We had just finished sweeping up when four bells went, and we cleared below for tea. Some of the men got chatting while they were grubbing.
“I ’ave ’eard,” remarked Quoin, “as we’re goin’ ter shorten ’er down afore dark.”
“Eh?” said old Jaskett, over his pannikin of tea.
Quoin repeated his remark.
“’Oo says so?” inquired Plummer.
“I ’eard it from ther Doc,” answered Quoin. “’E got it from ther Stooard.”
“’Ow would ’ee know?” asked Plummer.
“I dunno,” said Quoin. “I ’spect ’e’s ’eard ’em talkin’ ’bout it arft.”
Plummer turned to me.
“’Ave you ’eard anythin’, Jessop?” he inquired.
“What, about shortening down?” I replied.
“Yes,” he said. “Weren’t ther Old Man talkin’ ter yer, up on ther poop this mornin’ ?”
“Yes,” I answered. “He said something to the Second Mate about shortening down; but it wasn’t to me.”
“They’are!” said Quoin. “’Aven’t I just said so?”
At that instant, one of the chaps in the other watch, poked his head in through the starboard doorway.
“All hands shorten sail!” he sung out; at the same moment the Mate’s whistle came sharp along the decks.
Plummer stood up, and reached for his cap.
“Well,” he said. “It’s evydent they ain’t goin’ ter lose no more of us!”
Then we went out on deck.
It was a dead calm; but all the same, we furled the three royals, and then the three t’gallants. After that, we hauled up the main and foresail, and stowed them. The crossjack, of course, had been furled some time, with the wind being plumb aft.
It was while we were up at the foresail, that the sun went over the edge of the horizon. We had finished stowing the sail, out upon the yard, and I was waiting for the others to clear in, and let me get off the foot-rope. Thus it happened that having nothing to do for nearly a minute, I stood watching the sun set, and so saw something that otherwise I should, most probably, have missed. The sun had dipped nearly half-way below the horizon, and was showing like a great, red dome of dull fire. Abruptly, far away on the starboard bow, a faint mist drove up out of the sea. It spread across the face of the sun, so that its light shone now as though it came through a dim haze of smoke. Quickly, this mist or haze grew thicker; but, at the same time, separating and taking strange shapes, so that the red of the sun struck through ruddily between them. Then, as I watched, the weird mistiness collected and shaped and rose into three towers. These became more definite, and there was something elongated beneath them. The shaping and forming continued, and almost suddenly I saw that the thing had taken on the shape of a great ship. Directly afterwards, I saw that it was moving. It had been broadside on to the sun. Now it was swinging. The bows came round with a stately movement, until the three masts bore in a line. It was heading directly towards us. It grew larger; but yet less distinct. Astern of it, I saw now that the sun had sunk to a mere line of light. Then, in the gathering dusk it seemed to me that the ship was sinking back into the ocean. The sun went beneath the sea, and the thing I had seen became merged, as it were, into the monotonous greyness of the coming night.
A voice came to me from the rigging. It was the Second Mate’s. He had been up to give us a hand.
“Now then, Jessop,” he was saying. “Come along! come along!”
I turned quickly, and realised that the fellows were nearly all off the yard.
“Aye, aye, Sir,” I muttered, and slid in along the foot-rope, and went down on deck. I felt fresh dazed and frightened.
A little later, eight bells went, and, after roll call, I cleared up, on to the poop, to relieve the wheel. For a while as I stood at the wheel my mind seemed blank, and incapable of receiving impressions. This sensation went, after a time, and I realised that there was a great stillness over the sea. There was absolutely no wind, and even the everlasting creak, creak of the gear seemed to ease off at times.
At the wheel there was nothing whatever to do. I might just as well have been forrard, smoking in the fo’cas’le. Down on the main-deck, I could see the loom of the lanterns that had been lashed up to the sherpoles in the fore and main rigging. Yet they showed less than they might, owing to the fact that they had been shaded on their after sides, so as not to blind the officer of the watch more than need be.
The night had come down strangely dark, and yet of the dark and the stillness and the lanterns, I was only conscious in occasional flashes of comprehension. For, now that my mind was working, I was thinking chiefly of that queer, vast phantom of mist, I had seen rise from the sea, and take shape.
I kept staring into the night, towards the West, and then all round me; for, naturally, the memory predominated that she had been coming towards us when the darkness came, and it was a pretty disquieting sort of thing to think about. I had such a horrible feeling that something beastly was going to happen any minute.
Yet, two bells came and went, and still all was quiet—strangely quiet, it seemed to me. And, of course, besides the queer, misty vessel I had seen in the West I was all the time remembering the four shadowy craft lying down in the sea, under our port side. Every time I remembered them, I felt thankful for the lanterns round the maindeck, and I wondered why none had been put in the mizzen rigging. I wished to goodness that they had, and made up my mind I would speak to the Second Mate about it, next time he came aft. At the time, he was leaning over the rail across the break of the poop. He was not smoking, as I could tell; for had he been, I should have seen the glow of his pipe, now and then. It was plain to me that he was uneasy. Three times already he had been down on to the maindeck, prowling about. I guessed that he had been to look down into the sea, for any signs of those four grim craft. I wondered whether they would be visible at night.
Suddenly, the time-keeper struck three bells, and the deeper notes of the bell forrard, answered them. I gave a start. It seemed to me that they had been struck close to my elbow. There was something unaccountably strange in the air that night. Then, even as the Second Mate answered the look-out’s “All’s well,” there came the sharp whir and rattle of running gear, on the port side of the mainmast. Simultaneously, there was the shrieking of a parrel, up the main; and I knew that someone, or something, had let go the main-topsail haul-yards. From aloft there came the sound of something parting; then the crash of the yard as it ceased falling.
The Second Mate shouted out something unintelligible, and jumped for the ladder. From the maindeck there came the sound of running feet, and the voices of the watch, shouting. Then I caught the Skipper’s voice; he must have run out on deck, through the Saloon doorway.
“Get some more lamps! Get some more lamps!” he was singing out. Then he swore.
He sung out something further. I caught the last two words.
“…carried away,” they sounded like.
“No, Sir,” shouted the Second Mate. “I don’t think so.”
A minute of some confusion followed; and then came the click of pawls. I could tell that they had taken the haulyards to the after capstan. Odd words floated up to me.
“…all this water?” I heard in the Old Man’s voice. He appeared to be asking a question.
“Can’t say, Sir,” came the Second Mate’s.
There was a period of time, filled only by the clicking of the pawls and the sounds of the creaking parrel and the running gear. Then the Second Mate’s voice came again.
“Seems all right, Sir,” I heard him say.
I never heard the Old Man’s reply; for in the same moment, there came to me a chill of cold breath at my back. I turned sharply, and saw something peering over the taffrail. It had eyes that reflected the binnacle light, weirdly, with a frightful, tigerish gleam; but beyond that, I could see nothing with any distinctness. For the moment, I just stared. I seemed frozen. It was so close. Then movement came to me
, and I jumped to the binnacle and snatched out the lamp. I twitched round, and shone the light towards it. The thing, whatever it was, had come more forward over the rail; but now, before the light, it recoiled with a queer, horrible litheness. It slid back, and down, and so out of sight. I have only a confused notion of a wet glistening Something, and two vile eyes. Then I was running, crazy, towards the break of the poop. I sprang down the ladder, and missed my footing, and landed on my stern, at the bottom. In my left hand I held the still burning binnacle lamp. The men were putting away the capstan-bars; but at my abrupt appearance, and the yell I gave out at falling, one or two of them fairly ran backwards a short distance, in sheer funk, before they realised what it was.
From somewhere further forrard, the Old Man and the Second Mate came running aft.
“What the devil’s up now?” sung out the Second, stopping and bending to stare at me. “What’s to do, that you’re away from the wheel?”
I stood up and tried to answer him; but I was so shaken that I could only stammer.
“I—I—there—” I stuttered.
“Damnation!” shouted the Second Mate, angrily. “Get back to the wheel!”
I hesitated, and tried to explain.
“Do you damned well hear me?” he sung out.
“Yes, Sir; but—” I began.
“Get up on to the poop, Jessop!” he said.
I went. I meant to explain, when he came up. At the top of the ladder, I stopped. I was not going back alone to that wheel. Down below, I heard the Old Man speaking.
“What on earth is it now, Mr. Tulipson?” he was saying.
The Second Mate made no immediate reply; but turned to the men, who were evidently crowding near.
“That will do, men!” he said, somewhat sharply.
I heard the watch start to go forrard. There came a mutter of talk from them. Then the Second Mate answered the Old Man. He could not have known that I was near enough to overhear him.
“It’s Jessop, Sir. He must have seen something; but we mustn’t frighten the crowd more than need be.”
“No,” said the Skipper’s voice.
They turned and came up the ladder, and I ran back a few steps, as far as the skylight. I heard the Old Man speak as they came up.
“How is it there are no lamps, Mr. Tulipson?” he said, in a surprised tone.
“I thought there would be no need up here, Sir,” the Second Mate replied. Then he added something about saving oil.
“Better have them, I think,” I heard the Skipper say.
“Very good, Sir,” answered the Second, and sung out to the time-keeper to bring up a couple of lamps.
Then the two of them walked aft, to where I stood by the skylight.
“What are you doing, away from the wheel?” asked the Old Man, in a stern voice.
I had collected my wits somewhat by now.
“I won’t go, Sir, till there’s a light,” I said.
The Skipper stamped his foot, angrily; but the Second Mate stepped forward.
“Come! Come, Jessop!” he exclaimed. “This won’t do, you know! You’d better get back to the wheel without further bother.”
“Wait a minute,” said the Skipper, at this juncture. “What objection have you to going back to the wheel?” he asked.
“I saw something,” I said. “It was climbing over the taffrail, Sir—”
“Ah!” he said, interrupting me with a quick gesture. Then, abruptly: “Sit down! sit down; you’re all in a shake, man.”
I flopped down on to the skylight seat. I was, as he had said, all in a shake, and the binnacle lamp was wobbling in my hand, so that the light from it went dancing here and there across the deck.
“Now,” he went on. “Just tell us what you saw.”
I told them, at length, and while I was doing so, the time-keeper brought up the lights and lashed one up on the sheerpole in each rigging.
“Shove one under the spanker boom,” the Old Man sung out, as the boy finished lashing up the other two. “Be smart now.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” said the ’prentice, and hurried off.
“Now then,” remarked the Skipper when this had been done “You needn’t be afraid to go back to the wheel. There’s a light over the stern, and the Second Mate or myself will be up here all the time.”
I stood up.
“Thank you, Sir,” I said, and went aft. I replaced my lamp in the binnacle, and took hold of the wheel; yet, time and again, I glanced behind and I was very thankful when, a few minutes later, four bells went, and I was relieved.
Though the rest of the chaps were forrard in the fo’cas’le, I did not go there. I shirked being questioned about my sudden appearance at the foot of the poop ladder; and so I lit my pipe and wandered about the maindeck. I did not feel particularly nervous, as there were now two lanterns in each rigging, and a couple standing upon each of the spare top-masts under the bulwarks.
Yet, a little after five bells, it seemed to me that I saw a shadowy face peer over the rail, a little abaft the fore lanyards. I snatched up one of the lanterns from off the spar, and flashed the light towards it, whereupon there was nothing. Only, on my mind, more than my sight, I fancy, a queer knowledge remained of wet, peery eyes. Afterwards, when I thought about them, I felt extra beastly. I knew then how brutal they had been… Inscrutable, you know. Once more in that same watch I had a somewhat similar experience, only in this instance it had vanished even before I had time to reach a light. And then came eight bells, and our watch below.
XV
THE GREAT GHOST SHIP
When we were called again, at a quarter to four, the man who roused us out, had some queer information.
“Toppin’s gone—clean vanished!” he told us, as we began to turn out. “I never was in such a damned, hair-raisin’ hooker as this here. It ain’t safe to go about the bloomin’ decks.”
“’Oo’s gone?” asked Plummer, sitting up suddenly and throwing his legs over his bunk-board.
“Toppin, one of the ’prentices,” replied the man. “We’ve been huntin’ all over the bloomin’ show. We’re still at it—but we’ll never find him,” he ended, with a sort of gloomy assurance.
“Oh, I dunno,” said Quoin. “P’raps ’e’s snoozin’ somewheres ’bout.”
“Not him,” replied the man. “I tell you we’ve turned everythin’ upside down. He’s not aboard the bloomin’ ship.”
“Where was he when they last saw him?” I asked. “Someone must know something, you know!”
“Keepin’ time up on the poop,” he replied. “The Old Man’s nearly shook the life out of the Mate and the chap at the wheel. And they say they don’t know nothin’.”
“How do you mean?” I inquired. “How do you mean, nothing?”
“Well,” he answered. “The youngster was there one minute, and then the next thing they knew, he’d gone. They’ve both sworn black an’ blue that there wasn’t a whisper. He’s just disappeared off of the face of the bloomin’ earth.”
I got down on to my chest, and reached for my boots.
Before I could speak again, the man was saying something fresh.
“See here, mates,” he went on. “If things is goin’ on like this, I’d like to know where you an’ me’ll be befor’ long!”
“We’ll be in ’ell,” said Plummer.
“I dunno as I like to think ’bout it,” said Quoin.
“We’ll have to think about it!” replied the man. “We’ve got to think a bloomin’ lot about it. I’ve talked to our side, an’ they’re game.”
“Game for what?” I asked.
“To go an’ talk straight to the bloomin’ Capting,” he said, wagging his finger at me. “It’s make tracks for the nearest bloomin’ port, an’ don’t you make no bloomin’ mistake.”
I opened my mouth to tell him that the probability was we should not be able to make it, even if he could get the Old Man to see the matter from his point of view. Then I remembered that the chap had no idea of
the things I had seen, and thought out; so, instead, I said:
“Supposing he won’t?”
“Then we’ll have to bloomin’ well make him,” he replied.
“And when you got there,” I said. “What then? You’d be jolly well locked up for mutiny.”
“I’d sooner be locked up,” he said. “It don’t kill you!”
There was a murmur of agreement from the others, and then a moment of silence, in which, I know, the men were thinking.
Jaskett’s voice broke into it.
“I never thought at first as she was ’aunted—” he commenced; but Plummer cut in across his speech.
“We mustn’t ’urt any one, yer know,” he said. “That’d mean ’angin’, an’ they ain’t been er bad crowd.”
“No,” assented everyone, including the chap who had come to call us.
“All the same,” he added. “It’s got to be up hellum, an’ shove her into the nearest bloomin’ port.”
“Yes,” said everyone, and then eight bells went, and we cleared out on deck.
Presently, after roll-call—in which there had come a queer, awkward little pause at Toppin’s name—Tammy came over to me. The rest of the men had gone forrard, and I guessed they were talking over mad plans for forcing the Skipper’s hand, and making him put into port—poor beggars!
* * * *
I was leaning over the port rail, by the fore brace-lock, staring down into the sea, when Tammy came to me. For perhaps a minute he said nothing. When at last he spoke, it was to say that the shadow vessels had not been there since daylight.
“What?” I said, in some surprise. “How do you know?”
“I woke up when they were searching for Toppin,” he replied. “I’ve not been asleep since. I came here, right away.” He began to say something further; but stopped short.
“Yes,” I said encouragingly.
“I didn’t know—” he began, and broke off. He caught my arm. “Oh, Jessop!” he exclaimed. “What’s going to be the end of it all? Surely something can be done?”
I said nothing. I had a desperate feeling that there was very little we could do to help ourselves.
“Can’t we do something?” he asked, and shook my arm. “Anything’s better than this! We’re being murdered!”
The William Hope Hodgson Megapack Page 74