“You mean to find that lagoon, Sir,” I said to him one night, when he had come up to join me in the middle watch. It was a thing that he had begun to do quite frequently of late.
“I do that, laddie,” was his reply, spoken quite normally and without any suggestion that the man thought he was saying anything to display forcefulness. “While there’s bread in the biscuit tanks we’ll look for her, laddie, if she’s above water—meanin’ in this case, my son, the Waters o’ Reality.”
I knew him well enough now to be aware that he truly meant that nothing short of proof that the unknown lagoon either existed or did not exist would now put him off the search, short of actually running short of provisions.
“And the freighters, Sir?” I asked.
“Damn the freighters, laddie,” he said genially.
“And the Company?” I ventured.
But this received no reply, and I knew that I had presumed a little beyond the line with which this seemingly free-and-easy man defined our relationship.
“Do you think there is really any such lagoon, Sir?” I asked after a moment, covering up my unanswered question.
“The Lord, He knows, laddie,” was all that Captain Dang said, and he turned and put his hands on the rail, staring dreamily away through the dark miles to wind’ard. Presently he began bumming away softly at his favorite tune, and I, thinking that maybe he wanted to be alone, began to walk the poop by myself. But he called me to him softly as I passed.
“Laddie,” he said, “the sea-life’s just hell! But oh, the Sea’s no less itself than the gateway o’ Eternity, laddie. ’Tis just that, laddie, an’ no less . . . a place where a man may find his God with nought of shame or insufficient words, laddie. Do ye look now away out on the beam, into the almighty mystery. Look! Can ye no’ see the mystery on mystery—eh, laddie? Or are ye blind like the rest—are ye?” He was silent a moment, staring and muttering gently. And suddenly I caught the words that he was saying over and over to himself: “I was born in the froth of thy mountains.”
He seemed to be almost tasting and flavoring the words with his tongue, as if he had been an epicure with some much-appreciated dainty. It was a new experience to me . . . it opened yet another door of the unopened Doors of Youth that shut me out from the knowledge-of-life. I got a glimpse, fleeting, of a form of enjoyment and actual happiness that had hitherto been outside of my awareness. I wonder whether I make myself clear.
“And if there’s beauty, there’s deviltry out there, laddie,” he said suddenly. “Eh, but I could tell you things, I could tell you things. . . . Look you, laddie,” he added, turning suddenly on me; “there’s places out there so strange”—and waved his arm around at the surrounding grey gloom of the sea—“that I should be laughed at ashore, if I was to say one word of the truth. It’s just because I’ve seen things myself that I know yon Turrill man may ha’ told the truth, the whole truth an’ nothin’ but the truth, my son.”
“Yes,” I said, rather ineffectually.
“All the same,” he added, “yon man’s told a damned funny yarn; an’ whether it’s Gospel, or whether it’s fever-fancies that he got in the boat, I don’t know. Maybe we’ll know in a day or two. Maybe we’ve somethin’ queer ahead. By the Lord, Mister, I hope so!” The last words came out with an intensity of expression that almost startled me, and they showed the volcano of a man that he was when the mood for adventure was upon him.
He turned from me abruptly and began to pace the poop alone, muttering from time to time some half-spoken words that I judged to be the line I had heard: “I was born in the froth of thy mountains.” And so he went, pacing and dreaming from time to time, sniffing at the night wind, or pausing to lean his elbows on the weather rail and stare away to wind’ard. . . . “I was born in the froth of thy mountains!”
I never met any other man to whom it might so well apply.
For seventeen days we tacked steadily across the great strip of ocean that we were searching, heaving-to at nights. The light, fair breeze held with wonderful steadiness, but never a sign of anything did we see. Once I asked Captain Dang whether he did not think this proof that the A.B. Turrill must truly have mistaken his delirium for reality.
“Wait, laddie, wait,” was his reply. “There’s nought done in this world, my son, by impatience. Wait till I’ve beat up this part of the blessed Pacific for another three months. No one knows better’n me how a tidy big thing can get lost surprisin’ easy in these parts.”
And so we continued for a space of eleven days further, narrowing the distance between out beats from fifty to thirty miles, with two men at the mastheads the whole long day. Yet, curiously enough, they were not the first to see it.
It came about in the dawn of the twelfth day. I was walking the poop in the middle watch, with the vessel hove to, and a light, steady breeze blowing. Away Eastward there was just the first faint loom of the dawn, which slowly strengthened into a pale, uncertain light that showed the sea vaguely.
Suddenly I heard Captain Dang’s voice to my back.
“Where are your eyes, Mister! Where are your eyes!” he was saying, and turning, I saw that he was pointing away to leeward. . . .
[UNFINISHED]
Captain Dan Danblasten
This story concerns the treasure of a certain Captain Dan Danblasten, known in his youth as merely Dan Danblasten, in the village of Geddley, on the south coast.
With the youth of Captain Dan Danblasten, which occurred, if I may so phrase it, prior to 1737, I have little to tell, except that being “wild like” and certainly lacking in worldly “plenishings,” he was no credit to the respectability of that quiet seaport village.
In consequence of this double stigma of commission and omission, he went away to sea taking his wildness and his poverty along with him; on which it is conceivable that the respectable matrons and maidens of Geddley sighed; though, possibly with different feelings.
There you have the whole tale of Dan Danblasten’s youth in a few words; that is, so far as Geddley is concerned.
Twenty years later he returned, with an ancient and ugly scar from right eyebrow to chin, and two enormous iron-bound chests, whose weight was vouched for by the men he hired to carry to the old Tunbelly Hostel, that same Tunbelly Inn being fronted on the old High Street Alley, which has been done away with this twenty years, and more.
Now, if young Dan Danblasten had lacked of friends and kindliness in his wild and youthful days of poverty, the returned Captain Danblasten had no cause for complaint on such score. For, no sooner had he declared his name and ancient kinship to the village, than there were a dozen to remember him and shake him by the hand, in token of those older days, when—as they seemed strangely to forget—there had been no such general desire to grip hands and invite him to sundries of that which both cheers and inebriates.
Yet, at the first of it, there seemed to be every reason to suppose that Captain Danblasten had forgotten the slights and disrespect that had been put upon the onetime Dan; for he accepted both the hands and the liquors that were offered to him; and these, I need scarcely say, were not stinted, when word of those weighty iron-bound chests had gone through the little port; for there was scarcely a man who could refrain from calling in the Tunbelly to welcome “old Dan, coom back agen. Cap’n Dan, sir, beggin’ your pardin’.”
As that first evening of warm welcoming of the returned and now respectable citizen of Geddley wore onward, Cap’n Danblasten warmed to the good liquor that came so plentiful and freely, and insisted on dancing a hornpipe upon the bar-table. At the conclusion of the warm applause which followed this feat, he declared his intention of showing them that Cap’n Danblasten was as good as the best: “‘s good asser besht,” he assured the barroom generally a great many times; and finally shouted to some of them to bring in his two great chests, which was done without argument or delay; a thing, perhaps, easy to understand. They were set in the middle of the floor, and all the men in the room crowded round, with their beer m
ugs, to watch. But at this point Cap’n Danblasten proved he was quite uncomfortably sober; for he ordered every man to stand back, enforcing his suggestion with a big brass-mounted pistol which he brought very suddenly out of a long pocket in the skirts of his heavy coat.
Having assured himself of a clear space all around his precious chests, Cap’n Danblasten pocked the big, brass-mounted pistol, and pulled out a big snuff-box, from which he took ample refreshment. He then dug in amid the snuff, with one great powder-blackened forefinger, and presently brought out to view two smallish keys. He replaced the snuff-box in his vest pocket, and set the keys against the side of his big nose, exclaiming with a kind of half-drunken knowingness, in French:
“Tenons de la verge d’une ancre!” which most of those present understood, being sailormen and in the free-trade, to mean literally the “nuts of the anchor”; but used at that time as a marine catch-phrase, as much as to say “the key of the situation”; though often used also in a coarser manner.
“Tout le monde à son poste!” he shouted, with a tipsy laugh, and turned to unlock the nearer chest. There were two great locks on each chest, and a separate key was used for each; and the interest was quite undoubted, as the cap’n turned back the bolts, and lifted the lid of the chest. Upon the top of all, there were four long wooden cases containing charts. Those he lifted out, and put with surprising care upon the floor. Afterwards, there came a quadrant, wrapped in an old pair of knee-breeches; then a compass, similarly wrapped in an old body-vest. Both of these he put down upon the four chart-cases with quite paternal tenderness.
He reached again into the chest, lurching, and hove out on to the floor a pile of heavily braided uniforms; a pair of great sea-boots with iron leg-guards stitched in on each side of the tops; a couple of heavy double-barrelled French pistols; a big Navy cutlass, and two heavy Malay knives without sheathes. And all the time, as he ladled out these somewhat “tarry” treasures, there was no sound in the big, low-ceilinged room, except the heavy breathings of the interested men-folk of Geddley.
Cap’n Danblasten stood up, wiped his forehead briefly with the back of his hand, and stooped again into the chest, seeming to be fumbling around for something; for the sound of his rough hands going over the wooden inside of the chest was plain to be heard. Presently he gave a satisfied little grunt, and immediately afterward there was a sharp click, which, as the landlord of the Tunbelly told certain of his special cronies afterwards, was a sure sign of there “bein’ a secrit lock-fast” within the chest. Be this as it may, the next instant Cap’n Danblasten pulled a thick wooden cover or partition, bolted with flat iron-bands, out of the chest, and hove it with a crash to the floor. Then he stooped, and began to make plain to the men of Geddley the very good and sufficient reason for the immense weight of the two great chests; for he brought out a canvas bag, about the size of a man’s head, which he dropped with a dull ringing thud on to the floor. Five more of these he brought out, and threw beside the first; and all the time, no sound, save the breathing of the onlookers, and an occasional hoarse whisper of excited suggestion.
Cap’n Danblasten stood up as he threw the sixth bag upon the others, and signed dumbly for his brandy-mug, with the result that he had half a score offered to him, as we say these days, gratis. He took the first, and drained it; then threw it across the room, where it smashed against the far wall. Yet this provoked no adverse comment, even from the fat landlord of the Tunbelly; for those six, bulging, heavy bags on the floor stood sponsors for many mugs, and it is to be supposed, the contents thereof.
It will be the more easily understood that no one bothered to remark upon Captain Danblasten’s method of disposing of his crockery-ware, when you realise that the cap’n had squatted down upon the floor beside his bags, and was beginning to unleash the neck of one. There was not a sound in the room, as he took off the last turn of the spunyarn stopper; for each man of Geddley held his breath with suspense and expectation. Then Cap’n Danblasten, with a quite admirable unconcern, capsized the bag upside down upon the floor, and cascaded out a heap of coins that shone with a dull golden glitter.
There went a gasp of astonishment, echoing from man to man round the room, and then a chorus of hoarse exclamations; for no man there had ever seen quite so much gold at one time in his life. Yet, Cap’n Danblasten took no heed; but with a half-drunken soberness, proceeded to unlash the necks of the five other bags, and to empty them likewise upon the contents of the first. And by the time that the gold from the sixth bag had been added to the heap, the silence of the men of Geddley was a stunned and bitter and avaricious silence; broken at last by the fat landlord of the Tunbelly, who with a nice presence of mind, came forward with the brandy keg under his arm, and a generous sized beer-mug, which was surely a fit spirit-measure for the owner of so prodigious a fortune.
Yet, Captain Danblasten was less appreciative of this tender thought-fulness than might have been supposed; for with a mixed vocabulary of forceful words, chosen discriminately from the French and English, he intimated that the landlord of the Tunbelly should retire, possibly with all the honours of war, but certainly with speed. And as the stout proprietor of the Tunbelly apparently failed to grasp the full and imperative necessity of speed, Cap’n Danblasten plucked his big brass-mounted pistol from the floor beside him, and let drive into the brandy-keg which reposed, as you know, under the well-intending arm of the fat Drinquobier; this being, as you may as well learn here, the landlord’s name. The bullet drove through the little keg, and blew out the hither end, wasting a great deal of good liquor, and scored the head of Long John of Kenstone, who came suddenly into a state of fluency; but was unheeded by the majority of the men of Geddley, who were gathered round the stout landlord of the Tunbelly, where he lay like a mountain of flesh upon the floor of the tap-room, shouting at the top of his fat and husky voice that he was shot, and shot dead, at that—which seemed to impress his customers with a conviction of truth. But as for Cap’n Danblasten, he sat calmly upon the floor, beside his heap of gold coinage, and began unemotionally to shovel it back into the six canvas bags, lashing each one securely as it was filled. Presently, still unheeding of the death cries of the very much alive landlord, he rose slowly to his feet, and began to replace the gold in the big chest, replying to Long John of Kenstone’s rendering of the commination service, merely by drawing forth a second heavy pistol, laying it ready to his hand across a corner of the chest.
In course of time, the fat landlord having discovered that he still breathed, and Long John of Kenstone having considered discreetly the possibilities of the second pistol, there was a period of comparative quiet once more in the big tap-room, during which Cap’n Danblasten methodically completed his re-stowage of his goods in the chest, and presently locked it securely with the two keys.
When this was finally achieved, a sudden silence of renewed interest came down upon the men of Geddley, as the cap’n proceeded to unlock the second chest, which though somewhat smaller than the other, was yet considerably the heavier. Cap’n Danblasten lifted back the ponderous lid, and there, displayed to view, was the picture of an enormous skull, worked in white silk on a background of black bunting. It was evident that the cap’n had forgotten in his half-drunken state that this lay uppermost in the chest; for he made now a hurried and clumsy movement to turn back the folds of the flag upon itself, so as to hide the emblem which was uncomfortably familiar in that day. Yet, that the men of Geddley had seen, was obvious; for there came a general cry from the mariners present, some of whom had been privateersmen, and worse, of: “The Jolly Roger! The Jolly Roger!”
Cap’n Danblasten stood a moment, in a seeming stupid silence, with the flag all bunched together in his hand; then suddenly, he turned, and flirted it out wide across the floor, so that the skull and the crossed bones, surmounted by a big D, showed plain. Underneath the D there was worked an hourglass in red wool. The men of Geddley crowded round, handling the flag, and criticising the designs, with something of the eyes o
f experts; some of them, and notably Long John of Kenstone, saying it was no proper Jolly Roger, seeing that it held no battle-axe. And on this, a general and forceful discussion ensued, which ended in a physical demonstration of their views, on the part of Long John of Kenstone, and a squat, heavy privateersman, during which Captain Danblasten hauled the flag out of the midst of the discussion, and began to bundle it back into the chest, which he did so clumsily that he disturbed a layer of underclothing which covered the lower contents, and displayed to view the chest nearly two thirds full of smashed and defaced gold and silver work of every description, from the gold-hilts of swords and daggers, to the crumpled golden binding of some great Bible, showing the burst jewel-sockets from which precious stones had been roughly prised.
At the sight of all this new treasure, the value of which was plainly enormous, a great silence came upon the room, broken only by the scuffling and grunting of the two who were setting forth their arguments upon the floor of the tap-room. So marked was this silence that even the latter at last became aware of something fresh, and scrambled to their feet to participate. And they, also, joined in the general hush of astonished awe and avarice, and—what cannot be denied—renewed and intense respect for this further proof of the desirable worth of the returned citizen of Geddley. And the cap’n, realising in his half-drunken pride, the magnitude of the sensation he had created, and the supremeness of the homage that he had won, shut down the lid of the chest, and locked it with the two keys, which he afterwards returned to the snuff-box; bedding them well down into the snuff, and shutting the box with a loud snap, after he had once more refreshed his nose sufficiently.
“Be you not goin’ to turn out t’other, cap’n?” asked Long John of Ken-stone, in a marvellously courteous voice—that is, considering the man!
“Non,” said Captain Danblasten, with that brevity of courtesy so admired in the wealthy; and truly Cap’n Danblasten was indeed wealthy; for it is likely enough that the wealth contained in those two great chests was sufficient to have bought up the whole of the port of Geddley, and a good slice of the country round about it lock, stock and barrel, as the saying goes.
The Dream of X and Other Fantastic Visions Page 35