Complete Works of William Hope Hodgson

by Hodgson, William Hope

  The Second Mate muttered something, and told him to go down into the saloon to see whether the First and Third Mates, by any chance, were not in their berths.

  Tammy started off; then halted.

  “Shall I have a look into the Old Man’s place, Sir, while I’m down there?” he inquired.

  “No!” said the Second Mate. “Do what I told you, and then come and tell me. If anyone’s to go into the Captain’s cabin, it’s got to be me.”

  Tammy said “i, i, Sir,” and skipped away, up on to the poop.

  While he was gone, the other ‘prentice came up to say that the Steward was in his berth, and that he wanted to know what the hell he was fooling round his part of the ship for.

  The Second Mate said nothing, for nearly a minute. Then he turned to us, and told us we might go forrard.

  As we moved off in a body, and talking in undertones, Tammy came down from the poop, and went up to the Second Mate. I heard him say that the two Mates were in their berths, asleep. Then he added, as if it were an afterthought —

  “So’s the Old Man.”

  “I thought I told you—” the Second Mate began.

  “I didn’t, Sir,” Tammy said. “His cabin door was open.”

  The Second Mate started to go aft. I caught a fragment of a remark he was making to Tammy.

  “ — accounted for the whole crew. I’m—”

  He went up on to the poop. I did not catch the rest.

  I had loitered a moment; now, however, I hurried after the others. As we neared the fo’cas’le, one bell went, and we roused out the other watch, and told them what jinks we had been up to.

  “I rec’on ‘e must be rocky,” one of the men remarked.

  “Not ‘im,” said another, “‘e’s bin ‘avin’ forty winks on the break, an’ dreemed ‘is mother-en-lore ‘ad come on ‘er visit, friendly like.”

  There was some laughter at this suggestion, and I caught myself smiling along with the rest; though I had no reason for sharing their belief, that there was nothing in it all.

  “Might ‘ave been a stowaway, yer know,” I heard Quoin, the one who had suggested it before, remark to one of the A.B’s named Stubbins — a short, rather surly-looking chap.

  “Might have been hell!” returned Stubbins. “Stowaways hain’t such fools as all that.”

  “I dunno,” said the first. “I wish I ‘ad arsked the Second what ‘e thought about it.”

  “I don’t think it was a stowaway, somehow,” I said, chipping in. “What would a stowaway want aloft? I guess he’d be trying more for the Steward’s pantry.”

  “You bet he would, hevry time,” said Stubbins. He lit his pipe, and sucked at it, slowly.

  “I don’t hunderstand it, all ther same,” he remarked, after a moment’s silence.

  “Neither do I,” I said. And after that I was quiet for a while, listening to the run of conversation on the subject.

  Presently, my glance fell upon Williams, the man who had spoken to me about “shadders.” He was sitting in his bunk, smoking, and making no effort to join in the talk.

  I went across to him.

  “What do you think of it, Williams?” I asked. “Do you think the Second

  Mate really saw anything?”

  He looked at me, with a sort of gloomy suspicion; but said nothing.

  I felt a trifle annoyed by his silence; but took care not to show it.

  After a few moments, I went on.

  “Do you know, Williams, I’m beginning to understand what you meant that night, when you said there were too many shadows.”

  “Wot yer mean?” he said, pulling his pipe from out of his mouth, and fairly surprised into answering.

  “What I say, of course,” I said. “There are too many shadows.”

  He sat up, and leant forward out from his bunk, extending his hand and pipe. His eyes plainly showed his excitement.

  “‘ave yer seen—” he hesitated, and looked at me, struggling inwardly to express himself.

  “Well?” I prompted.

  For perhaps a minute he tried to say something. Then his expression altered suddenly from doubt, and something else more indefinite, to a pretty grim look of determination.

  He spoke.

  “I’m blimed,” he said, “ef I don’t tike er piy-diy out of ‘er, shadders or no shadders.”

  I looked at him, with astonishment.

  “What’s it got to do with your getting a pay-day out of her?” I asked.

  He nodded his head, with a sort of stolid resolution.

  “Look ‘ere,” he said.

  I waited.

  “Ther crowd cleared”; he indicated with his hand and pipe towards the stern.

  “You mean in ‘Frisco?” I said.

  “Yus,” he replied; “‘an withart er cent of ther piy. I styied.”

  I comprehended him suddenly.

  “You think they saw,” I hesitated; then I said “shadows?”

  He nodded; but said nothing.

  “And so they all bunked?”

  He nodded again, and began tapping out his pipe on the edge of his bunk-board.

  “And the officers and the Skipper?” I asked.

  “Fresh uns,” he said, and got out of his bunk; for eight bells was striking.

  IV. The Fooling with the Sail

  It was on the Friday night, that the Second Mate had the watch aloft looking for the man up the main; and for the next five days little else was talked about; though, with the exception of Williams, Tammy and myself, no one seemed to think of treating the matter seriously. Perhaps I should not exclude Quoin, who still persisted, on every occasion, that there was a stowaway aboard. As for the Second Mate, I have very little doubt now, but that he was beginning to realise there was something deeper and less understandable than he had at first dreamed of. Yet, all the same, I know he had to keep his guesses and half-formed opinions pretty well to himself; for the Old Man and the First Mate chaffed him unmercifully about his “bogy.” This, I got from Tammy, who had heard them both ragging him during the second dog-watch the following day. There was another thing Tammy told me, that showed how the Second Mate bothered about his inability to understand the mysterious appearance and disappearance of the man he had seen go aloft. He had made Tammy give him every detail he could remember about the figure we had seen by the log-reel. What is more, the Second had not even affected to treat the matter lightly, nor as a thing to be sneered at; but had listened seriously, and asked a great many questions. It is very evident to me that he was reaching out towards the only possible conclusion. Though, goodness knows, it was one that was impossible and improbable enough.

  It was on the Wednesday night, after the five days of talk I have mentioned, that there came, to me and to those who knew, another element of fear. And yet, I can quite understand that, at that time, those who had seen nothing, would find little to be afraid of, in all that I am going to tell you. Still, even they were much puzzled and astonished, and perhaps, after all, a little awed. There was so much in the affair that was inexplicable, and yet again such a lot that was natural and commonplace. For, when all is said and done, it was nothing more than the blowing adrift of one of the sails; yet accompanied by what were really significant details — significant, that is, in the light of that which Tammy and I and the Second Mate knew.

  Seven bells, and then one, had gone in the first watch, and our side was being roused out to relieve the Mate’s. Most of the men were already out of their bunks, and sitting about on their sea-chests, getting into their togs.

  Suddenly, one of the ‘prentices in the other watch, put his head in through the doorway on the port side.

  “The Mate wants to know,” he said, “which of you chaps made fast the fore royal, last watch.”

  “Wot’s ‘e want to know that for?” inquired one of the men.

  “The lee side’s blowing adrift,” said the ‘prentice. “And he says that the chap who made it fast is to go up and see to it as soon as the watch is
relieved.”

  “Oh! does ‘e? Well ’twasn’t me, any’ow,” replied the man. “You’d better arsk sum of t’others.”

  “Ask what?” inquired Plummer, getting out of his bunk, sleepily.

  The ‘prentice repeated his message.

  The man yawned and stretched himself.

  “Let me see,” he muttered, and scratched his head with one hand, while he fumbled for his trousers with the other. “‘oo made ther fore r’yal fast?” He got into his trousers, and stood up. “Why, ther Or’nary, er course; ‘oo else do yer suppose?”

  “That’s all I wanted to know!” said the ‘prentice, and went away.

  “Hi! Tom!” Stubbins sung out to the Ordinary. “Wake up, you lazy young devil. Ther Mate’s just sent to hinquire who it was made the fore royal fast. It’s all blowin’ adrift, and he says you’re to get along up as soon as eight bells goes, and make it fast again.”

  Tom jumped out of his bunk, and began to dress, quickly.

  “Blowin’ adrift!” he said. “There ain’t all that much wind; and I tucked the ends of the gaskets well in under the other turns.”

  “P’raps one of ther gaskets is rotten, and given way,” suggested

  Stubbins. “Anyway, you’d better hurry up, it’s just on eight bells.”

  A minute later, eight bells went, and we trooped away aft for roll-call.

  As soon as the names were called over, I saw the Mate lean towards the

  Second and say something. Then the Second Mate sung out:

  “Tom!”

  “Sir!” answered Tom.

  “Was it you made fast that fore royal, last watch?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “How’s that it’s broken adrift?”

  “Carn’t say, Sir.”

  “Well, it has, and you’d better jump aloft and shove the gasket round it again. And mind you make a better job of it this time.”

  “i, i, Sir,” said Tom, and followed the rest of us forrard. Reaching the fore rigging, he climbed into it, and began to make his way leisurely aloft. I could see him with a fair amount of distinctness, as the moon was very clear and bright, though getting old.

  I went over to the weather pin-rail, and leaned up against it, watching him, while I filled my pipe. The other men, both the watch on deck and the watch below, had gone into the fo’cas’le, so that I imagined I was the only one about the maindeck. Yet, a minute later, I discovered that I was mistaken; for, as I proceeded to light up, I saw Williams, the young cockney, come out from under the lee of the house, and turn and look up at the Ordinary as he went steadily upwards. I was a little surprised, as I knew he and three of the others had a “poker fight” on, and he’d won over sixty pounds of tobacco. I believe I opened my mouth to sing out to him to know why he wasn’t playing; and then, all at once, there came into my mind the memory of my first conversation with him. I remembered that he had said sails were always blowing adrift at night. I remembered the, then, unaccountable emphasis he had laid on those two words; and remembering that, I felt suddenly afraid. For, all at once, the absurdity had struck me of a sail — even a badly stowed one — blowing adrift in such fine and calm weather as we were then having. I wondered I had not seen before that there was something queer and unlikely about the affair. Sails don’t blow adrift in fine weather, with the sea calm and the ship as steady as a rock. I moved away from the rail and went towards Williams. He knew something, or, at least, he guessed at something that was very much a blankness to me at that time. Up above, the boy was climbing up, to what? That was the thing that made me feel so frightened. Ought I to tell all I knew and guessed? And then, who should I tell? I should only be laughed at — I —

  Williams turned towards me, and spoke.

  “Gawd!” he said, “it’s started agen!”

  “What?” I said. Though I knew what he meant.

  “Them syles,” he answered, and made a gesture towards the fore royal.

  I glanced up, briefly. All the lee side of the sail was adrift, from the bunt gasket outwards. Lower, I saw Tom; he was just hoisting himself into the t’gallant rigging.

  Williams spoke again.

  “We lost two on ’em just sime way, comin’ art.”

  “Two of the men!” I exclaimed.

  “Yus!” he said tersely.

  “I can’t understand,” I went on. “I never heard anything about it.”

  “Who’d yer got ter tell yer abart it?” he asked.

  I made no reply to his question; indeed, I had scarcely comprehended it, for the problem of what I ought to do in the matter had risen again in my mind.

  “I’ve a good mind to go aft and tell the Second Mate all I know,” I said. “He’s seen something himself that he can’t explain away, and — and anyway I can’t stand this state of things. If the Second Mate knew all—”

  “Garn!” he cut in, interrupting me. “An’ be told yer’re a blastid hidiot. Not yer. Yer sty were yer are.”

  I stood irresolute. What he had said, was perfectly correct, and I was positively stumped what to do for the best. That there was danger aloft, I was convinced; though if I had been asked my reasons for supposing this, they would have been hard to find. Yet of its existence, I was as certain as though my eyes already saw it. I wondered whether, being so ignorant of the form it would assume, I could stop it by joining Tom on the yard? This thought came as I stared up at the royal. Tom had reached the sail, and was standing on the foot-rope, close in to the bunt. He was bending over the yard, and reaching down for the slack of the sail. And then, as I looked, I saw the belly of the royal tossed up and down abruptly, as though a sudden heavy gust of wind had caught it.

  “I’m blimed — !” Williams began, with a sort of excited expectation. And then he stopped as abruptly as he had begun. For, in a moment, the sail had thrashed right over the after side of the yard, apparently knocking Tom clean from off the foot-rope.

  “My God!” I shouted out loud. “He’s gone!”

  For an instant there was a blur over my eyes, and Williams was singing out something that I could not catch. Then, just as quickly, it went, and I could see again, clearly.

  Williams was pointing, and I saw something black, swinging below the yard. Williams called out something fresh, and made a run for the fore rigging. I caught the last part ——

  “ — ther garskit.”

  Straightway, I knew that Tom had managed to grab the gasket as he fell, and I bolted after Williams to give him a hand in getting the youngster into safety.

  Down on deck, I caught the sound of running feet, and then the Second Mate’s voice. He was asking what the devil was up; but I did not trouble to answer him then. I wanted all my breath to help me aloft. I knew very well that some of the gaskets were little better than old shakins; and, unless Tom got hold of something on the t’gallant yard below him, he might come down with a run any moment. I reached the top, and lifted myself over it in quick time. Williams was some distance above me. In less than half a minute, I reached the t’gallant yard. Williams had gone up on to the royal. I slid out on to the t’gallant foot-rope until I was just below Tom; then I sung out to him to let himself down to me, and I would catch him. He made no answer, and I saw that he was hanging in a curiously limp fashion, and by one hand.

  Williams’s voice came down to me from the royal yard. He was singing out to me to go up and give him a hand to pull Tom up on to the yard. When I reached him, he told me that the gasket had hitched itself round the lad’s wrist. I bent beside the yard, and peered down. It was as Williams had said, and I realised how near a thing it had been. Strangely enough, even at that moment, the thought came to me how little wind there was. I remembered the wild way in which the sail had lashed at the boy.

  All this time, I was busily working, unreeving the port buntline. I took the end, made a running bowline with it round the gasket, and let the loop slide down over the boy’s head and shoulders. Then I took a strain on it and tightened it under his arms. A minute later w
e had him safely on the yard between us. In the uncertain moonlight, I could just make out the mark of a great lump on his forehead, where the foot of the sail must have caught him when it knocked him over.

  As we stood there a moment, taking our breath, I caught the sound of the Second Mate’s voice close beneath us. Williams glanced down; then he looked up at me and gave a short, grunting laugh.

  “Crikey!” he said.

  “What’s up?” I asked, quickly.

  He jerked his head backwards and downwards. I screwed round a bit, holding the jackstay with one hand, and steadying the insensible Ordinary with the other. In this way I could look below. At first, I could see nothing. Then the Second Mate’s voice came up to me again.

  “Who the hell are you? What are you doing?”

  I saw him now. He was standing at the foot of the weather t’gallant rigging, his face was turned upwards, peering round the after side of the mast. It showed to me only as a blurred, pale-coloured oval in the moonlight.

  He repeated his question.

  “It’s Williams and I, Sir,” I said. “Tom, here, has had an accident.”

  I stopped. He began to come up higher towards us. From the rigging to leeward there came suddenly a buzz of men talking.

  The Second Mate reached us.

  “Well, what’s up, anyway?” he inquired, suspiciously. “What’s happened?”

  He had bent forward, and was peering at Tom. I started to explain; but he cut me short with:

  “Is he dead?”

  “No, Sir,” I said. “I don’t think so; but the poor beggar’s had a bad fall. He was hanging by the gasket when we got to him. The sail knocked him off the yard.”

  “What?” he said, sharply.

  “The wind caught the sail, and it lashed back over the yard—”

  “What wind?” he interrupted. “There’s no wind, scarcely.” He shifted his weight on to the other foot. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean what I say, Sir. The wind brought the foot of the sail over the top of the yard and knocked Tom clean off the foot-rope. Williams and I both saw it happen.”