Complete Works of William Hope Hodgson

by Hodgson, William Hope

  “‘She’s Alive!’

  “I never heard such a sound of comprehension and terror in a man’s voice. The very horrified assurance of it, made actual to me the thing that, before, had only lurked in my subconscious mind. I knew he was right; I knew that the explanation, my reason and my training, both repelled and reached towards, was the true one....... I wonder whether anyone can possibly understand our feelings in that moment.... The unmitigable horror of it, and the incredibleness.

  “As the light of the match burned up fully, I saw that the mass of living matter, coming towards us, was streaked and veined with purple, the veins standing out, enormously distended. The whole thing quivered continuously to each ponderous Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! of that gargantuan organ that pulsed within the huge grey-white bulk. The flame of the match reached the Captain’s fingers, and there came to me a little sickly whiff of burned flesh; but he seemed unconscious of any pain. Then the flame went out, in a brief sizzle; yet at the last moment, I had seen an extraordinary raw look, become visible upon the end of that monstrous, protruding lappet. It had become dewed with a hideous, purplish sweat. And with the darkness, there came a sudden charnel-like stench.

  “I heard the match-box split in Captain Gannington’s hands, as he wrenched it open. Then he swore, in a queer frightened voice; for he had come to the end of his matches. He turned clumsily in the darkness, and tumbled over the nearest thwart, in his eagerness to get to the stern of the boat; and I after him; for we knew that thing was coming towards us through the darkness; reaching over that piteous mingled heap of human bones, all jumbled together in the bows. We shouted madly to the men, and for answer saw the bows of the boat emerge dimly into view, round the starboard counter of the derelict.

  “‘Thank God!’ I gasped out; but Captain Gannington yelled to them to show a light. Yet this they could not do; for the lamp had just been stepped on, in their desperate efforts to force the boat round to us.

  “‘Quick! Quick!’ I shouted.

  “‘For God’s sake be smart, men!’ roared the Captain; and both of us faced the darkness under the port counter, out of which we knew (but could not see) the thing was coming towards us.

  “‘An oar! Smart now; pass me an oar!’ shouted the Captain; and reached out his hands through the gloom towards the oncoming boat. I saw a figure stand up in the bows, and hold something out to us, across the intervening yards of scum. Captain Gannington swept his hands through the darkness, and encountered it.

  “‘I’ve got it. Let go there!’ he said, in a quick, tense voice.

  “In the same instant, the boat we were in, was pressed over suddenly to starboard by some tremendous weight. Then I heard the Captain shout:— ‘Duck y’r head, Doctor;’ and directly afterwards he swung the heavy, fourteen-foot ash oar round his head, and struck into the darkness. There came a sudden squelch, and he struck again, with a savage grunt of fierce energy. At the second blow, the boat righted, with a slow movement, and directly afterwards the other boat bumped gently into ours.

  “Captain Gannington dropped the oar, and springing across to the Second Mate, hove him up off the thwart, and pitched him with knee and arms clear in over the bows among the men; then he shouted to me to follow, which I did, and he came after me, bringing the oar with him. We carried the Second Mate aft, and the Captain shouted to the men to back the boat a little; then they got her bows clear of the boat we had just left, and so headed out through the scum for the open sea.

  “‘Where’s Tom ‘Arrison?’ gasped one of the men, in the midst of his exertions. He happened to be Tom Harrison’s particular chum; and Captain Gannington answered him briefly enough: —

  “‘Dead! Pull! Don’t talk!’

  “Now, difficult as it had been to force the boat through the scum to our rescue, the difficulty to get clear seemed tenfold. After some five minutes pulling, the boat seemed hardly to have moved a fathom, if so much; and a quite dreadful fear took me afresh; which one of the panting men put suddenly into words: —

  “‘It’s got us!’ he gasped out; ‘same as poor Tom!’ It was the man who had inquired where Harrison was.

  “‘Shut y’r mouth an’ pull!’ roared the Captain. And so another few minutes passed. Abruptly, it seemed to me that the dull, ponderous Thud ! Thud! Thud! Thud! came more plainly through the dark, and I stared intently over the stern. I sickened a little; for I could almost swear that the dark mass of the monster was actually nearer ... that it was coming nearer to us through the darkness. Captain Gannington must have had the same thought; for after a brief look into the darkness, he made one jump to the stroke-oar, and began to double-bank it.

  “‘Get forrid under the thwarts, Doctor!’ he said to me, rather breathlessly. ‘Get in the bows, an’ see if you can’t free the stuff a bit round the bows.’

  “I did as he told me, and a minute later I was in the bows of the boat, puddling the scum from side to side with the boathook, and trying to break up the viscid, clinging muck. A heavy, almost animal-like odour rose off it, and all the air seemed full of the deadening smell. I shall never find words to tell any one the whole horror of it all — the threat that seemed to hang in the very air around us; and, but a little astern, that incredible thing, coming, as I firmly believe, nearer, and the scum holding us like half melted glue.

  ‘The minutes passed in a deadly, eternal fashion, and I kept staring back astern into the darkness; but never ceasing to puddle that filthy scum, striking at it and switching it from side to side, until I sweated.

  “Abruptly, Captain Gannington sang out: —

  “‘We’re gaining, lads. Pull! ‘And I felt the boat forge ahead perceptibly, as they gave way, with renewed hope and energy. There was soon no doubt of it; for presently that hideous Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! had grown quite dim and vague somewhere astern, and I could no longer see the derelict; for the night had come down tremendously dark, and all the sky was thick overset with heavy clouds. As we drew nearer and nearer to the edge of the scum, the boat moved more and more freely, until suddenly we emerged with a clean, sweet, fresh sound, into the open sea.

  “‘Thank God!’ I said aloud, and drew in the boathook, and made my way aft again to where Captain Gannington now sat once more at the tiller. I saw him looking anxiously up at the sky, and across to where the lights of our vessel burned, and again he would seem to listen intently; so that I found myself listening also.

  “‘What’s that, Captain?’ I said sharply; for it seemed to me that I heard a sound far astern, something between a queer whine and a low whistling. ‘What’s that?’

  “‘It’s wind, Doctor,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘I wish to God we were aboard.’

  “Then, to the men:— ‘Pull! Put y’r backs into it, or ye’ll never put y’r teeth through good bread again!’

  “The men obeyed nobly, and we reached the vessel safely, and had the boat safely stowed, before the storm came, which it did in a furious white smother out of the West. I could see it for some minutes beforehand, tearing the sea, in the gloom, into a wall of phosphorescent foam; and as it came nearer, that peculiar whining, piping sound, grew louder and louder, until it was like a vast steam whistle, rushing towards us across the sea.

  “And when it did come, we got it very heavy indeed; so that the morning showed us nothing but a welter of white seas; and that grim derelict was many a score of miles away in the smother, lost as utterly as our hearts could wish to lose her.

  “When I came to examine the Second Mate’s feet, I found them in a very extraordinary condition. The soles of them had the appearance of having been partly digested. I know of no other word that so exactly describes their condition; and the agony the man suffered, must have been dreadful.

  “Now,” concluded the Doctor, “that is what I call a case in point. If we could know exactly what that old vessel had originally been loaded with, and the juxtaposition of the various articles of her cargo, plus the heat and time she had endured, plus one or two other only guessable quantit
ies, we should have solved the chemistry of the Life-Force, gentlemen. Not necessarily the origin, mind you; but, at least, we should have taken a big step on the way. I’ve often regretted that gale, you know — in a way, that is, in a way! It was a most amazing discovery; but, at the time, I had nothing but thankfulness to be rid of it.... A most amazing chance. I often think of the way the monster woke out of its torpor.... And that scum.... The dead pigs caught in it.... I fancy that was a grim kind of net, gentlemen.... It caught many things.... It ...”

  The old Doctor sighed and nodded.

  “If I could have had her bill of lading,” he said, his eyes full of regret. “If —— It might have told me something to help. But, anyway....” He began to fill his pipe again.... “I suppose,” he ended, looking round at us gravely, “I s’pose we humans are an ungrateful lot of beggars, at the best! ... But ... but what a chance! What a chance — eh?”

  MY HOUSE SHALL BE CALLED THE HOUSE OF PRAYER

  (An incident in the life of Father Johnson, Roman Catholic Priest.)

  “And the Great Deep of Life.”

  Father Johnson’s Irish village is not Irish. For some unknown reason it is polyglot. They are, as one might say, a most extraordinary family.

  I took my friend, James Pelple, down with me for an afternoon’s jaunt, to give the priest a call in his new house; for he had moved since last I saw him. Pelple knew of Father Johnson, by hearsay, and disapproved strongly. There is no other word to describe his feelings.

  “A good man, yes,” he would remark. “But if all you tell me, and half of what I hear from others, is true, he is much too lax. His ritual — —”

  “I’ve never been to his place,” I interrupted. “I know him only as the man. As a man, I love him, as you know; as a priest, I admire him. Concerning his ritual, I know nothing. I don’t believe he is the man to be unduly lax on vital points.”

  “Just so! Just so!” said Pelple. “I know nothing; but I’ve heard some very peculiar things.”

  I smiled to myself. Certainly, Father Johnson has some unusual ways. I have seen him, for instance, when we have been alone, forget to say his grace, until, maybe, he had eaten one dish. Then, remembering, he would touch his fingers together, and say:— “Bless this food to me” (glancing at the empty dish), “an’ I thank Thee for it” (looking at the full one in front). Then, remembering the dish yet on the stove:— “An’ that too, Lord,” and direct the Lord’s attention to the same, by a backward nod of his head. Afterwards, resuming his eating and talking, in the most natural fashion.

  “I’ve heard that he allows his church to be used for some very extraordinary purposes,” continued Pelple. “I cannot, of course, credit some of the things I hear; but I have been assured that the women take their knitting into the church on weekday evenings, whilst the men assemble there, as to a kind of rendezvous, where village topics are allowed. I consider it most improper, most improper! Don’t you?”

  But I found it difficult to criticise Father Johnson. I was frankly an admirer, as I am to-day. So I held my peace, assisted by an elusive movement of the head, that might have been either a nod or a negative.

  When we reached the village, and asked for the priest’s new house, three men of the place escorted us there in state, as to the house of a chieftain. Reaching it, two of them pointed to him through the window, where he sat at table, smoking, after his early tea. The third man would have accompanied us in; but I told him that I wanted to see the priest alone; whereupon they all went happily. To have need to see the priest alone, was a need that each and all understood, as a part of their daily lives.

  I lifted the latch, and we passed in, as all are welcome to do at any hour of the day or night. The door of his house opened into a short half-passage, and I could see direct into his little room, out of which went the small scullery-kitchen. As we entered, I heard Sally, his servant-wench, washing dishes in the little scullery; and just then Father Johnson called out to her:— “Sally, I’ll make a bet with ye.”

  In the scullery, I heard a swift rustling and a subdued clatter, and knew that Sally (having heard that preliminary often before) was stealthily removing the handles of the knives from the boiling water. Then her reply: —

  “Did y’r riv’rence sphake?”

  “I did, Sally, colleen,” said the priest’s voice. “I’ll make a bet with ye, Sally, you’ve the handles av thim knives over hilt in the hot water — eh, Sally!”

  And then Sally’s voice, triumphant: —

  “Ye’re wrong, y’r riv’rence, thim knives is on the dhresser!”

  “Aye, Sally,” said Father Johnson; “but were they not in the hot water whin I sphoke firrst?”

  “They was, y’r riv’rence,” said Sally, in a shamed voice; just as she had been making the same confession for the past seven years. And then the priest had a little fit of happy, almost silent laughter, puffing out great clouds of smoke; in the midst of which we walked in on him.

  After our greetings, which the priest had met with that strange magnetism of heartiness, that had left even the critical Pelple less disapproving, we were set down to a tea, which we simply had to eat, the priest waiting on us himself, and making the little meal “go,” as you might say, with the abundance of his energy and humour — telling a hundred quaint tales and jests of the country-side, with his brogue making points of laughter where more formal speech would have left us dull and untouched.

  The meal over, the priest suggested that we might like to accompany him down to his chapel, and see whether things were “kapin’ happy,” as he phrased it. As you may suppose, we were quite eager to accept his invitation; for, as I have made clear already, I had never been down to his place before, and I had heard many things — even as had Pelple — about his chapel and his methods.

  We had not far to go. On the way, Father Johnson pointed with his thumb to a little stone-built cabin, very small and crude, which I learned was rented by a certain old Thomas Cardallon, who was not an Irishman.

  “Tom’s wife died last week,” said the priest, quietly. “He’s to be evicted to-morrow as iver is, if he cannot fhind the rint.”

  I put my hand into my pocket, with a half involuntary movement; but he shook his head, as much as to say no good could be done that way. This was all, and we were past the small hovel in a minute; but I found myself looking back with a sudden, new curiosity at the little rough-built living-place, that, before, had been only one poor hut among many; yet was now instinct to me with a history of its own, so that it stood out, in my memory, from the others, that were here and there about, as something indicative of the life-hope and striving of two poor humans. I put it badly. I know; but it was just such a jumble of vague thoughts and emotions as these, that stirred in my mind. I had reason afterwards to have further memory of the cottage and its one-time occupants.

  We reached the chapel very soon; but when we entered, I stood for a moment, in astonishment, looking up the single aisle of the long whitewashed room. There was not much noise; for, as I discovered, reverence and the sense of the Place, held power all the time; moreover, they were Father Johnson’s people. I looked at my friend, smiling, I fear.

  “Even worse than Rumour foretold,” I suggested in a low voice; but he made no reply; for he appeared to me to be stifled by the excess of his astounded disapproval. The priest was a few paces before us, where we had made our involuntary pause in the doorway; and he, too, came to a stand, and looked at the scene, unobserved.

  You will understand that there was cause for my astonishment, and even — as many will agree — with the strong disapprobation which my friend was feeling, when I tell you that there was an auction in progress within the House; for within the doorway to the left, was a pile of household goods, evidently from the cottage of one of the very poor. In front of the little heap was an old man, and round him, in a semicircle, stood a number of the villagers, listening intently to the old man’s extolling of each article of his household gear, which he was putting up
for sale.

  “‘My House shall be called — —’” I quoted softly and involuntarily; but less with any blame in my heart, than a great wonder, salted by a vague shockedness. The priest, still standing a little before me, caught my half unconscious quotation; but he only said “Hush!” so gently that I felt suddenly ashamed, as if I were a child fumbling with the Garments of Life, which the priest had worn upon his shoulders all the long years.

  For maybe the half of a minute longer, we stood staring at the scene, Father Johnson still a few paces before us into the chapel.

  “Tom Cardallon,” he explained presently, over his shoulder. “If he sold outside, the officers would confiscate. I showed ye the house av him, as we passed.”

  He beckoned us to join the group of villagers round the pitiful pile of household goods, which we did, whilst he went on up the chapel, speaking a word here and there to the many who were gathered together in companionship for the quiet hour that preceded the evening Rosary. Some were praying; a few were sitting quietly in restful isolation from the world of reality; many of the women, I noticed, were knitting, or sitting making butter in small glass jars, which they shook constantly in their hands. The whole scene, in the soft evening light that came in through the long narrow windows, giving me an extraordinary sense of restfulness and natural humanity.

  I turned presently from my viewing of the general chapel, to the particular corner where I stood upon the skirt of the little group around the old man. I began to catch the drift of his remarks, uttered in a low tone, and found myself edging nearer, to hear more plainly. I gathered — as the priest had told us — that he had just lost his wife, after a long illness which had run them hopelessly into debt. Indeed, as you know, the eviction from the little hovel was arranged for the morrow, if the old man could not find the small sum which would make it possible for him to stay on in the old cottage, where he had evidently spent many very happy years.