The Complete Short Stories and Sketches of Stephen Crane

by Stephen Crane

  The cries seemed to strike the ship. Men with boots on yelled and ran about the deck. They picked up heavy articles and threw them down. They yelled more. After hideous creakings and flappings, the vessel stood still.

  In the meantime the wanderers had been chanting their song for help. Out in the blackness they beckoned to the ship and coaxed.

  A voice came to them. “Hello,” it said.

  They puffed out their cheeks and began to shout. “Hello! Hello! Hello!”

  “Wot do yeh want?” said the voice.

  The two wanderers gazed at each other, and sat suddenly down on the raft. Some pall came sweeping over the sky and quenched their stars.

  But almost immediately the tall man got up and bawled miscellaneous information. He stamped his foot and, frowning into the night, swore threateningly.

  The vessel seemed fearful of these moaning voices that called from a hidden cavern of the water. And now one voice was filled with a menace. A number of men, with enormous limbs that threw vast shadows over the sea as the lanterns flickered, held a debate and made gestures.

  Off in the darkness, the tall man began to clamor like a mob. The freckled man sat in astounded silence, with his legs weak.

  After a time one of the men of enormous limbs seized a rope that was tugging at the stern and drew a small boat from the shadows. Three giants clambered in and rowed cautiously toward the raft. Silver water flashed in the gloom as the oars dipped.

  About fifty feet from the raft the boat stopped. “Who er you?” asked a voice.

  The tall man braced himself and explained. He drew vivid pictures, his twirling fingers illustrating like live brushes.

  “Oh,” said the three giants.

  The voyagers deserted the raft. They looked back, feeling in their hearts a mite of tenderness for the wet planks. Later, they wriggled up the side of the vessel and climbed over the railing.

  On deck they met a man. He held a lantern to their faces. “Got any chewin’ tewbacca?” he inquired.

  “No,” said the tall man, “we ain’t.”

  The man had a bronzed face and a solitary whisker. Peculiar lines about his mouth were shaped into an eternal smile of derision. His feet were bare, and clung handily to crevices. Fearful trousers were supported by a piece of suspender that went up the wrong side of his chest and came down the right side of his back, dividing him into triangles.

  “Ezekiel P. Sanford, capt’in, schooner Mary Jones, of N’yack, N.Y., boun’ from Little Egg Harbor, N.J., to Athens, N.Y., genelmen,” he said.

  “Ah!” said the tall man, “delighted, I’m sure.”

  There were a few moments of silence. The giants were hovering in the gloom and staring.

  Suddenly astonishment exploded the captain. “Wot th’ devil—” he shouted, “wot th’ devil yeh got on?”

  “Bathing suits,” said the tall man.

  IV

  The schooner went on. The two voyagers sat down and watched. After a time they began to shiver. The soft blackness of the summer night passed away, and gray mists writhed over the sea. Soon lights of early dawn went charging across the sky, and the twin beacons on the highlands grew dim and sparkled faintly, as if a monster were dying. The dawn penetrated the marrow of the two men in bathing dress.

  The captain used to pause opposite them, hitch one hand in his suspender, and laugh. “Well, I be dog-hanged,” he frequently said.

  The tall man grew furious. He snarled in a mad undertone to his companion. “This rescue ain’t right. If I had known—”

  He suddenly paused, transfixed by the captain’s suspender. “It’s goin’ to break,” cried he, in an ecstatic whisper. His eyes grew large with excitement as he watched the captain laugh. “It’ll break in a minute, sure.”

  But the commander of the schooner recovered, and invited them to drink and eat. They followed him along the deck, and fell down a square black hole into the cabin.

  It was a little den, with walls of a vanished whiteness. A lamp shed an orange light. In a sort of recess two little beds were hiding. A wooden table, immovable, as if the craft had been built around it, sat in the middle of the floor. Overhead the square hole was studded with a dozen stars. A foot-worn ladder led to the heavens.

  The captain produced ponderous crackers and some cold boiled ham. Then he vanished in the firmament like a fantastic comet.

  The freckled man sat quite contentedly, like a stout squaw in a blanket. The tall man walked about the cabin and sniffed. He was angered at the crudeness of the rescue, and his shrinking clothes made him feel too large. He contemplated his unhappy state.

  Suddenly, he broke out. “I won’t stand this, I tell you! Heavens and earth, look at the—say, what in the blazes did you want to get me in this thing for, anyhow? You’re a fine old duffer, you are! Look at that ham!”

  The freckled man grunted. He seemed somewhat blissful. He was seated upon a bench, comfortably enwrapped in his bathing dress.

  The tall man stormed about the cabin. “This is an outrage! I’ll see the captain! I’ll tell him what I think of—”

  He was interrupted by a pair of legs that appeared among the stars. The captain came down the ladder. He brought a coffeepot from the sky.

  The tall man bristled forward. He was going to denounce everything. The captain was intent upon the coffeepot, balancing it carefully, and leaving his unguided feet to find the steps of the ladder.

  But the wrath of the tall man faded. He twirled his fingers in excitement, and renewed his ecstatic whisperings to the freckled man. “It’s going to break! Look, quick, look! It’ll break in a minute!” He was transfixed with interest, forgetting his wrongs in staring at the perilous passage.

  But the captain arrived on the floor with triumphant suspenders. “Well,” said he, “after yeh have et, maybe ye’d like t’sleep some! If so, yeh can sleep on them beds.”

  The tall man made no reply, save in a strained undertone. “It’ll break in about a minute! Look, Ted, look quick!”

  The freckled man glanced at a little bed on which were heaped boots and oilskins. He made a courteous gesture.

  “My dear sir, we could not think of depriving you of your beds. No, indeed. Just a couple of blankets if you have them, and we’ll sleep very comfortably on these benches.”

  The captain protested, politely twisting his back and bobbing his head. The suspenders tugged and creaked. The tall man partially suppressed a cry, and took a step forward.

  The freckled man was sleepily insistent, and shortly the captain gave over his deprecatory contortions. He fetched a pink quilt with yellow dots on it to the freckled man, and a black one with red roses on it to the tall man.

  Again he vanished in the firmament. The tall man gazed until the last remnant of trousers disappeared from the sky. Then he wrapped himself up in his quilt and lay down. The freckled man was puffing contentedly, swathed like an infant. The yellow polka dots rose and fell on the vast pink of his chest.

  The wanderers slept. In the quiet could be heard the groanings of timbers as the sea seemed to crunch them together. The lapping of water along the vessel’s side sounded like gaspings. A hundred spirits of the wind had got their wings entangled in the rigging and, in soft voices were pleading to be loosened.

  The freckled man was awakened by a foreign noise. He opened his eyes and saw his companion standing by his couch.

  His comrade’s face was wan with suffering. His eyes glowed in the darkness. He raised his arms, spreading them out like a clergyman at a grave. He groaned deep in his chest.

  “Good Lord!” yelled the freckled man, starting up. “Tom, Tom, what’s th’ matter?”

  The tall man spoke in a fearful voice. “To New York,” he said, “to New York in our bathing suits.”

  The freckled man sank back. The shadows of the cabin threw mysteries about the figure of the tall man, arrayed like some ancient and potent astrologer in the black quilt with the red roses on it.

  V

  Directly the
tall man went and lay down and began to groan.

  The freckled man felt the miseries of the world upon him. He grew angry at the tall man for awakening him. They quarreled.

  “Well,” said the tall man, finally, “we’re in a fix.”

  “I know that,” said the other, sharply.

  They regarded the ceiling in silence.

  “What in the thunder are we going to do?” demanded the tall man, after a time. His companion was still silent. “Say,” repeated he, angrily, “what in the thunder are we going to do?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” said the freckled man in a dismal voice.

  “Well, think of something,” roared the other. “Think of something, you old fool. You don’t want to make any more idiots of yourself, do you?”

  “I ain’t made an idiot of myself.”

  “Well, think. Know anybody in the city?”

  “I know a fellow up in Harlem,” said the freckled man.

  “You know a fellow up in Harlem!” howled the tall man. “Up in Harlem! How the dickens are we to—Say, you’re crazy!”

  “We can take a cab,” cried the other, waxing indignant.

  The tall man grew suddenly calm. “Do you know any one else?” he asked, measuredly.

  “I know another fellow somewhere on Park Place.”

  “Somewhere on Park Place,” repeated the tall man in an unnatural manner. “Somewhere on Park Place.” With an air of sublime resignation he turned his face to the wall.

  The freckled man sat erect and frowned in the direction of his companion. “Well, now, I suppose you are going to sulk. You make me ill! It’s the best we can do, ain’t it? Hire a cab and go look that fellow up on Park—What’s that? You can’t afford it? What nonsense! You are getting—Oh! Well, maybe we can beg some clothes of the captain. Eh? Did I see ’im? Certainly I saw ’im. Yes, it is improbable that a man who wears trousers like that can have clothes to lend. No, I won’t wear oilskins and a sou’-wester. To Athens? Of course not! I don’t know where it is. Do you? I thought not. With all your grumbling about other people, you never know anything important yourself. What? Broadway? I’ll be hanged first. We can’t get off at Harlem, man alive. There are no cabs in Harlem. I don’t think we can bribe a sailor to take us ashore and bring a cab to the dock, for the very simple reason that we have nothing to bribe him with. What? No, of course not. See here, Tom Sharp, don’t you swear at me like that. I won’t have it. What’s that? I ain’t, either. I ain’t. What? I am not. It’s no such thing. I ain’t. I’ve got more than you have, anyway. Well, you ain’t doing anything so very brilliant yourself—just lyin’ there and cussin’.” At length the tall man feigned to prodigiously snore. The freckled man thought with such vigor that he fell asleep.

  After a time he dreamed that he was in a forest where bass drums grew on trees. There came a strong wind that banged the fruit about like empty pods. A frightful din was in his ears. He awoke to find the captain of the schooner standing over him.

  “We’re at New York now,” said the captain, raising his voice above the thumping and banging that was being done on deck, “an’ I s’pose you fellers wanta go ashore.” He chuckled in an exasperating manner. “Jes’ sing out when yeh wanta go,” he added, leering at the freckled man.

  The tall man awoke, came over, and grasped the captain by the throat. “If you laugh again I’ll kill you,” he said.

  The captain gurgled and waved his legs and arms.

  “In the first place,” the tall man continued, “you rescued us in a deucedly shabby manner. It makes me ill to think of it. I’ve a mind to mop you ’round just for that. In the second place, your vessel is bound for Athens, N.Y., and there’s no sense in it. Now, will you or will you not turn this ship about and take us back where our clothes are, or to Philadelphia, where we belong?” He furiously shook the captain. Then he eased his grip and awaited a reply.

  “I can’t,” yelled the captain, “I can’t. This vessel don’t belong to me. I’ve got to—”

  “Well, then,” interrupted the tall man, “can you lend us some clothes?”

  “Hain’t got none,” replied the captain, promptly. His face was red, and his eyes were glaring.

  “Well, then,” said the tall man, “can you lend us some money?”

  “Hain’t got none,” replied the captain, promptly. Something overcame him and he laughed.

  “Thunderation,” roared the tall man. He seized the captain, who began to have wriggling contortions. The tall man kneaded him as if he were biscuits. “You infernal scoundrel,” he bellowed, “this whole affair is some wretched plot, and you are in it. I am about to kill you.”

  The solitary whisker of the captain did acrobatic feats like a strange demon upon his chin. His eyes stood perilously from his head. The suspender wheezed and tugged like the tackle of a sail.

  Suddenly the tall man released his hold. Great expectancy sat upon his features. “It’s going to break,” he cried, rubbing his hands.

  But the captain howled and vanished in the sky.

  The freckled man then came forward. He appeared filled with sarcasm. “So!” said he. “So, you’ve settled the matter. The captain is the only man in the world who can help us, and I dare say he’ll do anything he can now.”

  “That’s all right,” said the tall man. “If you don’t like the way I run things, you shouldn’t have come on this trip at all.”

  They had another quarrel.

  At the end of it they went on deck. The captain stood at the stern addressing the bow with opprobrious language. When he perceived the voyagers he began to fling his fists about in the air.

  “I’m goin’ to put yeh off,” he yelled. The wanderers stared at each other.

  “Hum,” said the tall man.

  The freckled man looked at his companion. “He’s going to put us off, you see,” he said, complacently.

  The tall man began to walk about and move his shoulders. “I’d like to see you do it,” he said, defiantly.

  The captain tugged at a rope. A boat came at his bidding.

  “I’d like to see you do it,” the tall man repeated, continually. An imperturbable man in rubber boots climbed down into the boat and seized the oars. The captain motioned downward. His whisker had a triumphant appearance.

  The two wanderers looked at the boat. “I guess we’ll have to get in,” murmured the freckled man.

  The tall man was standing like a granite column. “I won’t,” said he. “I won’t! I don’t care what you do, but I won’t!”

  “Well, but—” expostulated the other. They held a furious debate.

  In the meantime the captain was darting about making sinister gestures, but the back of the tall man held him at bay. The crew, much depleted by the departure of the imperturbable man into the boat, looked on from the bow.

  “You’re a fool,” the freckled man concluded his argument.

  “So?” inquired the tall man, highly exasperated.

  “So? Well, if you think you’re so bright, we’ll go in the boat, and then you’ll see.” He climbed down into the craft and seated himself in an ominous manner at the stern. “You’ll see,” he said to his companion, as the latter floundered heavily down. “You’ll see!”

  The man in rubber boots calmly rowed the boat toward the shore. As they went, the captain leaned over the railing and laughed. The freckled man was seated very victoriously.

  “Well, wasn’t this the right thing after all?” he inquired in a pleasant voice. The tall man made no reply.

  VI

  As they neared the dock something seemed suddenly to occur to the freckled man. “Great heavens,” he murmured. He stared at the approaching shore. “My, what a plight, Tommy,” he quavered.

  “Do you think so?” spoke up the tall man. “Why, I really thought you liked it.” He laughed in a hard voice. “Lord, what a figure you’ll cut.”

  This laugh jarred the freckled man’s soul. He became mad. “Thunderation, turn the boat around,” he ro
ared. “Turn ’er round, quick. Man alive, we can’t—turn ’er round, d’ye hear?”

  The tall man in the stern gazed at his companion with glowing eyes. “Certainly not,” he said. “We’re going on. You insisted upon it.” He began to prod his companion with words.

  The freckled man stood up and waved his arms.

  “Sit down,” said the tall man. “You’ll tip the boat over.”

  The other man began to shout.

  “Sit down,” said the tall man again.

  Words bubbled from the freckled man’s mouth. There was a little torrent of sentences that almost choked him. And he protested passionately with his hands.

  But the boat went on to the shadow of the docks. The tall man was intent upon balancing it as it rocked dangerously during his comrade’s oration. “Sit down,” he continually repeated.

  “I won’t,” raged the freckled man. “I won’t do anything.” The boat wobbled with these words. “Say,” he continued, addressing the oarsman, “just turn this boat round, will you? Where in the thunder are you taking us to, anyhow?”

  The oarsman looked at the sky and thought. Finally he spoke. “I’m doin’ what the cap’n sed.”

  “Well, what in th’ blazes do I care what the cap’n said?” demanded the freckled man. He took a violent step. “You just turn this round or—”

  The small craft reeled. Over one side water came flashing in. The freckled man cried out in fear, and gave a jump to the other side. The tall man roared orders, and the oarsman made efforts. The boat acted for a moment like an animal on a slackened wire. Then it upset.

  “Sit down,” said the tall man, in a final roar, as he was plunged into the water. The oarsman dropped his oars to grapple with the gunwale. He went down saying unknown words. The freckled man’s explanation or apology was strangled by the water.

  Two or three tugs let off whistles of astonishment, and continued on their paths. A man dozing on a dock aroused and began to caper. The passengers of a ferryboat all ran to the near railing.

  A miraculous person in a small boat was bobbing on the waves near the piers. He sculled hastily toward the scene. It was a swirl of waters in the midst of which the dark bottom of the boat appeared, whale-like.