“Are you all right, Plummer?” I called.
“Yes,” he said, after a little pause; and then he swore.
“Come in off that yard, you men!” the Skipper was singing out. “Come in! come in!”
Down on deck, I heard someone calling; but could not distinguish the words. Above me, pistol in hand, the Skipper was glancing about, uneasily.
“Hold up that light, Jessop,” he said. “I can’t see!”
Below us, the men got off the yard, into the rigging.
“Down on deck with you!” ordered the Old Man. “As smartly as you can!”
“Come in off there, Plummer!” sung out the Second Mate. “Get down with the others!”
“Down with you, Jessop!” said the Skipper, speaking rapidly. “Down with you!”
I got over the crosstrees, and he followed. On the other side, the Second Mate was level with us. He had passed his lantern to Plummer, and I caught the glint of his revolver in his right hand. In this fashion, we reached the top. The man who had been stationed there with the blue-lights, had gone. Afterwards, I found that he went down on deck as soon as they were finished. There was no sign of the man with the flare on the starboard craneline. He also, I learnt later, had slid down one of the backstays on to the deck, only a very short while before we reached the top. He swore that a great black shadow of a man had come suddenly upon him from aloft. When I heard that, I remembered the thing I had seen descending upon Plummer. Yet the man who had gone out upon the port craneline—the one who had bungled with the lighting of his flare—was still where we had left him; though his light was burning now but dimly.
“Come in out of that, you!” the Old Man sung out “Smartly now, and get down on deck!”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” the man replied, and started to make his way in.
The Skipper waited until he had got into the main rigging, and then he told me to get down out of the top. He was in the act of following, when, all at once, there rose a loud outcry on deck, and then came the sound of a man screaming.
“Get out of my way, Jessop!” the Skipper roared, and swung himself down alongside of me.
I heard the Second Mate shout something from the starboard rigging. Then we were all racing down as hard as we could go. I had caught a momentary glimpse of a man running from the doorway on the port side of the fo’cas’le. In less than half a minute we were upon the deck, and among a crowd of the men who were grouped round something. Yet, strangely enough, they were not looking at the thing among them; but away aft at something in the darkness.
“It’s on the rail!” cried several voices.
“Overboard!” called somebody, in an excited voice. “It’s jumped over the side!”
“Ther’ wer’n’t nothin’!” said a man in the crowd.
“Silence!” shouted the Old Man. “Where’s the Mate? What’s happened?”
“Here, Sir,” called the First Mate, shakily, from near the centre of the group. “It’s Jacobs, Sir. He—he—”
“What!” said the Skipper. “What!”
“He—he’s—he’s—dead I think!” said the First Mate, in jerks.
“Let me see,” said the Old Man, in a quieter tone.
The men had stood to one side to give him room, and he knelt beside the man upon the deck.
“Pass the lantern here, Jessop,” he said.
I stood by him, and held the light. The man was lying face downwards on the deck. Under the light from the lantern, the Skipper turned him over and looked at him.
“Yes,” he said, after a short examination. “He’s dead.”
He stood up and regarded the body a moment, in silence. Then he turned to the Second Mate, who had been standing by, during the last couple of minutes.
“Three!” he said, in a grim undertone.
The Second Mate nodded, and cleared his voice.
He seemed on the point of saying something; then he turned and looked at Jacobs, and said nothing.
“Three,” repeated the Old Man. “Since eight bells!”
He stooped and looked again at Jacobs.
“Poor devil! poor devil!” he muttered.
The Second Mate grunted some of the huskiness out of his throat, and spoke.
“Where must we take him?” he asked, quietly. “The two bunks are full.”
“You’ll have to put him down on the deck by the lower bunk,” replied the Skipper.
As they carried him away, I heard the Old Man make a sound that was almost a groan. The rest of the men had gone forrard, and I do not think he realised that I was standing by him.
“My God! O, my God!” he muttered, and began to walk slowly aft.
He had cause enough for groaning. There were three dead, and Stubbins had gone utterly and completely. We never saw him again.
XII
THE COUNCIL
A few minutes later, the Second Mate came forrard again. I was still standing near the rigging, holding the lantern, in an aimless sort of way.
“That you, Plummer?” he asked.
“No, Sir,” I said. “It’s Jessop.”
“Where’s Plummer, then?” he inquired.
“I don’t know, Sir,” I answered. “I expect he’s gone forrard. Shall I go and tell him you want him?”
“No, there’s no need,” he said. “Tie your lamp up in the rigging—on the sheerpole there. Then go and get his, and shove it up on the starboard side. After that you’d better go aft and give the two ’prentices a hand in the lamp locker.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” I replied, and proceeded to do as he directed. After I had got the light from Plummer, and lashed it up to the starboard sherpole, I hurried aft. I found Tammy and the other ’prentice in our watch, busy in the locker, lighting lamps.
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“The Old Man’s given orders to lash all the spare lamps we can find, in the rigging, so as to have the decks light,” said Tammy. “And a damned good job too!”
He handed me a couple of the lamps, and took two himself.
“Come on,” he said, and stepped out on deck. “We’ll fix these in the main rigging, and then I want to talk to you.”
“What about the mizzen?” I inquired.
“Oh,” he replied. “He” (meaning the other ’prentice) “will see to that. Anyway, it’ll be daylight directly.”
We shoved the lamps up on the sherpoles—two on each side. Then he came across to me.
“Look here, Jessop!” he said, without any hesitation. “You’ll have to jolly well tell the Skipper and the Second Mate all you know about all this.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“Why, that it’s something about the ship herself that’s the cause of what’s happened,” he replied. “If you’d only explained to the Second Mate when I told you to, this might never have been!”
“But I don’t know,” I said. “I may be all wrong. It’s only an idea of mine. I’ve no proofs—”
“Proofs!” he cut in with. “Proofs! what about tonight? We’ve had all the proofs ever I want!”
I hesitated before answering him.
“So have I, for that matter,” I said, at length. “What I mean is, I’ve nothing that the Skipper and the Second Mate would consider as proofs. They’d never listen seriously to me.”
“They’d listen fast enough,” he replied. “After what’s happened this watch, they’d listen to anything. Anyway, it’s jolly well your duty to tell them!”
“What could they do, anyway?” I said, despondently. “As things are going, we’ll all be dead before another week is over, at this rate.”
“You tell them,” he answered. “That’s what you’ve got to do. If you can only get them to realise that you’re right, they’ll be glad to put into the nearest port, and send us all ashore.”
I shook my head.
“Well, anyway, they’ll have to do something,” he replied, in answer to my gesture. “We can’t go round the Horn, with the number of men we’ve lost. We ha
ven’t enough to handle her, if it comes on to blow.”
“You’ve forgotten, Tammy,” I said. “Even if I could get the Old Man to believe I’d got at the truth of the matter, he couldn’t do anything. Don’t you see, if I’m right, we couldn’t even see the land, if we made it. We’re like blind men…”
“What on earth do you mean?” he interrupted. “How do you make out we’re like blind men? Of course we could see the land—”
“Wait a minute! wait a minute!” I said. “You don’t understand. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell what?” he asked.
“About the ship I spotted,” I said. “I thought you knew!”
“No,” he said. “When?”
“Why,” I replied. “You know when the Old Man sent me away from the wheel?”
“Yes,” he answered. “You mean in the morning watch, day before yesterday?”
“Yes,” I said. “Well, don’t you know what was the matter?”
“No,” he replied. “That is, I heard you were snoozing at the wheel, and the Old Man came up and caught you.”
“That’s all a darned silly yarn!” I said. And then I told him the whole truth of the affair. After I had done that, I explained my idea about it, to him.
“Now you see what I mean?” I asked.
“You mean that this strange atmosphere—or whatever it is—we’re in, would not allow us to see another ship?” he asked, a bit awestruck.
“Yes,” I said. “But the point I wanted you to see, is that if we can’t see another vessel, even when she’s quite close, then, in the same way, we shouldn’t be able to see land. To all intents and purposes we’re blind. Just you think of it! We’re out in the middle of the briny, doing a sort of eternal blind man’s hop. The Old Man couldn’t put into port, even if he wanted to. He’d run us bang on shore, without our ever seeing it.”
“What are we going to do, then?” he asked, in a despairing sort of way. “Do you mean to say we can’t do anything? Surely something can be done! It’s terrible!”
For perhaps a minute, we walked up and down, in the light from the different lanterns. Then he spoke again.
“We might be run down, then,” he said, “and never even see the other vessel?”
“It’s possible,” I replied. “Though, from what I saw, it’s evident that we’re quite visible; so that it would be easy for them to see us, and steer clear of us, even though we couldn’t see them.”
“And we might run into something, and never see it?” he asked me, following up the train of thought.
“Yes,” I said. “Only there’s nothing to stop the other ship from getting out of our way.”
“But if it wasn’t a vessel?” he persisted. “It might be an iceberg, or a rock, or even a derelict.”
“In that case,” I said, putting it a bit flippantly, naturally, “we’d probably damage it.”
He made no answer to this and for a few moments, we were quiet.
Then he spoke abruptly, as though the idea had come suddenly to him.
“Those lights the other night!” he said. “Were they a ship’s lights?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Why?”
“Why,” he answered. “Don’t you see, if they were really lights, we could see them?”
“Well, I should think I ought to know that,” I replied. “You seem to forget that the Second Mate slung me off the look-out for daring to do that very thing.”
“I don’t mean that,” he said. “Don’t you see that if we could see them at all, it showed that the atmosphere-thing wasn’t round us then?”
“Not necessarily,” I answered. “It may have been nothing more than a rift in it; though, of course, I may be all wrong. But, anyway, the fact that the lights disappeared almost as soon as they were seen, shows that it was very much round the ship.”
That made him feel a bit the way I did, and when next he spoke, his tone had lost its hopefulness.
“Then you think it’ll be no use telling the Second Mate and the Skipper anything?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’ve been thinking about it, and it can’t do any harm. I’ve a very good mind to.”
“I should,” he said. “You needn’t be afraid of anybody laughing at you, now. It might do some good. You’ve seen more than anyone else.”
He stopped in his walk, and looked round.
“Wait a minute,” he said, and ran aft a few steps. I saw him look up at the break of the poop; then he came back.
“Come along now,” he said. “The Old Man’s up on the poop, talking to the Second Mate. You’ll never get a better chance.”
Still I hesitated; but he caught me by the sleeve, and almost dragged me to the lee ladder.
“All right,” I said, when I got there. “All right, I’ll come. Only I’m hanged if I know what to say when I get there.”
“Just tell them you want to speak to them,” he said. “They’ll ask what you want, and then you spit out all you know. They’ll find it interesting enough.”
“You’d better come too,” I suggested. “You’ll be able to back me up in lots of things.”
“I’ll come, fast enough,” he replied. “You go up.”
I went up the ladder, and walked across to where the Skipper and the Second Mate stood talking earnestly, by the rail. Tammy kept behind. As I came near to them, I caught two or three words; though I attached no meaning then to them. They were: “…send for him.” Then the two of them turned and looked at me, and the Second Mate asked what I wanted.
“I want to speak to you and the Old M— Captain, Sir,” I answered.
“What is it, Jessop?” the Skipper inquired.
“I scarcely know how to put it, Sir,” I said. “It’s—it’s about these—these things.”
“What things? Speak out, man,” he said.
“Well, Sir,” I blurted out. “There’s some dreadful thing or things come aboard this ship, since we left port.”
I saw him give one quick glance at the Second Mate, and the Second looked back.
Then the Skipper replied.
“How do you mean, come aboard?” he asked.
“Out of the sea, Sir,” I said. “I’ve seen them. So’s Tammy, here.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed, and it seemed to me, from his face, that he was understanding something better. “Out of the Sea!”
Again he looked at the Second Mate; but the Second was staring at me.
“Yes Sir,” I said. “It’s the ship. She’s not safe! I’ve watched. I think I understand a bit; but there’s a lot I don’t.”
I stopped. The Skipper had turned to the Second Mate. The Second nodded, gravely. Then I heard him mutter, in a low voice, and the Old Man replied; after which he turned to me again.
“Look here, Jessop,” he said. “I’m going to talk straight to you. You strike me as being a cut above the ordinary shellback, and I think you’ve sense enough to hold your tongue.”
“I’ve got my mate’s ticket, Sir,” I said, simply.
Behind me, I heard Tammy give a little start. He had not known about it until then.
The Skipper nodded.
“So much the better,” he answered. “I may have to speak to you about that, later on.”
He paused, and the Second Mate said something to him, in an undertone.
“Yes,” he said, as though in reply to what the Second had been saying. Then he spoke to me again.
“You’ve seen things come out of the sea, you say?” he questioned. “Now just tell me all you can remember, from the very beginning.”
I set to, and told him everything in detail, commencing with the strange figure that had stepped aboard out of the sea, and continuing my yarn, up to the things that had happened in that very watch.
I stuck well to solid facts; and now and then he and the Second Mate would look at one another, and nod. At the end, he turned to me with an abrupt gesture.
“You still hold, then, that you saw a ship the other morning, when I
sent you from the wheel?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir,” I said. “I most certainly do.”
“But you knew there wasn’t any!” he said.
“Yes, Sir,” I replied, in an apologetic tone. “There was; and, if you will let me, I believe that I can explain it a bit.”
“Well,” he said. “Go on.”
Now that I knew he was willing to listen to me in a serious manner all my funk of telling him had gone, and I went ahead and told him my ideas about the mist, and the thing it seemed to have ushered, you know. I finished up, by telling him how Tammy had worried me to come and tell what I knew.
“He thought then, Sir,” I went on, “that you might wish to put into the nearest port; but I told him that I didn’t think you could, even if you wanted to.”
“How’s that?” he asked, profoundly interested.
“Well, Sir,” I replied. “If we’re unable to see other vessels, we shouldn’t be able to see the land. You’d be piling the ship up, without ever seeing where you were putting her.”
This view of the matter, affected the Old Man in an extraordinary manner; as it did, I believe, the Second Mate. And neither spoke for a moment. Then the Skipper burst out.
“By Gad! Jessop,” he said. “If you’re right, the Lord have mercy on us.”
He thought for a couple of seconds. Then he spoke again, and I could see that he was pretty well twisted up:
“My God!…if you’re right!”
The Second Mate spoke.
“The men mustn’t know, Sir,” he warned him. “It’d be a mess if they did!”
“Yes,” said the Old Man.
He spoke to me.
“Remember that, Jessop,” he said. “Whatever you do, don’t go yarning about this, forrard.”
“No, Sir,” I replied.
“And you too, boy,” said the Skipper. “Keep your tongue between your teeth. We’re in a bad enough mess, without your making it worse. Do you hear?”
“Yes, Sir,” answered Tammy.
The Old Man turned to me again.
“These things, or creatures that you say come out of the sea,” he said. “You’ve never seen them, except after nightfall?” he asked.
“No, Sir,” I replied. “Never.”
The William Hope Hodgson Megapack Page 72