“Don’t want to!” crossly.
“Why didn’t you come and ask me before deciding?”
“Wasn’t any time!” gruffly. “It was ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ ”
“Oh, why didn’t you say ‘No?’ ”
“Because I’m not a fool!” growing savage.
“I shall never be happy again,” she said, sitting down abruptly and beginning to cry.
Tears had their due effect, and the next instant Tom was kneeling beside her, libelling himself heartily. Presently, after sundry passages, her nose—a little pink—came out from the depth of his handkerchief.
“I shall come with you!” The words were uttered with sufficient determination to warn him that there was real danger of her threat being put into execution, and Tom, who was not entirely free from the popular superstition regarding the Pampero, began to feel uneasy as she combated every objection which he put forward. It was all very well going to sea in her himself; but to take his little girl, well—that was another thing. And so, like a sensible loving fellow, he fought every inch of the ground with her; the natural result being that at the end of an hour he retired—shall we say “retreated”—to smoke a pipe in his den and meditate on the perversity of womankind in general and his own wife in particular.
And she—well, she went to her bedroom, and turned out all her pretty summer dresses, and for a time was quite happy. No doubt she was thinking of the tropics. Later, under Tom’s somewhat disparaging guidance, she made selection among her more substantial frocks. And, in short, three weeks later saw her at sea in the haunted Pampero, along with her husband.
II
The first ten days, aided by a fresh fair wind, took them well clear of the Channel, and Mrs. Tom Pemberton was beginning to find her sea legs. Then, on the thirteenth day out they ran into dirty weather. Hitherto, the Pampero had been lucky (for her), nothing special having occurred save that one of the men was laid up through the starboard fore crane line having given way under him, letting him down on deck with a run. Yet because the man was alive and no limbs broken, there was a general feeling that the old packet was on her good behavior.
Then, as I have said, they ran into bad weather and were hove to for three weary days under bare poles. On the morning of the fourth, the wind moderated sufficiently to allow of their setting the main top-sail, storm foresail, and staysail, and running her off before the wind. During that day the weather grew steadily finer, the wind dropping and the sea going down; so that by evening they were bowling along before a comfortable six-knot breeze. Then, just before sunset, they had evidence once again that the Pampero was on her good behavior, and that there were other ships less lucky than she; for out of the red glare of sunset to starboard there floated to them the water-logged shell of a ship’s lifeboat.
In passing, one of the men caught a glimpse of something crumpled up on a thwart, and sung out to the Mate who was in charge. He, having obtained permission from the Skipper, put the ship in irons and lowered a boat. Reaching the wrecked craft, it was discovered that the something on the thwart was the still living form of a seaman, exhausted and scarcely in his right mind. Evidently they had been only just in time; for hardly had they removed him to their own boat before the other, with a slow, oily roll, disappeared from sight.
They returned with him to the ship where he was made comfortable in a spare bunk and on the next day, being sufficiently recovered, told how that he had been one of the A.B.’s in the Cyclops, and how that she had broached to while running before the gale two nights previously, and gone down with all hands. He had found himself floating beside her battered lifeboat, which had evidently been torn from its place on the skids as the ship capsized; he had managed to get hold of the lifelines and climb into her, and since then, how he had managed to exist, he could not say.
Two days later, the man who had fallen through the breaking of the crane line expired; at which some of the crew were uneasy, declaring that the old packet was going back on them.
“It’s as I said,” remarked one of the Ordinaries, “she’s ’er bloomin’, ’aunted tin kettle, an’ if it weren’t better bein’ ’aunted ’n ’ungry, I’d bloomin’ well stay ashore!” Therein he may be said to have voiced the general sentiments of the rest.
With this man dying, Captain Tom Pemberton offered to sign on Tarpin—the man they had picked up—in his place. Tarpin thankfully accepted, and took the dead man’s place in the forecastle; for though undeniably an old man, he was, as he had already shown on a couple of occasions, a smart sailor.
He was specially adept at rope splicing, and had a peculiarly shaped marlinspike, from which he was never separated. It served him as a weapon too, and occasionally some of the crew thought he drew it too freely.
And now it appeared that the ship’s bad genius was determined to prove it was by no means so black as it had been painted; for matters went on quietly and evenly for two complete weeks, during which the ship wandered across the line into the Southern Tropics, and there slid into one of those hateful calms which lurk there remorselessly awaiting their prey.
For two days Captain Tom Pemberton whistled vainly for wind; on the third he swore (under his breath when his wife was about, otherwise when she was below). On the evening of the fourth day he ceased to say naughty words about the lack of wind, for something happened, something altogether inexplicable and frightening; so much so that he was careful to tell his wife nothing concerning the matter, she having been below at the time.
The sun had set some minutes and the evening was dwindling rapidly into night when from forward there came a tremendous uproar of pigs squealing and shrieking.
Captain Tom and the Second Mate, who were pacing the poop together, stopped in their promenade and listened.
“Damnation!” exclaimed the Captain. “Who’s messing with the pigs?”
The Second Mate was proceeding to roar out to one of the ’prentices to jump forward and see what was up when a man came running aft to say that there was something in the pigsty getting at the pigs, and would he come forward. On hearing this, the Captain and the Second Mate went forward at a run. As they passed along the deck and came nearer to the sound of action, they distinctly heard the sound of savage snarling mingled with the squealing of the pigs.
“What the devil’s that!” yelled the Second, as he tried to keep pace with the Skipper. Then they were by the pigsty and, in the gathering gloom, found the crew grouped in a semicircle about the sty.
“What’s up?” roared Captain Tom Pemberton. “What’s up here?” He made a way through the men, and stooped and peered through the iron bars of the sty, but it was too dark to make out anything with certainty. Then, before he could take away his face, there came a deeper, fiercer growl, and something snapped between the bars. The Captain gave out a cry and jumped back among the men, holding his nose.
“Hurt, Sir?” asked the Second Mate anxiously.
“N-no,” said the Captain in a scared, doubtful voice. He fingered his nose for a further moment or two. “I don’t think so.”
The Second Mate turned and caught the nearest man by the shoulder.
“Bring out one of your lamps, smart now!” Yet even as he spoke, one of the Ordinaries came running out with one ready lighted. The Second snatched it from him and held it toward the pigsty. In the same instant something wet and shiny struck it from his hand. The Second Mate gave a shout, and then there was an instant’s quietness in which all caught a sound of something slithering curiously along the decks to leeward. Several of the men made a run to the forecastle; but the Second was on his knees groping for the lantern. He found it and struck a light. The pigs had stopped squealing, but were still grunting in an agitated manner. He held the lantern near the bars and looked.
Two of the pigs were huddled up in the starboard corner of the sty, and they were bleeding in several places. The third, a big fellow, was stretched upon his back; he had apparently been bitten terribly about the throat and was quite dead.
/> The Captain put his hand on the Second’s shoulder and stooped forward to get a better view.
“My God, Mister Kasson, what’s been here,” he muttered with an air of consternation.
The men had drawn up close behind and around and were now looking on, almost too astonished to venture opinions. Then a man’s voice broke the momentary silence:
“Looks as if they ’ad been ’avin a ’op with a cussed treat shark!”
The Second Mate moved the light along the bars. “The door’s shut and the toggel’s on, Sir,” he said in a low voice.
The Skipper grasped his meaning but said nothing.
“S’posin’ it ’ad been one o’ us,” muttered a man behind him.
From the surrounding “crowd” there came a murmur of comprehension and some uneasy glancing from side to side and behind.
The Skipper faced round upon them.
He opened his mouth to speak; then shut it as though a sudden idea had come to him.
“That light, quickly, Mister Kasson!” he exclaimed, holding out his hand.
The Second passed him the lamp, and he held it above his head. He was counting the men. They were all there, watch below and watch on deck; even the man on the lookout had come running down. There was absent only the man at the wheel.
He turned to the Second Mate.
“Take a couple of the men aft with you, Mr. Kasson, and pass out some lamps. We must make a search!”
In a couple of minutes they returned with a dozen lighted lamps which were quickly distributed among the men; then a thorough search of the decks was commenced. Every corner was peered into; but nothing found, and so, at last, they had to give it up, unsuccessful.
“That’ll do, men,” said Captain Tom. “Hang one of those lamps up foreside the pigsty and shove the others back in the locker.” Then he and the Second Mate went aft.
At the bottom of the poop steps the Skipper stopped abruptly and said “Hush!” For a half a minute they listened, but without being able to say that they had heard anything definite. Then Captain Tom Pemberton turned and continued his way up onto the poop.
“What was it, Sir?” asked the Second, as he joined him at the top of the ladder.
“I’m hanged if I know!” replied Captain Tom. “I feel all adrift. I never heard there was anything—anything like this!”
“And we’ve no dogs aboard!”
“Dogs! More like tigers! Did you hear what one of the shellbacks said?”
“A shark, you mean, Sir?” said the Second Mate, with some remonstrance in his tone.
“Have you ever seen a shark-bite Mister Kasson?”
“No, sir,” replied the Second Mate.
“Those are shark-bites, Mister Kasson! God help us! Those are shark-bites!”
III
After this inexplicable affair a week of stagnant calm passed without anything unusual happening, and Captain Tom Pemberton was gradually losing the sense of haunting fear which had been so acute during the nights following the death of the porker.
It was early night, and Mrs. Tom Pemberton was sitting in a deck chair on the weather side of the saloon skylight near the forward end. The Captain and the First Mate were walking up and down, passing and repassing her. Presently the Captain stopped abruptly in his walk, leaving the Mate to continue along the deck. Then, crossing quickly to where his wife was sitting, he bent over her.
“What is it, dear?” he asked. “I’ve seen you once or twice looking to leeward as though you heard something. What is it?”
His wife sat forward and caught his arm.
“Listen!” she said in a sharp undertone. “There it is again! I’ve been thinking it must be my fancy; but it isn’t. Can’t you hear it?”
Captain Tom was listening and, just as his wife spoke, his strained sense caught a low, snarling growl from among the shadows to the leeward. Though he gave a start, he said nothing; but his wife saw his hand steal to his side pocket.
“You heard it?” she asked eagerly. Then, without waiting for an answer: “Do you know, Tom, I’ve heard the sound three times already. It’s just like an animal growling somewhere over there,” and she pointed among the shadows. She was so positive about having heard it that her husband gave up all idea of trying to make her believe that her imagination had been playing tricks with her. Instead, he caught her hand and raised her to her feet.
“Come below, Annie,” he said and led her to the companion-way. There he left her for a moment and ran across to where the First Mate was on the look out; then back to her and led her down the stairs. In the saloon she turned and faced him.
“What was it, Tom? You’re afraid of something, and you’re keeping it from me. It’s something to do with this horrible vessel!”
The Captain stared at her with a puzzled look. He did not know how much or how little to tell her. Then, before he could speak, she had stepped to his side and thrust her hand into the side pocket of his coat on the right.
“You’ve got a pistol!” she cried, pulling the weapon out with a jerk. “That shows it’s something you’re frightened of! It’s something dangerous, and you won’t tell me. I shall come up on deck with you again!” She was almost tearful and very much in earnest; so much so that the Captain turned-to and told her everything; which was, after all, the wisest thing he could have done under the circumstances.
“Now,” he said, when he had made an end, “you must promise me never to come up on deck at night without me—now promise!”
“I will, dear, if you will promise to be careful and—and not run any risks. Oh, I wish you hadn’t taken this horrid ship!” And she commenced to cry.
Later, she consented to be quieted, and the Captain left her after having exacted a promise from her that she would “turn in” right away and get some sleep.
The first part she fulfilled without delay; but the latter was more difficult, and at least an hour went by tediously before at last, growing drowsy, she fell into an uneasy sleep. From this she was awakened some little time later with a start. She had seemed to hear some noise. Her bunk was up against the side of the ship, and a glass port opened right above it, and it was from this port that the noise proceeded. It was a queer slurring sort of noise, as though something were rubbing up against it, and she grew frightened as she listened; for though she had pushed the port to on getting into her bunk, she was by no means certain that she had slipped the screw-catch on properly. She was, however, a plucky little woman, and wasted no time; but made one jump to the floor, and ran to the lamp. Turning it up with a sudden, nervous movement, she glanced toward the port. Behind the thick circle of glass she made out something that seemed to be pressed up against it. A queer, curved indentation ran right across it. Abruptly, as she stared, it gaped, and teeth flashed into sight. The whole thing started to move up and down across the glass, and she heard again that queer slurring noise which had frightened her into wakefulness. The thought leaped across her mind, as though it was a revelation, that it was something living, and it was grubbing at the glass, trying to get in. She put a hand down on to the table to steady herself, and tried to think.
Behind her the cabin door opened softly, and someone came into the room. She heard her husband’s voice say “Why, Annie—” in a tone of astonishment, and then stop dead. The next instant a sharp report filled the little cabin with sound and the glass of the port was starred all across, and there was no more anything of which to be afraid, for Captain Tom’s arms were round her.
From the door there came a noise of loud knocking and the voice of the First Mate:
“Anything wrong, Sir?”
“It’s all right, Mister Stennings. I’ll be with you in half a minute.” He heard the Mate’s footsteps retreat, and go up the companion ladder. Then he listened quietly as his wife told him her story. When she had made an end, they sat and talked awhile gravely, with an infinite sense of being upon the borders of the Unknown. Suddenly a noise out upon the deck interrupted their talk, a man crying aloud
with terror, and then a pistol shot and the Mate’s voice shouting. Captain Pemberton leaped to his feet simultaneously with his wife.
“Stay here, Annie!” he commanded and pushed her down onto the seat. He turned to the door; then an idea coming to him, he ran back and thrust his revolver into her hands. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” he said assuringly; then, seizing a heavy cutlass from a rack on the bulkhead, he opened the door and made a run for the deck.
His wife, on her part, at once hurried to make sure that the port catch was properly on. She saw that it was and made haste to screw it up tightly. As she did so, she noticed that the bullet had passed clean through the glass on the left-hand side, low down. Then she returned to her seat with the revolver and sat listening and waiting.
On the main-deck the Captain found the Mate and a couple of men just below the break of the poop. The rest of the watch were gathered in a clump a little foreside of them and between them and the Mate stood one of the ’prentices, holding a binnacle lamp. The two men with the Mate were Coalson and Tarpin. Coalson appeared to be saying something; Tarpin was nursing his jaw and seemed to be in considerable pain.
“What is it, Mister Stennings?” sung out the Skipper quickly.
The First Mate glanced up.
“Will you come down, Sir,” he said. “There’s been some infernal devilment on!”
Even as he spoke the Captain was in the act of running down the poop ladder. Reaching the Mate and the two men, he put a few questions rapidly and learned that Coalson had been on his way after to relieve the “wheel,” when all at once something had leaped out at him from under the lee pin-rail. Fortunately, he had turned just in time to avoid it, and then, shouting at the top of his voice, had run for his life. The Mate had heard him and, thinking he saw something behind, had fired. Almost directly afterward they had heard Tarpin calling out further forward, and then he too had come running aft; but just under the skids he had caught his foot in a ring-bolt, and come crashing to the deck, smashing his face badly against the sharp corner of the after hatch. He, too, it would appear, had been chased; but by what, he could not say. Both the men were greatly agitated and could only tell their stories jerkily and with some incoherence.
The Ghost Pirates and Other Revenants of the Sea Page 46