The Ghost Pirates and Other Revenants of the Sea

by William Hope Hodgson

  For a while he was silent.

  “Queer thing, Sir.” I ventured after a bit.

  “Damned queer!” he replied. “I shall call the Old Man soon if it comes any closer.”

  “Perhaps it’s not moving,” I suggested. The Second Mate looked at me a moment moodily, then stood upright with a sudden movement.

  “I never thought of that,” he cried. “You think we may be in a current taking us towards it?” I nodded silently.

  He went to the side and looked over, then returned irritably. “I wish to heaven it was daylight!” he snapped. In a while he looked again; then an exclamation of surprise came from him quickly, and turning, he handed the glasses to me.

  “See if you can see anything queer about it,” he said.

  I had a long look, then passed them back to him.

  “Well?” he questioned impatiently.

  “I don’t know, Sir,” I answered. “It beats all I’ve seen while I’ve been fishing: it seems tons larger too.”

  “Yes, Yes!” he growled, “but don’t you notice anything about the shape?”

  “Jove, yes, Sir, I do now you mention it. You mean it looks like a great wedge? And the colour, Sir, it’s wonderful. You might almost fancy…” I hesitated somewhat shyly.

  “Go on,” he grunted.

  “Well, sir, you could almost fancy it was a tremendous valley of light in the night.”

  He nodded appreciatively, but said nothing.

  An hour passed, and the thing grew visibly. From the main-deck came a subdued hum, the voices of the watch discussing the strange phenomenon in awestruck tones.

  It could be seen plainly now with the naked eye, a great chasm of violet light like the opening of a huge valley into dreamland.

  The Second Mate beckoned to me, and I went quickly.

  “Take the poop,” he said, “and keep your eyes lifting while I go and call the Old Man.”

  “Very good, Sir,” and he went below. Presently he came up again.

  “Can’t make him hear at all,” he said uneasily. “Better run down and call the Mate.”

  I did, and in a few minutes he joined the Second on the poop.

  At first the Mate did little but stare astonished at that uncanny sight, while the Second Mate told him what little we knew. Then we went to the chart room and presently returned. I saw him shake his head in answer to question from the Second, and after that they watched that growing mystery in silence. Once the Mate said something, and I thought I caught the words “luminous clouds,” but was not certain.

  On we moved. The sight grew vaster.

  A little later the Second Mate had another try to wake the Captain, but returned unsuccessful.

  Down on the main-deck had gathered the whole crew. Once a man’s voice rose blasphemously. There was a growing mutter of anger, and the blasphemer was silent. Time passed slowly.

  The gulf of light rose right up into the midnight sky spreading fan-wise, and vanishing into further space. We were apparently some two miles from it when I heard the First Mate whisper something and go back to our binnacle. When he came back I heard him mutter hoarsely that we were drifting directly into the thing. The words were caught by some of the crew and passed round quickly in accents of fear.

  Strange to say, no light came to us from the rift and this, I think, made it the more spectral and unearthly. The two miles had dwindled down to half, and I saw the Second Mate raise his glasses and look towards where the gulf had joined the sea. In fearful curiosity my gaze followed his, and there came to me a fresh feeling of dread as I saw that the point of the shimmering wedge seemed to drive far below the surface of the silent deep.

  Still nearer, now but a hundred yards from that luminous gulf. I stared but could see nothing.

  Nearer, and I looked up one slope of the riven night showing like the side of an eternal mountain.

  The ship’s bows drifted into the light. A moment, and I saw the foremast with its maze of ropes loom ghostly against that weird effulgence.

  The Mate spoke jerkily.

  “Damn!” he said, and was silent.

  I looked forrard again and stared, terrified.

  The fore-part of the ship had vanished. In place rolled a sea of violet clouds out of which rose grotesquely the frightened face of the lookout man. Further aft came the impalpable billows of mist. Forward of the foremast, nothing showed save that frightened face.

  The ship drove forward and the main-mast faded into nothingness. I saw the crew in the waist stare fearfully out of those trembling waves of mystery. A moment later it was upon me, and I found myself submerged in an ocean of violet shades that gleamed wondrously.

  The two Mates still stood together, and I saw them look bewilderedly at one another, though neither spoke. I looked astern and saw a mighty shape of blackness, with a glimmer of dark waters. It was the night we had left.

  Slowly, as my faculties began to work, I saw things more plainly. Afar on my left rose a vast range of shadowy peaks, showing ghostly. Between them and where I stood rolled an immensity of luminous misty waves that fluctuated eternally.

  To the right, the eye swept away into unutterable distances, and over all reigned an intolerable silence. A coldness like that of a tomb crept over me. I shivered. Once the brooding silence was broken by a moaning, as of a distant wind.

  Presently I put out my hand through the winding mist and felt something hard; it was the rail running across the break of the poop. I looked down, but could see nothing. I took a step forward and stumbled against a hard object; it was a hencoop, and gropingly I sat down on it. I felt strangely tired and bewildered. How long I sat there it would be difficult to say. Time seemed to have no part in that dread place. The cold grew more intense, and I have an indistinct memory of shivering through an indeterminable space of time.

  Suddenly there came again that windy moan, and then a cry of indescribable fear from many voices, followed by a sound as of whispering in the sky. I leapt to my feet and looked to where I had last seen the crew. There they were, all huddled together like frightened children, their eyes staring fearfully upwards into the void. Instinctively my gaze followed theirs. At first I could not make out what it was they watched so steadfastly; but slowly there grew out of the mists shapes, shapes clothed mistily, that watched us with great sombre eyes. Nearer they came, and looking towards the distant mountains, I saw dusky masses of clouds sweeping steadily from their towering heights in our direction. On they came, and as they drew nearer I saw that they were not clouds, but legions upon legions of those spirit forms. Still they came, floating like great clouds of intelligence above us. The weird sight impressed me terribly. I felt that the end of all things was approaching. Then as I watched, a strange thing happened. From those unnameable beings above, there drove a single dim enshrouded figure. It came headlong like a storm-driven cloud, and stopped before the crowd of cowering sailors. Then, as the wrappings of a shroud, rotten with extreme age might fall away shewing the corpse within; so did the dusky mist slip away and reveal to my astonished gaze—not a corpse, but the face and figure of a lovely young girl. I gave a gasp of astonishment, and leaned forward to get a better look; even as I did a tall form sprang from amongst the crowding sailors and shouted hoarsely.

  “Mary! Mary!” it said, and ended in a harsh scream. It was Langstone, one of the A.B.’s. The girl put one ghostly hand to her heart, and I saw the handle of a sailor’s sheath-knife showing starkly. What she meant, I could not at first make out. Then Langstone’s voice rose shrilly, “Mary! Mary! Forgive….” He stopped abruptly. The girl-spirit after that one accusing gesture had turned away coldly and unforgivingly. I saw Langstone give a despairing glance at the shrinking men, then with a cry of “God help me,” he leapt away out into the purple billows, and faintly to my ears as though from miles beneath my feet came the sound of a far distant splash, and then a long dread silence.

  In a while I looked again towards those gloomy heights, but now I could no longer see the spect
ral hosts; instead it had grown wonderfully clear, and far into the void I saw a speck of snow-white fleece which grew rapidly larger as I watched, until presently it floated just overhead, and I made out a tender, womanly face smiling down upon me. It was the face of my mother who a short year previously had passed into the arms of the Great One. I took a step forward and held my arms out supplicatingly—I felt as though the tumultuous beating of my heart would suffocate me. I called “Mother,” first softly, then loudly, and saw the dear lips move tremulously. Then even as I watched, it faded and like a dream was gone. For some moments I stood looking tearfully and unbelievingly upwards, until sorrowfully it was borne upon me that she had indeed gone.

  A moment it seemed, and a voice spoke. The words came to me muffled, as though through mists of eternity—unmeaning they seemed and unreal. A dreamy feeling stole over me. I felt disinclined to listen. Again the voice came and I roused myself to catch the words. Two words only, but they woke me thoroughly. The sound echoed from the far heights with a tender insistence: “My Love! My Love! My Love!” And presently a step sounded, muffled and soft. I turned, and lo! the Captain’s face showed palely. He was looking up into the wide with a rapt expression. I looked also, but though I searched earnestly, could see nothing. Suddenly I heard again the vague murmur of a deep splash, and glancing down quickly, could nowhere see the Captain. I stood confounded. The cry above had ceased. Then it seemed I saw a shadowy form with a face like that of the Captain’s, float upwards into the violet twilight.

  And thus, stupified, I stood waiting; waiting for I knew not what.

  Presently I roused myself and made my way gropingly towards where I judged the side of the vessel to be. In a while my hand rested on something that I knew to be the rail running along the port side of the poop, and thus I leant upon it and peered over and down into the strangeness of that unearthly sight. Sometimes I looked and saw nothing, save the illimitable deeps of that billowy, misty ocean. It seemed to me as though ages passed over my head and still I watched dreamily. At times I dimly saw weird things that peered up at me and vanished. Thus I stood, and the monotony of time passed over my head in silent aeons. Then, it might have been halfway through eternity, something drove up out of the boundlessness, a dull green glow that shone lividly through the purple gloom of that infinite mystery. Steadily it grew, a cold malicious gleam that frightened me, and in a while, looking far to my left I saw another ghostly glimmer strike through that dark-hued sea.

  Brighter grew the brilliance of those lights until their vivid greenness smote intolerably up into the violet impalpableness like two transparent pillars through which played a shiver of lambent flame, and suddenly the murky vastnesses beneath were heaved upwards into a mighty wave that drove towards us threateningly. Yet ere it reached us, my eyes had seen something, something terrible—eyes that blazed out of mystery, and beneath, lips—white, vast and slobbering had opened, disclosing the blackness of an everlasting night. Then, like an awesome wall that reached up into the nothingness above and blotted out everything, the wave was upon us, and instantly we were wrapped in a surging blackness that seemed to weigh down upon us and suffocate. My head began to sing queerly and I felt my knees give weakly. Then the blankness of unconsciousness swept over me, and I passed into dreams.

  I opened my eyes and looked around bewilderedly. For a moment I saw things through a violet haze. It passed, and I saw that the sun was shining brightly. I glanced aloft, noting that a fresh breeze of wind filled the sails; then down on deck to where the two Mates still stood, just as I had seen them last. Even as I gazed, the Second Mate stood upright and yawned, then looked round him in a puzzled manner. As he did so, his eyes fell upon the Mate still sleeping. The Second stared stupidly a moment, then put out his hand and shook his superior roughly.

  “What the devil’s up, Mr. Gray?”

  The Mate jumped and swore quickly.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” Then seeming to realise that he was not in his bunk, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked around—dazed.

  The Second Mate spoke again, “Blarst!” and stared over the break of the poop. The Mate turned slowly and looked also. I heard him give a little gasp. Wondering what it was they eyed so earnestly, I ran to the break and glanced down on to the main-deck. Great God! What a sight. There, lying on the deck and huddled on the top of one another, lay the crew. The watch on deck, and the watch below, mixed up in an inextricable senseless heap. As we watched them, one of the men stood up shakily. His lips moved, but no words came. I saw the two Mates look at one another, and their eyes were full of doubt. Then the First Mate turned and tottered to his room. The Second Mate said nothing but continued to watch the men, as at intervals they rose and with suspicious, bewildered looks stumbled forrard. Some cursing there was, yet most preserved a glum and vacant silence. True, a little Frenchman—excitable like all his nation—started to question volubly, but ceased in surprise at the blank looks that were cast upon him. During the day, and indeed the rest of the voyage, the subject was strictly tabooed. It was as though each one of us felt afraid to admit that which according to our knowledge could not be.

  Strangely enough, seen in this light, no surprise was expressed when the Captain’s and Langstone’s disappearance was formally announced. Instead, each one received the news tacitly. All, that is, except the little Frenchman, who swore softly in several languages at the—to him—incomprehensible behaviour of his comrades.

  Once, a few days later, I had some work to do for the First Mate in the cabin. On the table was the Log book, and with a mingled dread I turned up the date of that fearsome night. There I found the following entry:

  Lat.—S. Long.—W Heavy gales. About 2 A.M. shipped a tremendous sea which washed Captain Ronaldson and Langstone, one of the A.B.’s, overboard.

  At the bottom were the signatures of the two Mates.

  The Heaving of the Log

  Mr. Johnson, the Second Mate of the Skylark, was a character in his way, and a very disagreeable one. His systematic bullying of the boys aboard shewed the nature of the man; while his language was coarse and lurid.

  His bullying would often take the form of making some wretched youngster sit up on the main royal-yard (about 150 to 160 feet above the deck) during the whole four hours of the midnight watch: or perhaps it would be a cuff across the head, or a kick with a heavy sea-boot; and, being a big man, none of them had the heart to retaliate, knowing he would make it an excuse to take it out of them the more. Then he had petty provoking ways of annoying. He would never give them seaman’s work if he could help it; instead he would put them to painting and tarring, scrubbing and cleaning, and any dirty work he could find or make for them. In addition he would, at the least excuse, keep them up in their watch below, thus depriving them of much of their time for sleep and recreation. Added to these grievances was the fact that the man himself was a poor sailor, slovenly in his work, and pandering to the men by allowing them to shirk their duty. Lastly he was guilty of the unpardonable crime of sleeping in his watch on deck, thus imperilling the safety of the ship, and the lives of all aboard.

  Knowing the sort of man the boys were under, the reader will more readily understand the incidents of the following story.

  The night is dark, and the four-masted barque Skylark is ploughing along, some twelve knots an hour, before a fine southerly breeze; it is ten p.m. and four bells have just rung out sharply on the fresh night air, followed by the Second Mate’s hoarse cry: “Heave the log!” in answer to which, three youths, ranging in age from fifteen to eighteen, run quickly up the poop ladder, and away aft; where, while one holds the reel (a large wooden spool affair, on which is wound the log-line), another gets the glass (a sand glass used for timing), and the third stands by, waiting to give a hand in hauling in the line, after the log has been hove. The Second Mate then takes the end of the line, with its little canvas bag attached, and hauling some of the slack line off the reel, makes a loose coil, and throws it o
ver the stern. As the water catches and fills the bag, the line starts to fly out; then as the “white rag” affixed to the line passes over the taffrail, the Second Mate shouts: “Turn!” to the holder of the glass, which he does instantly, and when the last grain has run out, he in turn shouts: “Stop!” Whereupon the waiting apprentice grips the flying line, and takes a quick hitch around a belaying-pin, until his companion, having put the glass away, comes to his assistance; without which he could never haul the line in, such is the power of the water upon the little bag at the end of it.

  After reeling up the log-line two of the boys, Erntuck and Jute, go down to the berth; leaving Bell, whose “time” it is, to walk up and down the lee side of the poop. As he paces the narrow length of deck, he occasionally glances to the windward, at the man who had made himself so disliked.

  Mr. Johnson has seated himself on a hencoop, and Bell knows well, that if he stays there, he will probably fall asleep, when he (Bell) will be able to slip down to the warm berth, instead of shivering on “Mount Misery,” as they term the poop.

  Down in the berth the ’prentices are discussing various topics, chief of which is the “Second’s” many delinquencies. “The Second Mate’s asleep again,” says Bell, entering the half-deck at this instant.

  “What, again!” growls Erntuck, “that makes five times in a fortnight. The old beast!”

  “Yes,” chimes in Jute, “and it would serve him jolly well right if the old man caught him, he would log him and no mistake, and serve the bully right too.”

  “By Jove! I’ll tell you what boys,” says one of the other watch, “the old beggar was ragging Bell, wasn’t he? about being asleep when he sung out to heave the log. Well I’ll tell you what to do; as soon as one bell is struck: go quietly up, and get the log ready for heaving; then when all is right, just take a bit of a turn round his neck with the slack of the line, and then heave the log over and shout: ‘Turn.’ That’ll wake him, and if it doesn’t, I’ll bet the jerk the line gives will, and you can swear it was an accident, that the line got foul of him; and he won’t dare to say much, because you’ll have seen he was asleep.”