Complete Works of William Hope Hodgson

by Hodgson, William Hope

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, Nuzzie 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 Nuzzie 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 Nuzzie, 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 ay, ay, 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 extraordinary, 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 she walloped ’em all,” chaunted old 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 hag, 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 sung 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 hed 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 ‘nuff, 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 pin-rail 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 comed.”

  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’ seein’ thet gell.”

  Away aft, Nuzzie, the “b’y,” was at the wheel. He had heard the moaning; but, being no more than a boy, it must be supposed that he 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 waterspout 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, homeward-bounder, passed in through the everlasting portals.

  GREY SEAS ARE DREAMING OF MY DEATH

  I know grey seas are dreaming of my death, Out on grey plains where foam is lost in sleep, Where one damp wind wails on continually, And no life lives in the forgotten air. Ayhie! Yoi! but oh! the mood doth change, The sea doth lift me high on living mountains; As a mother guards her babe So the fierce hills round me range, And a Voice goes on and on in mighty laughter — The joyous call of Strength which doth enguard me. Ayhie! Yoi! All the splendour of the sea Doth guard me from the slaughter. Oh! Men in weary lands Lift up your hearts and hands, And weep ye are not me, Child of all the sea Out upon the foam among the fountains And the glory And the magic of this water world Where in childhood I was hurled, Weep, for I am dying in my glory; And the foam swings round and sings, And the great seas chaunt; and the whitened hills are falling; And I am dying in my glory, dying —— Dying, dying, dying ——

  THE LUCK OF THE STRONG

  CONTENTS

  CAPTAIN GUNBOLT CHARITY AND THE PAINTED LADY

  THE ISLAND OF THE UD

  THE ADVENTURE OF THE HEADLAND

  THE GETTING EVEN OF “PARSON” GUYLES

  THE ADVENTURE WITH THE CLAIM JUMPERS

  THE BELLS OF THE “LAUGHING SALLY”

  WE TWO AND BULLY DUNKAN

  THE STONE SHIP

  CAPTAIN GUNBOLT CHARITY AND THE PAINTED LADY

  S.S. Boston.

  April 2nd. Evening.

  I had a splendid offer made me to-day. A man came aboard, with what looked like a drawing-board, wrapped in brown paper.

  He had a letter of introduction from a man who knows me.

  “My name’s Black, as I guess Mr. Abel’s told you in the letter,” he said. “I want to talk business with you, Cap’n Charity.”

  “Go ahead!” I said.

  “What I say, goes no further, that’s understood, I guess?” he asked. “Mr. Abel gave you a good name, Cap’n, an’ he told me a thing or two about you that sounded pretty safe to me.”

  “I’m mum!” I told him. “If you’ve murdered someone, it’s no concern of mine, and I don’t want to hear about it. If it’s anything clean, get it off your chest. You’ll find me a good listener.”

  He nodded.

  “You know about that Mona Lisa bit of goods?” he asked me.

  “The picture?” I said.

  He nodded again.

  “Well,” he said, “they got the wrong one. That’s a copy that’s been made from the original. It’s a mighty good copy. It should be; i
t cost me over twenty thousand dollars, before it was finished.

  “It’s so good, you couldn’t make ’em believe it isn’t the original. I got the original, though, safe and sound; and a patron of mine’s mad for it. That’s what I came to see you about. I’ve got to get it taken across and through the U.S.A. Customs.”

  “But you don’t tell me that a copy could fool all the art experts who’ve seen the recovered Mona Lisa?” I said. “Why the old canvas—”

  “Wood, Cap’n,” he interpolated.

  “It’s on wood, is it? “ I said. “I’d never realised that. Well you don’t tell me they don’t know the kind of wood, and the smell and the general oldness and the seasonedness, and all the rest of it, of a panel of wood as old as that must be. The very smell of it would be enough to tell them whether it was the original or not.

  “And that’s not all! Why the pigments they used; they can’t be matched to-day, so I understand. And how’d you get the ‘time tone,’ the ‘time surface’ — ? Why, man, any one of these things could never be faked properly — not well enough to deceive an expert who knew his business. And then, I shouldn’t think it would be possible for any man alive to even imitate the feeling of the picture — that is, if it’s anything like I’m inclined to believe it must be.

  “Don’t you see, your tale won’t wash. All these things put together, make a picture as famous as the Gioconda absolutely un-forgable — that is, of course, to an expert.”

  “Now, Cap’n,” he said, “you’ve had your say, and I’ll have mine.”

  “First of all, to get a panel that could not be pronounced anything but genuine, Cap’n, I had the Mona Lisa panel split, using a special machine-saw for the purpose. It was an anxious job, I can promise you. The man who cut it was an expert at his job, and the saw was a specially made ribbon-saw, with hair-fine teeth.

  “He practised on a dozen model panels, before I’d let him split the Mona. Then he put the picture flat on the steel saw-table, and he just skinned off the Mona with no more than a sixteenth of an inch of wood under her. He did it as easy and smooth as skimming milk; but I just stood and sweated till it was done.