The Ghost Pirates and Other Revenants of the Sea

by William Hope Hodgson

  “H’m!” he said with a note of surprise in his voice. He took a long look. Presently he lowered the glasses.

  “Can’t understand it at all,” I heard him mutter. Then he asked me to pass out the telescope.

  With this, he studied the stranger awhile. Yet there was nothing to be seen that would explain the mystery.

  “Most extraordinary!” he exclaimed. Then he pushed the telescope in among the ropes on the pin-rail, and took a few turns up and down the poop.

  The Mate and I continued to scrutinise the stranger; but all to no purpose. Outwardly, at least, she was an ordinary full-rigged ship; and save for her inexplicable silence and the furling of the sails, there was nothing to distinguish her from any chance windjammer one might happen to fall across in the usual course of a long sea trip.

  I have said that there was nothing unusual about her appearance; yet I think that, even thus early, we had begun to realize dimly that some intangible mystery hung about her.

  The Captain ceased to pace up and down and stood by the Mate, staring curiously across at the silent ship on our starboard beam.

  “The glass is as steady as a rock,” he remarked presently.

  “Yes,” the Mate assented. “I sent Mr. Jepworth to give a look as soon as I saw they were going to shorten down.”

  “I can’t understand it!” the Captain remarked again, with a sort of puzzled irritability. “The weather’s just grand.”

  The Mate made no immediate reply; but pulled a plug of ship’s tobacco out from his hip pocket, and took a bite. He replaced it, expectorated, and then expressed his opinion that they were all a lot of blasted Dutch swine.

  The Captain resumed his walk, while I continued to scan the other vessel.

  A little later one of the ’prentices went aft and struck eight bells. A few seconds later the Second Mate came up onto the poop to relieve the Mate.

  “Have you got the lady to speak yet?” he inquired, referring to the unsociable craft away on our beam.

  The Mate almost snorted. Yet I did not hear his reply; for, at that moment, unbelievable as it seems, I saw Things coming out of the water alongside the silent ship. Things like men, they were, only you could see the ship’s side through them, and they had a strange, misty, unreal look. I thought I must be going dotty for the moment, until I glanced round and saw the Mate staring over my shoulder, his face thrust forward and his eyes fixed in their intensity. Then I looked again and they were climbing up the other hooker’s side—thousands of them. We were so close, I could see the officer of the watch lighting his pipe. He stood leaning up against the port rail, facing to starboard.

  Then I saw the chap at the wheel wave his arms, and the officer moved quickly towards him. The helmsman pointed, and the officer turned about and looked. In the dusk, and at that distance, I could not distinguish his features; but I knew by his attitude that he had seen. For one short instant he stood motionless; then he made a run for the break of the poop, gesticulating. He appeared to be shouting. I saw the lookout seize a capstan-bar and pound on the fo’cas’le head. Several men ran out from the port doorway. And then, all at once, sounds came to us from the hitherto silent ship. At first, muffled, as though from miles away. Quickly they grew plainer. And so, in a minute, as though an invisible barrier had been torn down, we heard a multitudinous shouting of frightened men. It rolled over the sea to us like the voice of Fear clamouring.

  Behind me, I heard the Mate mutter huskily; but I took no notice. I had a sense of the unreality of things.

  A minute passed—it seemed an age. And then, as I stared, bewildered, a thick haze grew up out of the sea and closed about the hull of the strange ship; yet we could still see her spars. Out from the mist there still drove that Babel of hoarse cries and shouting.

  Almost unconsciously, my glance roved among the spars and rigging that rose straight up into the sky out from that weird clot of mist on the sea. Suddenly my wandering gaze was arrested. Through the calm evening air, I saw a movement among the stowed sails-gaskets were being cast adrift, and, against the darkening skies, I seemed to make out dim unreal shapes working fiendishly.

  With a low rustle first, and then a sudden flap, the bellies of the three t’gallan’s’ls fell out of the bunt gaskets and hung. Almost immediately the three royals followed. All this time the confused noises had continued. Now, however, there was a sudden lull of silence; and then, simultaneously, the six yards began to rise amid a perfect quietness save for the chafing of the ropes in the blocks and the occasional squeal of a parrel against a mast.

  On our part, we made no sound, said nothing. There was nothing to be said. I, for one, was temporarily speechless. The sails continued to rise with the steady, rythmic, pull-and-heave movement peculiar to sailormen. A minute went swiftly, and another. Then the leeches of the sails tautened and the hauling ceased. The sails were set.

  Still from that uncanny craft there came no sound of human voice. The mist of which I have made mention continued to cling about the hull, a little hill of cloud, hiding it completely and a portion of the lower masts, though the lower yards with the courses made fast upon them were plainly visible.

  And now I became aware that there were ghostly forms at work upon the gaskets of the three courses. The sails rustled upon the yards. Scarcely a minute, it seemed, and the mainsail slid off the yard and fell in loose festoons; followed almost immediately by the fore and crossjack. From somewhere out of the mist there came a single strangulated cry. It ceased instantly, yet it seemed to me as though the sea echoed it remotely.

  For the first time, I turned and looked at the Old Man who was standing a little to my left. His face wore an almost expressionless look. His eyes were fixed with a queer stony stare upon that mist-enshrouded mystery. It was only a momentary glance I gave, and then I looked back quickly.

  From that other ship there had come a sudden squeal and rattle of swinging yards and running gear, and I saw that the yards were being squared in swiftly. Very quickly this was accomplished, though what slight airs there were came from the southwest, and we were braced sharp up on the port tack to make the most of them. By rights this move on the part of the other packet should have placed her all aback and given her sternway. Yet, as I looked with incredulous eyes, the sails filled abruptly—bellying out as though before a strong breeze, and I saw something lift itself up out from the mist at the after end of the ship. It rose higher, and grew plain. I saw it then distinctly; it was the white-painted “half-round” of the stern. In the same moment, the masts inclined forward at a distinct angle, that increased. The top of the chart-house came into view.

  Then, deep and horrible, as though lost souls cried out from Hell, there came a hoarse, prolonged cry of human agony. I started, and the Second Mate swore suddenly and stopped halfway. In some curious manner, I was astonished as well as terrified and bewildered. I do not think, somehow, I had expected to hear a human voice come out from that mist again.

  The stern rose higher out from the mistiness, and, for a single instant, I saw the rudder move blackly against the evening sky. The wheel spun sharply, and a small black figure plunged away from it helplessly, down into the mist and noise.

  The sea gave a sobbing gurgle, and there came a horrible, bubbling note into the human outcry. The foremast disappeared into the sea, and the main sank down into the mist. On the aftermast, the sails slatted a moment, then filled; and so, under all sail, the stranger drove down into the darkness. A gust of crying swept up to us for one dreadful instant, and then only the boil of the sea as it closed in over all.

  Like one in a trance, I stared. In an uncomprehending way, I heard voices down on the main-deck, and an echo of mixed prayer and blasphemy filled the air.

  Out on the sea, the mistiness still hung about the spot where the strange ship had vanished. Gradually, however, it thinned away and disclosed various articles of ship’s furniture circling in the eddy of the dying whirlpool. Even as I watched, odd fragments of wreckage rushed up out fro
m the ocean with a plop, plopping noise.

  My mind was in a whirl. Abruptly, the Mate’s voice rasped across my bewilderment roughly, and I found myself listening. The noise from the main-deck had dropped to a steady hum of talk and argument—subdued.

  He was pointing excitedly somewhat to the southward of the floating wreckage. I only caught the latter part of his sentence.

  “—over there!”

  Mechanically, almost, my eyes followed the direction indicated by his finger. For a moment they refused to focus anything distinctly. Then suddenly there jumped into the circled blur of my vision a little spot of black that bobbed upon the water and grew plain—it was the head of a man, swimming desperately in our direction.

  At the sight, the horror of the last few minutes fell from me, and, thinking only of rescue, I ran towards the starboard lifeboat, whipping out my knife as I ran.

  Over my shoulder came the bellow of the Skipper’s voice— “Clear away the starboard lifeboat; jump along some of you!”

  Even before the running men had reached the boat, I had ripped the cover off, and was busy heaving out the miscellaneous lumber that is so often stowed away into the boats of a windjammer. Feverishly, I worked, with half a dozen men assisting vigourously, and soon we had the boat clear and the running gear ready for lowering away. Then we swung her out, and I climbed into her without waiting for orders. Four of the men followed me, while a couple of the others stood by to lower away.

  A moment later we were pulling away rapidly towards the solitary swimmer. Reaching him, we hauled him into the boat, and only just in time, for he was palpably done up. We sat him on a thwart, and one of the men supported him. He was gasping heavily and gurgling as he breathed. Atfer a minute, he rejected a large quantity of sea water.

  He spoke for the first time.

  “My God!” he gasped. “Oh, my God!” And that was all that he seemed able to say.

  Meanwhile, I had told the others to give way again, and was steering the boat towards the wreckage. As we neared it, the rescued man struggled suddenly to his feet, and stood swaying and clutching at the man who was supporting him; while his eyes swept wildly over the ocean. His gaze rested on the patch of floating hencoops, spars, and other lumber. He bent forward somewhat and peered at it, as though trying in vain to comprehend what it meant. A vacant expression crept over his features, and he slid down onto the thwart limply, muttering to himself.

  As soon as I had satisfied myself that there was nothing living among the mass of floating stuff, I put the boat’s head round, and made for the ship with all speed. I was anxious to have the poor fellow attended to as soon as possible.

  Directly we got him aboard, he was turned over to the Steward, who made him up a bed in one of the bunks in a spare cabin opening off the saloon.

  The rest, I give as the Steward gave it me:—

  “It was like this, Sir. I stripped him an’ got him inter the blankets which the doctor had made warm at the galley fire. The poor beggar was all of a shake at first, an’ I tried to get some whisky into him; but he couldn’t do it nohow. His teeth seemed locked, and so I just gave up, an’ let him bide. In a little, the shakes went off him, an’ he was quiet enough. All the same, seein’ him that bad, I thought as I’d sit up with him for the night. There was no knowin’ but that he’d be wantin’ somethin’ later on.

  “Well, all through the first watch he lay there, not sayin’ nothin’, nor stirrin’; but just moanin’ quiet-like to hisself. An’, think I, he’ll go off inter a sleep in a bit; so I just sat there without movin’. Then, all on a sudden, about three bells in the middle watch, he started shiverin’ and shakin’ again. So I shoved some more blankets onter im, an’ then I had another try to get some whisky between his teeth; but ’twas no use; an’ then, all at once, he went limp, an’ his mouth come open with a little flop.

  “I ran for the Capting then; but the poor devil was dead befor’ we got back.”

  We buried him in the morning, sewing him up in some old canvas with a few lumps of coal at his feet.

  To this day I ponder over the thing I saw; and wonder, vainly, what he might have told us to help solve the mystery of that silent ship in the heart of the vast Pacific.

  Stories of the Sea

  A Tropical Horror

  We are a hundred and thirty days out from Melbourne, and for three weeks we have lain in this sweltering calm.

  It is midnight, and our watch on deck until four a.m. I go out and sit on the hatch. A minute later, Joky, our youngest ’prentice, joins me for a chatter. Many are the hours we have sat thus and talked in the night watches; though, to be sure, it is Joky who does the talking. I am content to smoke and listen, giving an occasional grunt at seasons to show that I am attentive.

  Joky has been silent for some time, his head bent in meditation. Suddenly he looks up, evidently with the intention of making some remark. As he does so, I see his face stiffen with a nameless horror. He crouches back, his eyes staring past me at some unseen fear. Then his mouth opens. He gives forth a strangulated cry and topples backward off the hatch, striking his head against the deck. Fearing I know not what, I turn to look.

  Great Heavens! Rising above the bulwarks, seen plainly in the bright moonlight, is a vast slobbering mouth a fathom across. From the huge dripping lips hang great tentacles. As I look the Thing comes further over the rail. It is rising, rising, higher and higher. There are no eyes visible; only that fearful slobbering mouth set on the tremendous trunk-like neck; which, even as I watch, is curling inboard with the stealthy celerity of an enormous eel. Over it comes in vast heaving folds. Will it never end? The ship gives a slow, sullen roll to starboard as she feels the weight. Then the tail, a broad, flat-shaped mass, slips over the teak rail and falls with a loud slump on to the deck.

  For a few seconds the hideous creature lies heaped in writhing, slimy coils. Then, with quick, darting movements, the monstrous head travels along the deck. Close by the main-mast stand the harness casks, and alongside of these a freshly opened cask of salt beef with the top loosely replaced. The smell of the meat seems to attract the monster, and I can hear it sniffing with a vast indrawing breath. Then those lips open, displaying four huge fangs; there is a quick forward motion of the head, a sudden crashing, crunching sound, and beef and barrel have disappeared. The noise brings one of the ordinary seamen out of the fo’cas’le. Coming into the night, he can see nothing for a moment. Then, as he gets further aft, he sees, and with horrified cries rushes forward. Too late! From the mouth of the Thing there flashes forth a long, broad blade of glistening white, set with fierce teeth. I avert my eyes, but cannot shut out the sickening “Glut! Glut!” that follows.

  The man on the look-out, attracted by the disturbance, has witnessed the tragedy, and flies for refuge into the fo’cas’le, flinging to the heavy iron door after him.

  The carpenter and sailmaker come running out from the half-deck in their drawers. Seeing the awful Thing, they rush aft to the cabin with shouts of fear. The Second Mate, after one glance over the break of the poop, runs down the companion-way with the Helmsman after him. I can hear them barring the scuttle, and abruptly I realise that I am on the main-deck alone.

  So far I have forgotten my own danger. The past few minutes seem like a portion of an awful dream. Now, however, I comprehend my position and, shaking off the horror that has held me, turn to seek safety. As I do so my eyes fall upon Joky, lying huddled and senseless with fright where he has fallen. I cannot leave him there. Close by stands the empty half-deck—a little steel-built house with iron doors. The lee one is hooked open. Once inside I am safe.

  Up to the present the Thing has seemed to be unconscious of my presence. Now, however, the huge barrel-like head sways in my direction; then comes a muffled bellow, and the great tongue flickers in and out as the brute turns and swirls aft to meet me. I know there is not a moment to lose, and, picking up the helpless lad, I make a run for the open door. It is only distant a few yards, but that awful shape
is coming down the deck to me in great wreathing coils. I reach the house and tumble in with my burden; then out on deck again to unhook and close the door. Even as I do so something white curls round the end of the house. With a bound I am inside and the door is shut and bolted. Through the thick glass of the ports I see the Thing sweep round the house, in vain search for me.

  Joky has not moved yet; so, kneeling down, I loosen his shirt collar and sprinkle some water from the breaker over his face. While I am doing this I hear Morgan shout something; then comes a great shriek of terror, and again that sickening “Glut! Glut!” Joky stirs uneasily, rubs his eyes, and sits up suddenly.

  “Was that Morgan shouting—?” He breaks off with a cry. “Where are we? I have had such awful dreams!”

  At this instant there is a sound of running footsteps on the deck and I hear Morgan’s voice at the door.

  “Tom, open—!”

  He stops abruptly and gives an awful cry of despair. Then I hear him rush forward. Through the porthole, I see him spring into the fore rigging and scramble madly aloft. Something steals up after him. It shows white in the moonlight. It wraps itself around his right ankle. Morgan stops dead, plucks out his sheath-knife, and hacks fiercely at the fiendish thing. It lets go, and in a second he is over the top and running for dear life up the t’gallant rigging.

  A time of quietness follows, and presently I see that the day is breaking. Not a sound can be heard save the heavy gasping breathing of the Thing. As the sun rises higher the creature stretches itself out along the deck and seems to enjoy the warmth. Still no sound, either from the men forward or the officers aft. I can only suppose that they are afraid of attracting its attention. Yet, a little later, I hear the report of a pistol away aft, and looking out I see the serpent raise its huge head as though listening. As it does so I get a good view of the fore part, and in the daylight see what the night has hidden.