Then, as I stood, I got another thought, or, perhaps, an intuition and I asked myself seriously whether this disappearing ship might not be in some way connected with the other queer things. It occurred to me then, that the vessel I had seen was nothing real, and, perhaps, did not exist outside of my own brain. I considered the idea, gravely. It helped to explain the thing, and I could think of nothing else that would. Had she been real, I felt sure that others aboard us would have been bound to have seen her long before I had—I got a bit muddled there, with trying to think it out; and then, abruptly, the reality of the other ship, came back to me—every rope and sail and spar, you know. And I remembered how she had lifted to the heave of the sea, and how the sails had flapped in the light breeze. And the string of flags! She had been signalling. At that last, I found it just as impossible to believe that she had not been real.
I had reached to this point of irresolution, and was standing with my back, partly turned to the wheel. I was holding it steady with my left hand, while I looked over the sea, to try to find something to help me to understand.
All at once, as I stared, I seemed to see the ship again.
She was more on the beam now, than on the quarter; but I thought little of that, in the astonishment of seeing her once more. It was only a glimpse, I caught of her—dim and wavering, as though I looked at her through the convolutions of heated air. Then she grew indistinct, and vanished again; but I was convinced now that she was real, and had been in sight all the time, if I could have seen her. That curious, dim, wavering appearance had suggested something to me. I remembered the strange, wavy look of the air, a few days previously, just before the mist had surrounded the ship. And in my mind, I connected the two. It was nothing about the other packet that was strange. The strangeness was with us. It was something that was about (or invested) our ship that prevented me—or indeed, any one else aboard from seeing that other. It was evident that she had been able to see us, as was proved by her signalling. In an irrelevant sort of way, I wondered what the people aboard of her thought of our apparently intentional disregard of their signals.
After that, I thought of the strangeness of it all. Even at that minute, they could see us, plainly; and yet, so far as we were concerned, the whole ocean seemed empty. It appeared to me, at that time, to be the weirdest thing that could happen to us.
And then a fresh thought came to me. How long had we been like that? I puzzled for a few moments. It was now that I recollected that we had sighted several vessels on the morning of the day when the mist appeared; and since then, we had seen nothing. This, to say the least, should have struck me as queer; for some of the other packets were homeward bound along with us, and steering the same course. Consequently, with the weather being fine, and the wind next to nothing, they should have been in sight all the time. This reasoning seemed to me to show, unmistakably, some connection between the coming of the mist, and our inability to see. So that it is possible we had been in that extraordinary state of blindness for nearly three days.
In my mind, the last glimpse of that ship on the quarter, came back to me. And, I remember, a curious thought got me, that I had looked at her from out of some other dimension. For a while, you know, I really believed the mystery of the idea, and that it might be the actual truth, took me; instead of my realising just all that it might mean. It seemed so exactly to express all the half-defined thoughts that had come, since seeing that other packet on the quarter.
Suddenly, behind me, there came a rustle and rattle of the sails; and, In the same instant, I heard the Skipper saying:
“Where the devil have you got her to, Jessop?”
I whirled round to the wheel.
“I don’t know—Sir,” I faltered.
I had forgotten even that I was at the wheel.
“Don’t know!” he shouted. “I should damned well think you don’t. Starboard your helm, you fool. You’ll have us all aback!”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” I answered, and hove the wheel over. I did it almost mechanically; for I was still dazed, and had not yet had time to collect my senses.
During the following half-minute, I was only conscious, in a confused sort of way, that the Old Man was ranting at me. This feeling of bewilderment passed off, and I found that I was peering blankly into the binnacle, at the compass-card; yet, until then, entirely without being aware of the fact. Now, however, I saw that the ship was coming back on to her course. Goodness knows how much she had been off!
With the realisation that I had let the ship get almost aback, there came a sudden memory of the alteration in the position of the other vessel. She had appeared last on the beam, instead of on the quarter. Now, however, as my brain began to work, I saw the cause of this apparent and, until then, inexplicable change. It was due, of course, to our having come up, until we had brought the other packet on to the beam.
It is curious how all this flashed through my mind, and held my attention—although only momentarily—in the face of the Skipper’s storming. I think I had hardly realised he was still singing out at me. Anyhow, the next thing I remember, he was shaking my arm.
“What’s the matter with you, man?” he was shouting. And I just stared into his face, like an ass, without saying a word. I seemed still incapable, you know, of actual, reasoning speech.
“Are you damned well off your head?” he went on shouting. “Are you a lunatic? Have you had sunstroke? Speak, you gaping idiot!”
I tried to say something; but the words would not come clearly.
“I—I—I —” I said, and stopped, stupidly. I was all right, really; but I was so bewildered with the thing I had found out; and, in a way, I seemed almost to have come back out of a distance, you know.
“You’re a lunatic!” he said, again. He repeated the statement several times, as if it were the only thing that sufficiently expressed his opinion of me. Then he let go of my arm, and stepped back a couple of paces.
“I’m not a lunatic!” I said, with a sudden gasp. “I’m not a lunatic, Sir, any more than you are.”
“Why the devil don’t you answer my questions then?” he shouted, angrily. “What’s the matter with you? What have you been doing with the ship? Answer me now!”
“I was looking at that ship away on the starboard quarter, Sir,” I blurted out. “She’s been signalling —”
“What!” he cut me short with disbelief. “What ship?”
He turned, quickly, and looked over the quarter. Then he wheeled round to me again.
“There’s no ship! What do you mean by trying to spin up a cuffer like that?”
“There is, Sir,” I answered. “It’s out there —” I pointed.
“Hold your tongue!” he said. “Don’t talk rubbish to me. Do you think I’m blind?”
“I saw it, Sir,” I persisted.
“Don’t you talk back to me!” he snapped, with a quick burst of temper. “I won’t have it!”
Then, just as suddenly, he was silent. He came a step towards me, and stared into my face. I believe the old ass thought I was a bit mad; anyway, without another word, he went to the break of the poop.
“Mr. Tulipson,” he sung out.
“Yes, Sir,” I heard the Second Mate reply.
“Send another man to the wheel.”
“Very good, Sir,” the Second answered.
A couple of minutes later, old Jaskett came up to relieve me. I gave him the course, and he repeated it.
“What’s up, mate?” he asked me, as I stepped off the grating.
“Nothing much,” I said, and went forward to where the Skipper was standing on the break of the poop. I gave him the course; but the crabby old devil took no notice of me, whatever. When I got down on to the maindeck, I went up to the Second, and gave it to him. He answered me civilly enough, and then asked me what I had been doing to put the Old Man’s back up.
“I told him there’s a ship on the starboard quarter, signalling us,” I said.
“There’s no ship out there, Jesso
p,” the Second Mate replied, looking at me with a queer, inscrutable expression.
“There is, Sir,” I began. “I —”
“That will do, Jessop!” he said. “Go forward and have a smoke. I shall want you then to give a hand with these foot-ropes. You’d better bring a serving-mallet aft with you, when you come.”
I hesitated a moment, partly in anger; but more, I think, in doubt.
“Aye, aye, Sir,” I muttered at length, and went forward.
VIII
After the Coming of the Mist
After the coming of the mist, things seemed to develop pretty quickly. In the following two or three days a good deal happened.
On the night of the day on which the Skipper had sent me away from the wheel, it was our watch on deck from eight o’ clock to twelve, and my look-out from ten to twelve.
As I paced slowly to and fro across the fo’cas’le head, I was thinking about the affair of the morning. At first, my thoughts were about the Old Man. I cursed him thoroughly to myself, for being a pig-headed old fool, until it occurred to me that if I had been in his place, and come on deck to find the ship almost aback, and the fellow at the wheel staring out across the sea, instead of attending to his business, I should most certainly have kicked up a thundering row. And then, I had been an ass to tell him about the ship. I should never have done such a thing, if I had not been a bit adrift. Most likely the old chap thought I was cracked.
I ceased to bother my head about him, and fell to wondering why the Second Mate had looked at me so queerly in the morning. Did he guess more of the truth than I supposed? And if that were the case, why had he refused to listen to me?
After that, I went to puzzling about the mist. I had thought a great deal about it, during the day. One idea appealed to me, very strongly. It was that the actual, visible mist was a materialised expression of an extraordinarily subtle atmosphere, in which we were moving.
Abruptly, as I walked backwards and forwards, taking occasional glances over the sea (which was almost calm), my eye caught the glow of a light out in the darkness. I stood still, and stared. I wondered whether it was the light of a vessel. In that case we were no longer enveloped in that extraordinary atmosphere. I bent forward, and gave the thing my more immediate attention. I saw then that it was undoubtedly the green light of a vessel on our port bow. It was plain that she was bent on crossing our bows. What was more, she was dangerously near—the size and brightness of her light showed that. She would be close-hauled, while we were going free, so that, of course, it was our place to get out of her way. Instantly, I turned and, putting my hands up to my mouth, hailed the Second Mate:
“Light on the port bow, Sir.”
The next moment his hail came back:
“Whereabouts?”
“He must be blind,” I said to myself.
“About two points on the bow, Sir,” I sung out.
Then I turned to see whether she had shifted her position at all. Yet, when I came to look, there was no light visible. I ran forward to the bows, and leant over the rail, and stared; but there was nothing—absolutely nothing except the darkness all about us. For perhaps a few seconds I stood thus, and a suspicion swept across me, that the whole business was practically a repetition of the affair of the morning. Evidently, the impalpable something that invested the ship, had thinned for an instant, thus allowing me to see the light ahead. Now, it had closed again. Yet, whether I could see, or not, I did not doubt the fact that, there was a vessel ahead, and very close ahead, too. We might run on top of her any minute. My only hope was that, seeing we were not getting out of her way, she had put her helm up, so as to let us pass, with the intention of then crossing under our stern. I waited, pretty anxiously, watching and listening. Then, all at once, I heard steps coming along the deck, forward, and the ’prentice, whose time-keeping it was, came up on to the fo’cas’le head.
“The Second Mate says he can’t see any light Jessop,” he said, coming over to where I stood. “Whereabouts is it?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “I’ve lost sight of it myself. It was a green light, about a couple of points on the port bow. It seemed fairly close.”
“Perhaps their lamp’s gone out,” he suggested, after peering out pretty hard into the night for a minute or so.
“Perhaps,” I said.
I did not tell him that the light had been so close that, even in the darkness, we should now have been able to see the ship herself.
“You’re quite sure it was a light, and not a star?” he asked, doubtfully, after another long stare.
“Oh! no,” I said. “It may have been the moon, now I come to think about it.”
“Don’t rot,” he replied. “It’s easy enough to make a mistake. What shall I say to the Second Mate?”
“Tell him it’s disappeared, of course!”
“Where to?” he asked.
“How the devil should I know?” I told him. “Don’t ask silly questions!”
“All right, keep your rag in,” he said, and went aft to report to the Second Mate.
Five minutes later, it might have been, I saw the light again. It was broad on the bow, and told me plainly enough that she had up with her helm to escape being run down. I did not wait a moment; but sung out to the Second Mate that there was a green light about four points on the port bow. By Jove! it must have been a close shave. The light did not seem to be more than about a hundred yards away. It was fortunate that we had not much way through the water.
“Now,” I thought to myself, “the Second will see the thing. And perhaps Mr. Blooming ’prentice will be able to give the star its proper name.”
Even as the thought came into my head, the light faded and vanished; and I caught the Second Mate’s voice.
“Whereaway?” he was singing out.
“It’s gone again, Sir,” I answered.
A minute later, I heard him coming along the deck.
He reached the foot of the starboard ladder.
“Where are you, Jessop?” he inquired.
“Here, Sir,” I said, and went to the top of the weather ladder.
He came up slowly on to the fo’cas’le head.
“What’s this you’ve been singing out about a light?” he asked. “Just point out exactly where it was you last saw it.”
This I did, and he went over to the port rail, and stared away into the night; but without seeing anything.
“It’s gone, Sir,” I ventured to remind him. “Though I’ve seen it twice now—once, about a couple of points on the bow, and this last time, broad away on the bow; but it disappeared both times, almost at once.”
“I don’t understand it at all, Jessop,” he said, in a puzzled voice. “Are you sure it was a ship’s light?”
“Yes, Sir. A green light. It was quite close.”
“I don’t understand,” he said again. “Run aft and ask the ’prentice to pass you down my night glasses. Be as smart as you can.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” I replied, and ran aft.
In less than a minute, I was back with his binoculars; and, with them, he stared for some time at the sea to leeward.
All at once he dropped them to his side, and faced round on me with a sudden question:
“Where’s she gone to? If she’s shifted her bearing as quickly as all that, she must be precious close. We should be able to see her spars and sails, or her cabin light, or her binnacle light, or something!”
“It’s queer, Sir,” I assented.
“Damned queer,” he said. “So damned queer that I’m inclined to think you’ve made a mistake.”
“No, Sir. I’m certain it was a light.”
“Where’s the ship then?” he asked.
“I can’t say, Sir. That’s just what’s been puzzling me.”
The Second said nothing in reply; but took a couple of quick turns across the fo’cas’le head—stopping at the port rail, and taking another look to leeward through his night glasses. Perhaps a minute he stood th
ere. Then, without a word, he went down the lee ladder, and away aft along the main deck to the poop.
“He’s jolly well puzzled,” I thought to myself. “Or else he thinks I’ve been imagining things.” Either way, I guessed he’d think that.
In a little, I began to wonder whether, after all, he had any idea of what might be the truth. One minute, I would feel certain he had; and the next, I was just as sure that he guessed nothing. I got one of my fits of asking myself whether it would not have been better to have told him everything. It seemed to me that he must have seen sufficient to make him inclined to listen to me. And yet, I could not by any means be certain. I might only have been making an ass of myself, in his eyes. Or set him thinking I was dotty.
I was walking about the fo’cas’le head, feeling like this, when I saw the light for the third time. It was very bright and big, and I could see it move, as I watched. This again showed me that it must be very close.
“Surely,” I thought, “the Second Mate must see it now, for himself.”
I did not sing out this time, right away. I thought I would let the Second see for himself that I had not been mistaken. Besides, I was not going to risk its vanishing again, the instant I had spoken. For quite half a minute, I watched it, and there was no sign of its disappearing. Every moment, I expected to hear the Second Mate’s hail, showing that he had spotted it at last; but none came.
I could stand it no longer, and I ran to the rail, on the after part of the fo’cas’le head.
“Green light a little abaft the beam, Sir!” I sung out, at the top of my voice.
But I had waited too long. Even as I shouted, the light blurred and vanished.
I stamped my foot and swore. The thing was making a fool of me. Yet, I had a faint hope that those aft had seen it just before it disappeared; but this I knew was vain, directly I heard the Second’s voice.
“Light be damned!” he shouted.
Then he blew his whistle, and one of the men ran aft, out of the fo’cas’le, to see what it was he wanted.
“Whose next look-out is it?” I heard him ask.
“Jaskett’s, Sir.”
“Then tell Jaskett to relieve Jessop at once. Do you hear?”
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 337