“M’ria wer’ a good wife ter me, she wer’,” said Zeph, speaking slowly. “An’ now th’ old ’ooker’s goin’, I’m feared as I’ll find it mighty lonesome ashore yon,” and he waved his hand, as though suggesting vaguely that the shore lay anywhere beyond the starboard rail.
“Ay,” remarked the second of the newcomers. “It’s er weary thing tu me as th’ old packet’s goin’. Six and sixty year hey I sailed in her. Six and sixty year!” He nodded his head, mournfully, and struck a match with shaky hands.
“It’s like ter be,” said the smaller man. “It’s like ter be.”
And, with that, he and his companion moved over to the spar that lay along under the starboard bulwarks, and there seated themselves, to smoke and meditate.
3
Skipper Abe, and Josh Matthews, the First Mate, were standing together beside the rail whicWran across the break of the poop. Like the rest of the men of the Shamraken, their age had come upon them, and the frost of eternity had touched their beards and hair.
Skipper Abe was speaking:
“It’s harder ’n I’d thought,” he said, and looked away from the Mate; staring hard along the worn, white-scoured decks.
“Dunno w’at I’ll du, Abe, w’en she’s gone,” returned the old Mate. “She’s been a ’ome for sixty years an more.” He knocked out the old tobacco from his pipe, as he spoke, and began to cut a bowl-full of fresh.
“It’s them durned freights!” exclaimed the Skipper. “We’re jest losin’ dollars every trip. It’s them steam packets as hes knocked us out.”
He sighed wearily, and bit tenderly at his plug.
“She’s been a mighty comfertable ship,” muttered Josh, in soliloquy. “An’ sence thet b’y o’ mine went, I sumhow thinks less o’ goin’ ashore ’n I used ter. I ain’t no folk left on all thar ’arth.’
He came to an end, and began with his old trembling fingers to fill his pipe.
Skipper Abe said nothing. He appeared to be occupied with his own thoughts. He was leaning over the rail across the break of the poop, and chewing steadily. Presently, he straightened himself up and walked over to leeward. He expectorated, after which he stood there for a few moments, taking a short look round—the result of half a century of habit. Abruptly, he sung out to the Mate:
“W’at d’yer make outer it?” he queried, after they had stood awhile, peering.
“Dunno, Abe, less’n it’s some sort o’ mist, riz up by ther ’eat.”
Skipper Abe shook his head; but having nothing better to suggest, held his peace for awhile.
Presently, Josh spoke again.
“Mighty cur’us, Abe. These are strange parts.”
Skipper Abe nodded his assent, and continued to stare at that which had come into sight upon the lee bow. To them, as they looked, it seemed that a vast wall of rose-coloured mist was rising towards the zenith. It showed nearly ahead, and at first had seemed no more than a bright cloud upon the horizon; but already had reached a great way into the air, and the upper edge had taken on wondrous flame-tints.
“It’s powerful nice-lookin’,” said Josh. “I’ve allus ’eard as things was diff’rent out ’n these parts.”
Presently, as the Shamraken drew near to the mist, it appeared to those aboard that it filled all the sky ahead of them, being spread out now far on either bow. And so in a while they entered into it, and, at once, the aspect of all things was changed.
The mist, in great rosy wreaths, floated all about them, seeming to soften and beautify every rope and spar, so that the old ship had become, as it were, a fairy craft in an unknown world.
“Never seen nothin’ like it, Abe—nothin’!” said Josh. “Ey! but it’s fine! It’s fine! Like ’s ef we’d run inter ther sunset.”
“I’m mazed, just mazed!” exclaimed Skipper Abe, “but I’m ’gree’ble as it’s purty, mighty purty.”
For a further while, the two old fellows stood without speech, just gazing and gazing. With their entering into the mist, they had come into a greater quietness than had been theirs out upon the open sea. It was as though the mist muffled and toned down the creak, creak, of the spars and gear; and the big, foamless seas that rolled past them, seemed to have lost something of their harsh whispering roar of greeting.
“Sort o’ unarthly, Abe,” said Josh, later, and speaking but little above a whisper. “Like as ef yew was in church.”
“Ay,” replied Skipper Abe. “It don’t seem nat’rel.”
“Shouldn’t think as ’eaven was all thet diff’rent,” whispered Josh. And Skipper Abe said nothing in contradiction.
4
Sometime later, the wind began to fail, and it was decided that, when eight-bells was struck, all hands should set the main t’gallant. Presently, Nuzzle having been called (for he was the only one aboard who had turned in) eight bells went, and all hands put aside their pipes, and prepared to tail on to the ha’lyards; yet no one of them made to go up to loose the sail. That was the b’y’s job, and Nuzzle was a little late in coming out on deck. When, in a minute, he appeared, Skipper Abe spoke sternly to him.
“Up now, b’y, an’ loose thet sail. D’y think to let er grown man dew suchlike work! Shame on yew!
And Nuzzle, the grey-bearded “b’y” of five and fifty years, went aloft humbly, as he was bidden.
Five minutes later, he sung out that all was ready for hoisting, and the string of ancient Ones took a strain on the ha’lyards. Then Nehemiah, being the chaunty man, struck up in his shrill quaver:
“Thar wor an ole farmer in Yorkshire did dwell.”
And the shrill piping of the ancient throats took up the refrain
“Wi’ me ay, ay, blow thar lan’ down.” Nehemiah caught up the story:
“’e ’ad ’n ole wife, ’n ’e wished ’er in ’ell.”
“Give us some time ter blow thar lan’ down,” came the quavering chorus of old voices.
“O, thar divvel come to ’im one day at thar plough,” continued old Nehemiah; and the crowd of ancients followed up with the refrain:“Wi’ me aye, aye, blow thar lan’ down.”
“I’ve comed fer th’ ole woman, I mun ’ave ’er now,” sang Nehemiah. And again the refrain: “Give us some’ time ter blow thar lan’ down,” shrilled out.
And so on to the last couple of stanzas. And all about them, as they chaunteyed, was that extra-ordinary, rose-tinted mist; which, above, blent into a marvellous radiance of flame-colour, as though, just a little higher than their mastheads, the sky was one red ocean of silent fire. “Thar wor three leetle divvels chained up ter thar wall,” sang Nehemiah, shrilly.
“Wi’ me ay, ay, blow thar lan’ down,” came the piping chorus.
“She tuk off ’er clog, ’n shd walloped ’em all,” chaunted oldi Nehemiah, and again followed the wheezy, age-old refrain.
“These three leetle divvels fer marcy did bawl,” quavered Nehemiah, cocking one eye upward to see whether the yard was nearly mast-headed.
“Wi’ me ay, ay, blow thar lan’ down,” came the chorus. “Chuck out this ole bag, or she’ll mur—”
“Belay,” sung out Josh, cutting across the old sea song, with the sharp command. The chaunty had ceased with the first note of the Mate’s voice, and a couple of minutes later, the ropes were coiled up, and the old fellows back to their occupations.
It is true that eight bells had gone, and that the watch was supposed to be changed; and changed it was, so far as the wheel and look-out were concerned; but otherwise little enough difference did it make to those sleep-proof ancients. The only change visible in the men about the deck, was that those who had previously only smoked, now smoked and worked; while those who had hitherto worked and smoked, now only smoked. Thus matters went on in all amity; while the old Shamraken passed onward like a rose-tinted shadow through the shining mist, and only the great, silent, lazy seas that came at her, out from the enshrouding redness, seemed aware that she was anything more than the shadow she appeared.
Presently, Zeph sun
g out to Nuzzie to get their tea from the galley, and so, in a little, the watch below were making their evening meal. They ate it as they sat upon the hatch or spar, as the chance might be; and, as they ate, they talked with their mates, of the watch on deck, upon the matter of the shining mist into which they had plunged. It was obvious, from their talk, that the extraordinary phenomenon had impressed them, vastly, and all the superstition in them seemed to have been waked to fuller life. Zeph, indeed, made no bones of declaring his belief that they were nigh to something more than earthly:
He said that he had a feeling that “M’ria” was somewhere near to him.
“Meanin” ter say as we’ve come purty near ter ’eaven? “said Nehemiah, who was busy thrumming a paunch mat, for chafing gear.
“Dunno,” replied Zeph; “but “—making a gesture towards the hidden sky—” yew’ll ’low as it’s mighty wonderful, ’n I guess ef ’tis ’eaven, thar’s some uv us as is growin’ powerful wearied uv ’arth. I guess I’m feelin’ peeky fer a sight uv M’ria.”
Nehemiah nodded his head slowly, and the nod seemed to run round the group of white-haired ancients.
“Reckon my datter’s gell ’ll be thar,” he said, after a space of pondering. “Be s’prisin’ ef she ’n M’ria ’d made et up ter know one anuther.”
“M’ria wer’ great on makin’ friends,” remarked Zeph, meditatively, “an’ gells wus awful friendly wi’ ’er. Seemed as she bed er power thet way.”
“I never ’ad no wife,” said Job, at this point, somewhat irrelevantly. It was a fact of which he was proud, and he made a frequent boast of it.
“Thet’s naught ter cocker thysel on, lad,” exclaimed one of the white-beards, who, until this time, had’ been silent. “Thou’lt find less folk in heaven t’ greet thee.”
“Thet’s trewth, sure ’null, Jock,” assented Nehemiah, and fixed a stern look on Job; whereat Job retired into silence.
Presently, at three bells, Josh came along and told them to put away their work for the day.
5
The second dog watch came, and Nehemiah and the rest of his side, made their tea out upon the main hatch, along with their mates. When this was finished, as though by common agreement, they went every one and sat themselves upon the pinrail running along under the t’gallant bulwarks; there, with their elbows upon the rail, they faced outward to gaze their full at the mystery of colour which had wrapped them about. From time to time, a pipe would be removed, and some slowly evolved thought given an utterance.
Eight bells came and went; but, save for the changing of the wheel and look-out, none moved from his place.
Nine o’clock, and the night came down upon the sea; but to those within the mist, the only result was a deepening of the rose colour into an intense red, which seemed to shine with a light of its own creating. Above them, the unseen sky seemed to be one vast blaze of silent, blood-tinted flame.
“Piller uv cloud by day, ’n er piller uv fire by night,” muttered Zeph to Nehemiah, who crouched near.
“I reckon’s them’s Bible words,” said Nehemiah.
“Dunno,” replied Zeph; “but them’s thar very words as I heerd passon Myles a sayin’ w’en thar timber wor afire down our way. ’Twer’ mostly smoke ’n daylight; but et tamed ter ’n etarnal fire w’en thar night corned.”
At four bells, the wheel and look-out were relieved, and a little later, Josh and Skipper Abe came down on to the main deck.
“Tur’ble queer,” said Skipper Abe, with an affectation of indifference.
“Aye, ’tes, sure,” said Nehemiah.
And after that, the two old men sat among the others, and watched.
At five bells, half-past ten, there was a murmur from those who sat nearest to the bows, and a cry from the man on the look-out. At that, the attention of all was turned to a point nearly right ahead. At this particular spot, the mist seemed to be glowing with a curious, unearthly red brilliance; and, a minute later, there burst upon their vision a vast arch, formed of blazing red clouds.
At the sight, each and every one cried out their amazement, and immediately began to run towards the fo’cas’le head. Here they congregated in a clump, the Skipper and the Mate among them. The arch appeared now to extend its arc far beyond either bow, so that the ship was heading to pass right beneath it.
“’Tis ’eaven fer sure,” murmured Josh to himself; but Zeph heard him.
“Reckon ’s them’s ther Gates uv Glory thet M’ria wus allus talkin’ ’bout,” he replied.
“Guess I’ll see thet b’y er mine in er little,” muttered Josh, and he craned forward, his eyes very bright and eager.
All about the ship was a great quietness. The wind was no more now than a light steady breath upon the port quarter; but from right ahead, as though issuing from the mouth of the radiant arch, the long-backed, foamless seas rolled up, black and oily.
Suddenly, amid the silence, there came a low musical note, rising and falling like the moan of a distant æolian harp. The sound appeared to come from the direction of the arch, and the surrounding mist seemed to catch it up and send it sobbing and sobbing in low echoes away into the redness far beyond sight.
“They’m singin’,” cried Zeph. “M’ria wer’ allus tur’ble fond uv singin’. Hark ter—”
“Sh!” interrupted Josh. “Thet’s my b’y!” His shrill old voice had risen almost to a scream.
“It’s wunnerful—wunnerful; just mazin’!” exclaimed Skipper Abe.
Zeph had gone a little forrard of the crowd. He was shading his eyes with his hands, and staring intently, his expression denoting the most intense excitement.
“B’lieve I see ’er. B’lieve I see ’er,” he was muttering to himself, over and over again.
Behind him, two of the old men were steadying Nehemiah, who felt, as he put it, “a bit mazy at thar thought o’ seem’ thet, gell.”
Away aft, Nuzzle, the “b’y,” was at the wheel. He had beard the moaning; but, being no more than a boy, it must be supposed that be knew nothing of the nearness of the next world, which was so evident to the men, his masters.
A matter of some minutes passed, and Job, who had in mind that farm upon which he had set his heart, ventured to suggest that heaven was less near than his mates supposed; but no one seemed to hear him, and he subsided into silence.
It was the better part of an hour later, and near to midnight, when a murmur among the watchers announced that a fresh matter had come to sight. They were yet a great way off from the arch; but still the thing showed clearly—a prodigious umbel, of a deep, burning red; but the crest of it was black, save for the very apex which shone with an angry red glitter.
“Thar Throne uv God!” cried out Zeph, in a loud voice, and went down upon his knees. The rest of the old men followed his example, and even old Nehemiah made a great effort to get to that position.
“Simly we’m a’most ’n ’eaven,” he muttered huskily.
Skipper Abe got to his feet, with an abrupt movement. He had never heard of that extraordinary electrical phenomenon, seen once perhaps in a hundred years—the “Fiery Tempest” which precedes certain great Cyclonic Storms; but his experienced eye had suddenly discovered that the red-shining umbel was truly a low, whirling water-hill, reflecting the red light. He had no theoretical knowledge to tell him that the thing was produced by an enormous air-vortice; but he had often seen a water-spout form.
Yet, he was still undecided. It was all so beyond him; though, certainly, that monstrous gyrating hill of water, sending out a reflected glitter of burning red, appealed to him as having no place in his ideas of Heaven. And then, even as he hesitated, came the first, wild-beast bellow of the coming Cyclone. As the sound smote upon their ears, the old men looked at one another with bewildered, frightened eyes.
“Reck’n thet’s God speakin’,” whispered Zeph. “Guess we’re on’y mis’rable sinners.”
The next instant, the breath of the Cyclone was in their throats, and the Shamraken, homewa
rd-bounder, passed in through the everlasting portals.
ON THE BRIDGE
(The 8 to 12 watch, and ice was in sight at nightfall.)
IN MEMORY OF
APRIL 14, 1912.
LAT. 41 deg. 16 min.
N. LONG. 50 deg. 14 min. W.
Two-Bells has just gone. It is nine o’clock. Youdyd walk to wind’ard and sniff anxiously. Yes, there it is, unmistakably, the never-to-be-forgotten smell of ice…a smell as indescribable as it is unmistakable.
You stare, fiercely anxious (almost incredibly anxious), to wind’ard, and sniff again and again. And you never cease to peer, until the very eye-balls ache, and you curse almost insanely because some door has been opened and lets out a shaft of futile and dangerous light across the gloom, through which the great ship is striding across the miles.
For the least show of light about the deck, “blinds” the officer of the watch temporarily, and makes the darkness of the night a double curtain of gloom, threatening hatefully. You curse, and ’phone angrily for a steward to go along and have the door shut or the window covered, as the case may be; then once again to the dreadful strain of watching.
Just try to take it all in. You are, perhaps, only a young man of twenty-six or twenty-eight, and you are in sole charge of that great bulk of life and wealth, thundering on across the miles. One hour of your watch has gone, and there are three to come, and already you are feeling the strain. And reason enough, too; for though the bridge-telegraph pointer stands at half-speed, you know perfectly well that the engine-room has its private orders, and speed is not cut down at all.
And all around, to wind’ard and to loo’ard, you can see the gloom pierced dimly in this place and that, everlastingly, by the bursts of phosphorescence from breaking sea-crests. Thousands and tens of thousands of times you see this…ahead, and upon either beam. And you sniff, and try to distinguish between the coldness of the half-gale and the peculiar and what I might term the “personal,” brutal, ugly Chill-of-Death that comes stealing down to you through the night, as you pass some ice-hill in the darkness.
And then, those countless bursts of dull phosphorescence, that break out eternally from the chaos of the unseen waters about you, become suddenly things of threatening, that frighten you; for any one of them may mean broken water about the unseen shore of some hidden island of ice in the night…some half-submerged, inert Insensate Monster-of-Ice, lurking under the wash of the seas, trying to steal unperceived athwart your hawse.
The William Hope Hodgson Megapack Page 15