The Ghost Pirates and Other Revenants of the Sea

by William Hope Hodgson

  “I think I have been dozing again. I pray God humbly that it be soon! You will not—not tell her anything about, about what I may have said, will you, John? I mean those things which I ought not to have said. What was it I did say? My head is growing strangely confused. I wonder whether you really do hear me. I may be talking only to that vast roar outside. Still, it is some comfort to go on, and I will not believe that you do not hear all I say. Hark again! A mountain of brine must have swept clean over the vessel. She has gone right over on to her side…. She is back again. It will be very soon now—

  “Are you there, John? Are you there? It is coming! The Sea has come for me! It is rushing down through the companion-way! It—it is like a vast jet! My God! I am dr-own-ing! I—am—dr—”

  The Albatross

  I

  “Confound that brute!” I shouted in sheer desperation. Then I sang out to the ’prentice who was keeping “time” on the lee side of the poop, to bring me a piece of spun-yarn and a marlinspike.

  I was First Mate of the Skylark, full-rigged ship, and we were off the Horn on a cold, absolutely windless night. It was the twelve to four watch in the early morning, and four bells (two o’clock) had just gone.

  All the watch there had been an enormous albatross flying round and round the vessel; sometimes he would actually fly across the decks, which is a thing I have never known to happen before.

  When the boy brought the marlinspike and the yarn, I bent on about two fathoms of the latter, so that I had a sort of handy little harpoon. Then I slipped quickly up the mizzen rigging and out onto the cross jack yard, where I waited with the spike ready in one hand and the end of the line held fast in the other.

  Presently, away forward in the still night, I heard the dismal squark of the great bird, and immediately a spate of blasphemy from the man on the lookout, who was evidently getting as much bothered as I by the actions of the creature.

  Not a sound then for maybe ten minutes; and then suddenly I saw something float between me and the dim skyline and come inboard. I lost it for a moment; but immediately there came the loud, dismal squark out of the night to my left, and directly afterward I saw vaguely that something was passing under the yard. I raised the marlinspike and drove down at the thing with all my strength, letting the line fly out to its full length. There was a rustle of feathers and a tugging on the line, and the bird squarked twice. Then a jerk and the snap of something breaking, and the great albatross was gone free.

  I hauled in on the spun-yarn until I had the marlinspike again in my hand; as I passed it between my fingers I felt that there was something caught round the butt, something that felt like a piece of rag. I loosed it from the spike. Then I went down again onto the poop, and at once to the light of the main binnacle, to see what it was that had got caught round the marlinspike. I could not see the thing very plainly at first, and I took the lamp out of the holder, so as to have a better light. I found then that it was a strip of red silk, such as might be torn from a girl’s blouse. At one end was a piece of broken tape. For some minutes I examined the thing very carefully. It was in this way that I found presently a single long hair, tangled in the knot of the tape. I picked it loose, gently, and looked at it; then I coiled it round and round my forefinger. It was a girl’s hair, brown, with a glint of gold in it! What did it mean? We were off Cape Horn—one of the grim, lonely places of the ocean!

  After a while I replaced the lamp in the binnacle and resumed my ordinary tramp of the weather-side of the poop. All the while I was turning this matter over in my brain, and presently I went back again to the light, so that I might have another look at the piece of silk. I saw then that it could not have been very long since it had been torn; for it was very little frayed at the tear and had no appearance of having been weatherworn for more than a few days. Also, the material was new and seemed to be of very fine quality. I grew more puzzled.

  Of course it was possible that there was another sailing-ship within a hundred miles of us; it was also possible that such a vessel had a girl aboard, perhaps the Captain’s daughter; it was also possible that they had caught this particular albatross on a line and tied the silk to it and let it go again. But it was also exceedingly improbable. For sailors will always keep an albatross for the sake of the wing-bones, which make pipe-stems, and the webs, which make purses, and the breast, which makes a gorgeous fire-screen; while others prize the great bill and the beautiful wing-tips.

  Moreover, even if the bird had been loosed, why had some one torn up a new silk garment, when a piece of old bunting would have done just as well? You can see how my thoughts were trending. That piece of silk and that long pretty hair coming to me suddenly out of the night in that lonely and desolate sea had stirred me with vague wonderings. Yet I never put my wonderments actually into words, but went back to my constant pacing fore and aft. And so, presently, the Second Mate came up at eight bells to relieve me.

  The next day, through all the eight-to-twelve forenoon watch, I kept a pretty keen lookout for albatross, but the whole sea was lonely, and though there was such an absolute calm, there was not even a Mother Carey’s chicken in sight—only everywhere, so far as the sight might reach, an everlasting grey desolation of water.

  The afternoon watch I went below for a sleep. Then, in the first dog-watch, a little before three bells, I saw a great albatross swing and glide against the grey of the sky, about a mile astern. I reached for my glasses and had a good look. I saw the bird plainly, a huge, bony-shouldered albatross, with a queer bulge below the breast. As I stared at him, I grew suddenly excited, for I saw that the bulge was really a packet of some kind tied onto the creature, and there was something fluttering from it.

  In the second dog-watch, I asked two of my ’prentices to come down with me into the sail-locker and help me root out an old seine-net that we carried for occasional sport. I told them I was going to have a try for the big albatross that night, if he started flying across the decks again, and they were nearly as keen as I, though I had asked them to do this sail-tossing in their watch below.

  When my watch came, from eight until midnight, I did nothing until the “Old Man” had turned in for the night; then I had my boys rig lines for the big net from the main and the mizzen masts, so that we could hoist it up at any moment and let it hang like a curtain between the masts.

  The night was very quiet and dark, and though it was difficult to see anything, it would have been easy to hear the bird at a great distance. Yet for over an hour after this there was no sign of anything, and I began to think that we were not to have a visit. However, just after four bells had gone (ten o’clock) there came from far away over the sea the strange lonely squark, squark of an albatross, and a few minutes later I had a vague glimpse of him flying silently round and round the ship, in the way common enough with his kind. Presently he gave out a loud squark and turned inboard to fly over the poop. The next instant there was a loud squarking up in the night, and a constant beating of heavy wings. I shouted to the boys at the lines to lower away, and a moment later I was shining the binnacle light on a fluster of beating wings and tangled net.

  I sang out to the nearest ’prentice to hold the lamp while I disentangled the albatross and found out what the package was that was made fast to him. The parcel was done up in layer after layer of oilskin, and from the outside there was another such streamer of red silk as the one that had caught on my spike the night before. Then I had come to the last of the wrappings of oilskin and there were a couple of pages torn from a log-book and folded very tight and compact. I opened them, and found that they were covered with hasty feminine handwriting. And this is what I read:

  This is written aboard the Unicorn, derelict, on the twenty-first day of March, 1904. She was run down by an unknown steamer ten days ago. I am here alone, living in the chart-house. I have food and water sufficient to last me for about a week longer, if I am very careful. The vessel seems to be floating with her decks just a little above the water, and every tim
e the sea is a bit rough it just pours aboard of her.

  I am sending this message tied round the neck of an albatross. The captain shot it the day before we were run down, and hurt the poor creature’s wing. I told him he was an inhuman brute. I am sorry now, for he, along with every other soul, is dead, drowned. He was a brave man. The men crowded into the boats, and he stood with his revolver and tried to stop them, saying that no one should leave the ship before I was safe. He shot two of them, but the others threw him into the sea. They were mad. They took the boats and went away; and my maid went with them. But it was terribly rough, and I saw them sink just a little way from the ship.

  I have been alone ever since, except for the albatross. I have nursed it, and now it seems as if it should be able to fly. I pray God that this message be found before it is too late! If any find it, come and save a girl from an awful and lonely death. The position of the ship is written down in the logbook here in the chart-house, so I will give it; then you will know where to search for me. It is Latitude 62° 7’ S. and Longitude 67° 10’ W.

  I have sent other messages corked up in bottles; but this is the one in which I have all my hope. I shall tie a piece of something red to it, so that any one seeing my albatross will know it is carrying something and try to catch it. Come, come, come, as quickly as ever you can!

  There are enormous numbers of rats about. I suppose the water has driven them up out of the holds and places; but they make me afraid to sleep. Remember, the food I have won’t last more than a week, and I am here all alone. But I will be brave. Only don’t give up searching for me. The wind has been blowing from the north ever since the night when the boats sank. It is quite calm now. Perhaps these things will help you to know where to look for me, as I can see that the wind must make the ship drift. Don’t give me up! Remember I’m waiting, waiting, and trying to be brave.

  Mary Doriswold.

  You can imagine how I felt, when I had finished reading this paper. Our position that day was 58° S. and 67° 30’ W.; so that we were at least two hundred and fifty miles to the north of the place where the derelict had been eighteen days earlier; for it was now the twenty-ninth day of March. And there, somewhere away to the southward of us, a girl was dying of hunger and lonesomeness! And there was absolutely no sign of wind.

  After a little while I told the boys to clear away the net and take the albatross down on to the main-deck and tie it to one of the ring-bolts. Then I took a turn or two up and down the poop, and finally decided to go down and call the “Old Man” and set the matter before him.

  When he had heard what I had to tell, he slipped into his clothes and came out into the saloon, where he read the letter twice, very carefully. Then he had a look at the barometer, and afterward came up with me onto the poop and had a look at the weather; but there were certainly no immediate signs of wind.

  Through all the rest of the watch he walked up and down with me, discussing the thing, and went several times to the binnacle to make fresh examinations of the letter. Once I suggested the possibility of manning one of the life-boats and trying down to the southward, letting the ship follow on so soon as the wind came. But, of course, he would not listen to this, and very rightly, too. For not only would it have been to risk the lives of all who went in the boat, but to risk the vessel also, because we should have had to leave her undermanned. And so the only thing we could do was to pray for wind.

  Down on the main-deck I could hear presently the murmur of voices, and I knew that the men had got the news and were talking it over; but that was all that we could do.

  At midnight, when the Second Mate came up to relieve me, he had already learned the story from the ’prentice who called him, and when finally I went below, he and the Skipper were still discussing it.

  At four o’clock, when I was waked, my first inquiry was about the wind; but there was not a sign, and when I got on the poop I could see that the weather still had the same dead, settled look.

  All that day we kept waiting for the wind that never came; and at last a deputation of the men came aft to ask to be allowed to volunteer to man one of the life-boats and make a search party. But the Master sent them forward again, quietly enough, and even took the trouble to point out the hopelessness of such an attempt, as well as the tremendous risk. For if the derelict were still above water, she might have drifted sufficiently far to be still lost after weeks of searching in the great unknown seas to the southward.

  All that day the wind never came, and all that day there was nothing else talked about aboard except the chances of saving the girl. And when at last night came I do not believe half the watch below turned in, but paced the decks, whistling for wind and watching the weather.

  The morning came, and still the calm; and at last I asked the Captain whether he would give me permission to take the little gig, which was a light and handy boat, and make the trial alone. I said that if I failed, and the boat was lost, her value would be amply covered by the wages due to me. But the “Old Man” simply refused to listen to the idea, and told me, kindly enough, that it was madness.

  I saw that it was no use arguing with him, for he was perfectly right in what he said; but at the same time I was determined to try, if the wind did not come by the evening. For I could not get the thought of that lonely unknown girl out of my mind, and I kept remembering what she had said about the rats.

  II

  That night, when the Captain had gone below, I had a talk with the Steward, and afterward I gave orders to get the little gig quietly into the water. I provisioned her thoroughly and added a bottle of brandy and a bottle of rum. The Second Mate fitted her with a boat’s compass and binnacle from one of the life-boats, and also attended to the filling of the water-breakers, and saw that all the gear was in place. Then I added my oilskins, some rugs and canvas, and my sextant and chronometer and charts, and so forth. At the last I remembered my shotgun, and ran down for this and plenty of cartridges; for there was no saying how useful it might be.

  I shook hands with the Second Mate, when I returned, and went down into the boat.

  “We’ll be after you as soon as the wind comes,” he said quietly. “Good luck!”

  I nodded, and afterward mentioned one or two details of ship’s work which would need attention. Then I pulled in the painter and pushed off. As I cleared the side of the vessel, there came a hushed cheering, and hoarse whispers of, “Good luck, Sir! Good luck, Sir!”

  The lamp in the little binnacle was lit, and I turned the hood round, so that I could watch the compass as I pulled. Then I settled down to my work at the oars, and presently the vessel had faded away from me into the night, though for a long while there would come over the sea to me the odd rustle and flap of a sail, as the ship lifted to the occasional glassy swell. But afterward I rowed on through an everlasting silence toward the south.

  Twice in the night I ceased work, and ate and drank; then onward again, keeping to an easy, regular pull that I knew I could keep up hour after hour.

  In the morning I had a good look round, but the Skylark was lost below the horizon astern, and the whole world seemed empty. It was a most extraordinary and depressing sensation. I had an early breakfast, and rowed on. Later, I got my longitude; at midday I took my altitude and found that I had done nearly fifty miles to the south.

  All that day I pulled steadily, stopping only to eat and drink at regular intervals. That night I slept for six hours, from twelve until six, and when I waked there was still the everlasting calm.

  Four more days and nights I went onward in this fashion. All the fourth day I pulled steadily, stopping every half-hour to take a look round; but there was always and only the grey emptiness of the sea. All that night I drifted; for I had passed over, and was now to the southward of the position of the derelict given by the girl, and I dared not row in the darkness, for fear of passing the wreck.

  Part of the night I used in making calculations, and afterward had a good long sleep. I was wakened in the dawn by the
lapping of water against the boat, and found that a light breeze had sprung up from the west. This cheered me immensely for I knew that now the Skylark would be able to follow, provided that the wind was not merely a local breeze. And, in any case, there was no longer need to use the oars, for I had a mast and sail in the boat.

  I stepped the mast and hoisted the lug-sail; then I shipped the rudder and sat down to rest and steer. And it is impossible to express my gratitude; for my hands were raw with broken blisters, and I ached in all my body with the constant and weary labor at the oars.

  All that day I ran to the southward, keeping a lookout; but never a sign was there of anything, so that an utter dismay began to come down on me. Yet I did not give up hoping. That night I made fresh calculations, with the result that next morning, as soon as I had hoisted the sail (for I had let the boat drift during the darkness), I altered my course a few degrees to the eastward. At noon I found that I was a hundred and twenty-seven miles to the south and forty-six miles to the east of the last known position of the Unicorn. If I sighted nothing by evening, I would make a long tack next day to the north, a few miles eastward of my downward run.

  I ran on until the dusk came; and then, after a final long look round, I dropped my sail for the night and set the boat to ride by the painter to a couple of oars, as I had done on the previous nights of drifting.

  I felt desperately disheartened, and began to realise more thoroughly my own position, over four hundred miles from the Skylark and in a latitude of hopeless and weary storms and utterly unfrequented by ships. Yet I fought this down and finally settled myself to sleep, well wrapped up in my rugs, for it was bitterly cold, though so fine.