The Ghost Pirates and Other Revenants of the Sea

by William Hope Hodgson

  VII

  I was waked some hours later by a tremendous noise overhead. There were heavy blows on the deck, and Bully Dunkan was shouting, thickly.

  ‘‘What is it, Miles?” I asked, and sat up in the darkness.

  “They’re waking up, John,” he said.

  “They appear to be doing it very thoroughly,” I replied. “It sounds as if Dunkan were massaging the Hogge.”

  “He’s bumping his head on the deck,” said Miles. “He’ll kill him, instead of bringing him round.”

  “Probably, dear man,” I answered; “but I don’t think we’re out to save the Hogge’s bacon! If they finished each other, the world, and the sea especially, would be well shut of them…. Hark to him!”

  There was a steady, monotonous bumping now on the deck of the cabin, above. I had no doubt that it was the Mate’s head; also, I began to think Miles’ prophecy would come right. The bumps were so vigourous, that they made the lazarette resound.

  Abruptly, one of the bumps ended, in a curious, breaking sound.

  “G’lor’!” said Miles. “Did you hear that? He’s broke the Mate’s head!”

  The heavy blows had ceased, and there was a brief silence.

  Suddenly, we both heard the Hogge’s voice say, in a dazed tone:—

  “Leggo my ears, dam yer! Leggo my ears!”

  Miles sighed relief. I could hear him plainly, through the darkness.

  “Thought that’d wake yer, my bonnie boy!” said Dunkan’s voice. “Where’s the gold?”

  “Say! What’s this blame thing I’m lyin’ my ’ead on?” asked the Hogge, still a little dazed-seeming; but palpably returning again to this life.

  “Where’s the gold?” reiterated Bully Dunkan.

  “What’s this blame thing I got my ’ead on?” asked the Hogge, again. “It’s blame sharp!… Leggo my ears, I tells yer. Leggo!”

  There was a short scuffle; then the Hogge’s voice again:—

  “A broke ceegar-box, you old swine, you! I s’pose you thought it dam funny to bash me down onto that. I’m all cut with the broke wood. Dam your ugly ways!”

  “Where’s the gold?” asked Bully Dunkan. There was a sharp movement; and then the Hogge’s voice, now less dazed than ever:—

  “Say! Don’t point that blame thing at me. You’re too drunk to play with shootin’ gear.”

  “Where’s the gold?” asked Bully Dunkan. “I’m goin’ to shoot in a minute.”

  There was a scurrying, lumpish sound, as if the Hogge had sat up suddenly.

  “The gold!” he said, in a voice that denoted he was at last awake to the Complete Present. “The gold! Why we was countin’ it… on the table. It’s there, ain’t it? Say! I feel dam bad. How ever much did we put down? I’m all…”

  “Where’s the gold?” said Bully Dunkan’s voice, monotonously.

  There were sounds, suggestive of the Hogge’s essaying a standing position.

  “Say!” he said, after a moment, in a stunned kind of voice, “the dollars is gone! Say…!” He broke off, and I heard his feet go at a clumsy run towards the cabin door. “Say!” he called out, “it’s locked! Say, Cap’n! Say! I tell yer the blame door’s locked!”

  “Where’s the gold?” came Bully Dunkan’s everlasting reiteration. “You smart Hogge, you! Out with it, or I’ll plug yer! Where’s the gold?”

  There followed a moment’s silence.

  “No, you blame well don’t, Cap’n!” said the Hogge’s voice, suddenly full of suspicion. “You don’t put that over on me, dam yer! You don’t foxy me that way! No, Siree!”

  There was a sudden crash, and a chinkling down on the deck, of broken glass. One of them, probably the Hogge, had evidently thrown one of the empty bottles. There followed the rush of the Hogge’s big bluchers, from the direction of the door; and simultaneously, there were two revolver shots, almost together.

  Then came the thud of the two men meeting, and through the next five minutes, there was quite high-class trouble up above. Apparently, everything smashable in the cabin got smashed. The thuds, blows, stampings, breathless cussings, and the chorus-crashes of breakages, were impressive and stimulating to listen to.

  Finally, it ended.

  “That was some row, Miles,” I said, through the darkness.

  “It was, John,” said Miles. “Listen to them now. They’re feeling cooler.”

  The Hogge and Bully Dunkan were apparently collecting themselves. The still uncoordinated fragments refused to attempt clear speech for a time. They wheezed, and achieved odd words and grunts, and displayed a very apparent breathlessness.

  Finally, the Hogge amalgamated first.

  “Say! You might ha’ blame well plugged me, dam your ugly ways!”

  “What d’yer want to go slingin’ bottles around for, then!” Bully Dunkan managed to articulate, with generous pauses.

  They appeared, both of them, to be on the floor; for presently I heard them scrambling and slurring their heavy boots, as they got slowly to their feet.

  One of them walked across the cabin, towards the bunk. It was Bully Dunkan; for his voice came the next moment:—

  “Look a-here, quick!” he said. “Good Lord! Look a-here!”

  The Hogge’s bluchers stumbled hastily across the cabin. There was a full quarter minute silence, completely eloquent with horror.

  “Say!…” began the Hogge; and was silent again. Then, with simple despair, he said all that he was capable of:— “Say! All them dollars!”

  Neither man spoke, for maybe a minute after that. They were both acquainted with liquor and its vagaries when imbibed in largish quantity. They both knew that “in liquor,” or “full” as they more briefly described it, in the troubled talk that followed, a man will do anything.

  “It’s worse,” said the Hogge, sadly, “than when I got drunk in Val’parazo an’ give the bar-man five hundred dollars, all I had. My pay-day for fifteen months. An’ next day, he’d not even stand me a drink. Swore I’d not give him a cent. Said he made a point never to take presents.”

  We heard them moving about.

  “I guess this is the kettle, right enough. It’s flat; but there’s a drop of stuff in it,” said Dunkan’s voice; and I could hear him tasting something, with a clumsy smacking of his lips.

  “It’s neat rum,” he announced, mournfully. “No wonder we was screwed. I guess we filled the kettle, an’ then forgot, an’ thought it was water.”

  “Three empty bottles on the deck,” said the Hogge, gloomily, “an’ the dee-canter.”

  There followed a long period of flat silence.

  “Guess I’d best go up an’ relieve the Bo’sun,” said the Hogge, in a sombre voice.

  There was no thought of searching the ship. My little plot had worked, just the way I like a plot to work. Bully Dunkan and the Hogge accepted what I might call the Suggestion of the Port Hole, as at once a practicable and a probable solution of the mystery. It tallied both with the teachings of their Experience and the suggestions of their Reason, felt that I had done much to help the cause of temperance.

  VIII

  We were released some hours later, at midday.

  That night, during the Hogge’s watch, while he was sleeping soundly and illegally on the weather-seat of the cabin-skylight, I crept up onto the poop, lifted the cap of the ventilator, and hauled on the chest-lashing. Half a minute later, I had the long, narrow-bag up through the ventilator shaft, and beside me on the deck. I cast off the chest-lashing from the cap of the ventilator, and pressed the cap down into place again.

  All this, I had managed, without ever rising to my feet; and the bag had been hard to pull up, in that position. Now, I took a look aft over the skylight. It was a pretty quiet night; but very dark. I could hear the Hogge snoring in a most satisfactory fashion; and the man at the wheel just showed vaguely in the light from the binnacle; so I guessed he could not see me. Then, I gripped the bag in my arms, stood up and walked, barefooted, to the lee stairway, where Miles was waiting
for me.

  “The bo’sun’s locker!” I said; and we carried the bag there. Inside the locker, we fastened the door, and I lighted a candle I had ready in my pocket. Then, among all the mucker of chain, chain-hooks, marlinspikes, serving-mallets, sampson-line, spun-yarn, good Stockholm-tar, and the like, the two of us started to pack the gold into a lot of little canvas bags that Miles and I had made ready for the job. We hurried like mad; for we stood to lose everything, if anyone found us locked in there, at that time of night.

  At last, we had all the cash divided up into little bags, about ten or twelve pounds weight each, I should think; and we hid all but four of them at the back of the tar-barrel.

  We blew out the candle, unlocked the door, and got out on deck, each of us with a bag in each of the side-pockets of our jackets. We walked forrard into the fo’cas’le, where most of the watch on deck were playing poker, sitting on deck-buckets.

  Miles and I opened our sea-chests, and pretended to rummage a bit; and while we were rummaging, we managed to stow away our little bags of gold, without one of the shell-backs seeing us.

  We made three more journeys, during the next half hour; and this way, we managed to store the gold away in our sea-chests, without one of all those sinners in that crowded fo’cas’le ever guessing a thing we didn’t want guessed! And a good job done, too; when you remember that a fo’cas’le is never empty at sea.

  IX

  We made a pretty fair passage round; and Miles and I did our best to put up with the Hogge’s little ways and Bully Dunkan’s, without causing a riot. We each had to stand a kicking or two; and we were each knocked down several times; and we held ourselves back in a way that made me realise what a good Christian must have to go through in this life.

  “There’s a better time coming,” I told Miles. “Keep the lid on until then, old man. We’ve too much at stake, to risk trouble, till the loot’s safe ashore.”

  The day we reached Boston, Miles and I had a final knocking about from Bully Dunkan and the Hogge, and it took every ounce of our hundred-weight, or so, of hard-earned gold, to enable us to put up with it quietly.

  That night, however, we got the stuff safely ashore, and stored it at the house of one of Miles’ friends. Then we felt free at last to interview Dunkan and the Hogge, without stint. And my friend Miles was quite as eager as I.

  “The Hogge’s your mutton,” I told him. “The Bully for me! I can still feel where his sea-boot took me in the seat of my pants this morning.”

  Miles was very well content with the arrangement; and as we both felt we couldn’t wait another hour, we decided to go right back to the ship there and then, and see whether Bully Dunkan and the Hogge had got back aboard again.

  We met Sandy Meg, returning from the galley to the cabin; and he told us that both of them were in the cabin, and he was just taking their supper aft.

  “Sandy Meg,” I said, “we’re going in to see the Old Man and the Hogge. We’re going to tell him we want to be paid off.”

  “They’ll murder you,” said Sandy Meg. “The Skipper’s rotten to-night. He knocked me flat as soon as the two of ’em come back aboard, just ’cause I’d not got the supper ready. How was I to know they’d be comin’ back aboard as soon as this; an’ first night ashore, too!”

  “Sandy Meg,” I said, “you keep out of the cabin for ten minutes. Go up on the poop, and have a free seat in the gallery. You can see what happens, through the skylight. Miles and I are going to paste up those two brutes; and pay them back some of what’s coming to them. Don’t fret about us. We let them lick us out at sea, for reasons of our own. This is going to be different.”

  Sandy Meg said never a word; but put his tray down on the main-hatch, silent and grimly joyful, and went up to have his free “gallery seat” through the flap of the open skylight.

  Miles and I went in through the door, under the break of the poop, and walked straight into the cabin, where the Dunkan and the Hogge sat, waiting at the table, and looking fretful enough, each of them, to make me think they must have had a poor evening ashore.

  “We’ve come to ask you to pay us off, Cap’n,” I said.

  They jumped, and then sat silent; neither of them saying a word; being momentarily incapacitated from doing anything else.

  “We’ve come to ask you to pay us off, or else discharge the Hogge, Cap’n,” I said. “We don’t like being kicked; but it’s not dignified being kicked by a grunter. You’ll remember, Cap’n, that I remarked once before that he grunted. I think you agreed with me. It isn’t dignified—”

  But that was all they allowed me to explain. The Hogge snatched up a plate, and it spoiled the maple-wood bulkshead behind me. Then both he and the Captain came for us, with their fists.

  There wasn’t much room; but quite sufficient; for I’d not come there to play light. As the Bully rushed me, I propped him off with one clean left hand hit in the neck; and the way his stern met the deck of the cabin, was a thing to remember; at least I can’t see him forgetting it.

  Miles and the Hogge were having a great time of it, over by the end of the table; and before the Bully had got up and rushed me again, Miles had got that brute of a Hogge up against one of the cabin bulks-heads, and was hitting him, quick and monotonous, right and left, right and left, just wherever he pleased. And as he hit, he seemed to be intoning a number of things that the Hogge must have been the better and wiser for hearing.

  The Bully was up again by now, and he rushed me, hitting with both hands, like a madman. I slipped clean under his right, and punched him up against the bulkshead, as he tumbled past me.

  He came round, like a shot, and took a flying kick at me; but I declined to be at home, and his foot took the edge of the cabin table, instead, and kicked a strip clean off it, fore and aft, about six inches wide.

  ‘‘Captain, dear,” I said, “you’ll not have a bit of furniture left; the way you and the Hogge carry on.”

  He rushed me a third time, putting his head down to butt me in the stomach; but I brought up my knee quickly, and made him straighten wonderfully.

  “Now, Bully Dunkan,” I said, as he tried twice to hit me with his elbows, “here’s what’s coming to a brute and a bully and a murderer like you!” And with that, I slipped a left-handed swing of his, and punched him hard on the short ribs with my left hand; then, I crossed in over with my right hand, as his head came forward; and I hit him clean on the side of his chin, close up to the point. I hit with my body and leg to help the blow; and Bully Dunkan went down with a crash, as he had laid many a poor devil of a sailorman out.

  Miles had finished now with the Hogge, who lay on the deck, showing no interest in anything; and I decided we had done enough, both for pleasure and for common justice.

  “Come along, Miles,” I said. “They’ll keep in a restful state of mind for a bit, I reckon. Pity we can’t lynch them.”

  Outside on the deck, Sandy Meg nearly hugged us. “My oath!” he said. “My oath; but that did me good to see!”

  Miles and I went forrard and rummaged our sea-chests; the chests themselves we decided not to bother with, and presented them to two of the men who were without. Then we said good-bye to the old ship; and went ashore. We had enough to buy new sea-chests, we decided, if ever we were fools enough to need such things again.

  The next day, I sent the following letter to Bully Dunkan and the Mate:—

  “Dear Captain and Hogge,

  “Let me commend to your earnest notice the following observations:—

  1.—Handcuffs have keys.

  2.—Lazarette-hatches have the same weakness.

  3.—Dope (especially ’Frisco quality) is most effective, particularly when put into, say, a kettle of hot grog-water, left on the deck near a lazarette hatch.

  4.—Gold, in almost any form; but especially in gold-dollar shape, is a peculiarly useful and likeable metal.

  5.—A punch on the point of the jaw is an instant cure for most evils. N.B. How is your jaw? Hope I didn’t hit too
hard.

  6.—Hogges grunt. Get rid of the habit or the Hogge.

  7.—There is a little, unknown island, somewhere in the Pacific, known to you and the Hogge. If you will supply us with the latitude and the longitude of same, we shall be pleased to hand the information over to the police, with all particulars. Failing which, we must appropriate certain useful metal to our own use.

  “From an old shipmate.”

  The Haunted Pampero

  I

  Hurrah!” cried young Tom Pemberton as he threw open the door and came forward into the room where his newlywed wife was busily employed about some sewing, “they’ve given me a ship. What ho!” and he threw his peaked uniform cap down on the table with a bang.

  “A ship, Tom?” said his wife, letting her sewing rest idly in her lap.

  “The Pampero,” said Tom proudly.

  “What! The ‘Haunted Pampero’?” cried his wife in a voice expressive of more dismay than elation.

  “That’s what a lot of fools call her,” admitted Tom, unwilling to hear a word against his new kingdom. “It’s all a lot of rot! She’s no more haunted than I am!”

  “And you’ve accepted?” asked Mrs. Tom, anxiously, rising to her feet with a sudden movement which sent the contents of her lap to the floor.

  “You bet I have!” replied Tom. “It’s not a chance to be thrown away, to be Master of a vessel before I’ve jolly well reached twenty-five.”

  He went toward her, holding out his arms happily; but he stopped suddenly as he caught sight of the dismayed look upon her face.

  “What’s up, little girl?” he asked. “You don’t look a bit pleased.” His voice denoted that her lack of pleasure in his news hurt him.

  “I’m not, Tom. Not a bit. She’s a dreadful ship! All sorts of horrible things happen to her—”

  “Rot!” interrupted Tom decisively. “What do you know about her anyway? She’s one of the finest vessels in the company.”

  “Everybody knows,” she said, with a note of tears in her voice. “Oh, Tom, can’t you get out of it?”