the wind, began to make a little headway. I ran to the wheel to help her if I could, but found it completely useless, the rudder chains and blocks being simply masses of rust.

  The sea was fast getting up, and spray was beginning to fly over the tall bulwarks of the pitching, lurching derelict, whose timbers creaked and groaned complainingly, while all sorts of strange noises came up from her hold, noises of something rolling, bounding, and clattering from side to side of the ship at every wild stagger that she gave.

  As we listened wonderingly to all this racket, an exclamation from the boatswain made me turn my eyes to where, bringing with her a still stronger wind, the Minnehaha was bearing straight down upon us, foaming along under three close-reefed topsails and fore and mizzen staysails.

  As the Minnehaha drew closer we could distinctly see the figures of the crew as they crowded along the weather-rail and waved their hats to us by way of encouragement. The captain and the chief officer were standing by the wheel, looking anxiously up at the huge, wallowing prison in which we had allowed ourselves to be entrapped.

  Presently, seeing that we were determined, involuntarily on our part, God knows, to cut the running out for him, our captain set his maintopsail, braced his yards up, and kept away on our weather-bow, with, for our comfort, the ‘rendezvous’ flag flying at the mizzen-peak.

  It was by this getting well on in the afternoon, and the squall had grown into a roaring gale, which howled and screeched through our rigging, banging the swinging yards about, and hooting and whistling around the tenantless forecastle and along the wet decks, like some wild and evil spirit, as the ship of death and mystery wallowed and tottered and slid over the great waves, coming to and falling off at her own sweet will and pleasure, but, somehow, always just in the nick of time.

  Casting a last look at the Minnehaha, now fast fading away on the murky horizon, I stumbled aft to see to the boat, altogether forgotten in the absorbing interest of watching the manoeuvres of our own vessel.

/>   As might have been expected, she was gone, not a vestige of her anywhere to be seen, with the exception of the loose painter, which I mechanically hauled in, and to the end of which the drawn ringbolt out of the gig’s bows was still attached.

  The men said very little. That grim sight in the cabin and the incessant and inexplicable noises that pervaded the vessel had taken a lot of heart out of them, and I knew that, with the kind of night that was before us, a light of some sort was an imperative necessity.

  ‘Bo’sun,’ I said, ‘forage around for oil. There must be some in her somewhere. It’s stuff that doesn’t rot. I saw a swing-lamp in the saloon; we’ll light that and any others we may find.’

  And then what I had expected came to pass.

  ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir,’ said Johnson, ‘me an’ Brown here would sooner stay on deck all night than go back into that there saloon for one single hour.’

  ‘Please yourself, lads,’ I said; ‘she is bound to broach-to through the night with a sea like this on, and I reckon, if you’re not both overboard, we’ll soon have you in the cabin with us.’

  The words were scarcely out of my mouth when Dyson shrieked out, ‘Into the rigging for your lives!’ and in less time than it takes to write it we were half-way up the mainshrouds. Looking aft, I saw a huge wall of water overhanging the poop. The derelict’s way seemed suddenly stopped, as if she saw the futility of attempting to escape, then down fell the avalanche with a noise like thunder, burying everything beneath it and roaring away for’ard till it found an exit through the broken bulwarks. But that her deck-fittings, skylights, galley, etc, were of most exceptional strength, they must all have gone; and, assuredly, had we been a few minutes later in gaining our place of refuge, we should have been swept away like four straws into the seething wilderness around us. After this the derelict, appearing to think that she had done enough scudding for one night, hove herself to in a kind of a way, but any ship less high out of the water would have been swamped over and over again. There was no more talk about not going into the cabin; and presently in one of the after-lockers we had the luck to find a drum of oil, besides several lamps, including a big riding light, so that soon we had the saloon quite brightly illuminated.

  Very fortunately, as it now turned out, when leaving the Minnehaha, the steward had packed away a more than ample supply of provisions, and these, having been stowed away in one of the top bunks of the saloon berths, had escaped the general wetting. Bringing everything to the table, I, first giving each man a glass of rum, served out all round a biscuit, a slice of pork, and a lump of cheese. Rescue was so uncertain that I thought it best to husband our resources as much as possible. There might be food left on the derelict, and water also, but, again, there might not be a scrap or drop of anything. The men’s spirits rose considerably after this repast; though, for the matter of that, all our glances wandered irresistibly, now and again, to the gaunt, woeful figure that, half in shadow, half in a bright light, seemed to preside at the head of the table.

  There are few men nowadays more stubbornly superstitious than your average merchant-seaman, and it would have taken very little indeed to have frightened Brown and Johnson completely out of their wits, half believing already, as they did, that they were on board of an enchanted, haunted vessel on which they were doomed to roam the seas for evermore; and so catching is terror that whilst Dyson was not much less scared than the pair, I myself was beginning to feel the effect of their pale, frightened faces and sudden starts of alarm. As we moved on in a body out on to the deck, the lamp casting uncertain quivering patches of white light on the slippery, discoloured planking, we felt, as we hung on to stanchions, corners, anything we could get hold of, that the gale was increasing in violence, although the sea was not quite so high as before; the wind blowing with such terrific force at times as to keep it down in a sheet of dazzling foam, off which it every minute hurled pieces at us that cut and stung our flesh as if they had been snowballs.

  At length, exhausted and half-blinded, we gained the poop, and, with infinite trouble and difficulty, succeeded in lashing the massive copper lantern about half-way up the mizzen-rigging, whence it cast a flickering streak of light, now on the foam-flecked water, now on the ship, as she lay sometimes in a deep gully, at others nearly on her beam-ends at the summit of a monstrous roller. The night was black as pitch, and the shrieking of the gale, the rush and roar of water on the main-deck, with, aloft, the creaking and working of the spars, made such an incessant hurly-burly that speech was impossible, and we were all glad to find ourselves back in the saloon, to which the lights imparted at least a semblance of security, although at times a stream of water would glide in over the high wash-boards at each of the three doors. The din, too, here was muffled and subdued, coming only on the ears as a combined, sullen, ceaseless roar.

  ‘That she’s a furriner is certain,’ said Dyson presently, as we recovered a little from our exertions. ‘Most likely a Spanisher or a Portugee, an’ it’s many a long year since she was builded. They don’t make ‘em like that nowadays, sir,’ pointing, as he spoke, to the huge beams and stanchions that made themselves visible here and there about the saloon. ‘But where she’s from, or where bound to when they left her, I can’t give a notion.’

  ‘I am as much at fault as yourself, bo’sun, ’ I answered. ’But maybe we’ll find out a little more about her when daylight comes. Did you ever come across a derelict before, Dyson?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he replied. ‘When I was in the old Neptune, packet-ship, across the Western Ocean, we boarded a derelick, as they calls ’em. A Quebecer she was – a timber drogher. Nothin’ on her but a big half-starved Newfoundland dog. But she was a honest, fair, an’ above-board derelick, she were, not like this no-name furriner;’ and the boatswain, casting around a look expressive of the most intense disgust, continued –

  ‘What but some murderin’, bloody-minded dago would ever ha’ thought o’ lashin’ a man – like enough it’s the skipper himself – to his own mizzenmast! By Gosh! sir, it beats all I ever heerd tell on. Eat alive, too, as like as not, by the rats. Why, when me and Johnson there went into the midship-house arter the oil the place was a-swarmin’ with ’em.’

  This news threw light on a subject which had puzzled me not a little. I had particularly noticed how perfectly clean and bare every bone of the skeleton was, and I knew that it must have taken a very long period of time unaided to have completed such a process, most likely many years, years in which the masts, yards, and standing-gear of the ship, if not herself, would inevitably suffer decay from dry-rot and neglect; whilst, on the contrary, with the exception of the exposed canvas and some of the running-gear, everything was comparatively strong and well-preserved.

  ‘God Almighty protect us!’ at this moment exclaimed Dyson. ‘What is them unearthly noises down below?’

  There was a long lull in the gale as the boatswain spoke, at the same time starting to his feet, and the derelict giving two or three sharp rolls, there came distinctly to our ears from the hold a sound as of many people thumping with mallets at the ship’s sides. Then there would be a pause, broken by a long, sliding, crashing noise, as if a whole shoal of crockery had fetched way to leeward with the roll.

  ‘It’s only the ballast shifting, bo’sun,’ I said, as we listened.

  ‘No, sir,’ he answered, ‘that noise comes from the ’tween decks – an’ ballast ain’t usually carried there.’

  ‘Well, then,’ I replied impatiently, ‘it’s some of the cargo, passengers’ luggage, or something of the kind. We’ll take the hatches off in the morning, and see what all the row’s about down there.’

  The two seamen had, for some time past, been fast asleep at the saloon table, their heads between their arms, and their bodies swaying and jerking uncomfortably with every wild movement of the vessel.

  ‘I’d feel more easy in my mind, sir,’ said the boatswain presently, ‘if I knowed what this craft carried for cargo in her ’tween decks. T
he lazarette hatch is just be-aft the table there. S‘pose, sir, you an’ me takes a light an’ goes down. Mebbe, as in a good many ships, there’s only a gratin’ rigged up to divide the storeroom from the ‘tween decks, an’ we’ll be able to get a look through.’

  To tell the truth, I had not by this time any too much stomach for the adventure; but I was not going to be outdone in courage by one whom I had more than once mentally accused of pusillanimity, so, unhooking one of the wildly-swinging lamps, I made my way to the extreme end of the long saloon. The small hatch was firmly secured by a cross-bar and staple of iron. As I glanced back down the dim vista of the cabin whilst Dyson was busy with the fastenings, I thought I had never set eyes on a drearier, more eerie scene; scarcely lit up as it was by the single swaying lamp, right under which were the two uneasily-shifting bodies of the sleepers; on each hand the long range of empty, yawning staterooms, the floor and table all littered with rubbish and wet with sea water, whilst at the farther end, only just visible in the feeble light, stood the swathed skeleton.

  My nerves are, I believe, fairly strong, but what with the time, and the surroundings that I had just been taking in, I own that when Dyson, at last, with a wrench, pulled off the hatch, disclosing a dark square hole up which ascended in double intensity the rank, fœtid odour I have before spoken of – I own, I say, that I hesitated, and half hoped that the boatswain, the proposer of the excursion, would take the light from my hand and lead the way.

  But he did no such thing. So, lowering the lamp, I set my foot on the board rung of the ladder thus disclosed to view, and cautiously descended, closely followed by Dyson.

  My appearance was heralded by the scampering of thousands of small feet, mingled with shrill squeaks of alarm and rage. I thought of the skeleton, and shivered as I listened.