Boats of the Glen Carrig and Other Nautical Adventures

by William Hope Hodgson

  “ ‘Wot—wot were it? Wot we-ere it?’ he brought out at last, with a gasp.

  “The man behind, came to his side, and gesticulated.

  “ ‘What was what?’ I asked sharply, and looking from one to the other. ‘Where’s the other man? What was that screaming?’

  “The second man drew the palm of his hand across his brow; then flirted his fingers deckwards.

  “ ‘We don’t know, Sir! We don’t know! It were Jessop! Somethin’s took ’im just as we was comin’ forrid! We—we—He—he—HARK!’

  “His head came forward with a jerk as he spoke, and then, for a space, no one stirred. A minute passed, and I was about to speak, when, suddenly, from somewhere out upon the deserted main-deck, there came a queer, subdued noise, as though something moved stealthily hither and thither. The man with the lamp caught me by the sleeve, and then, with an abrupt movement, slammed the door and fastened it.

  “ ‘That’s it, Sir!’ he exclaimed, with a note of terror and conviction in his voice.

  “I bade him be silent, while I listened; but no sound came to us through the door, and so I turned to the men and told them to let me have all they knew.

  “It was little enough. They had been sitting in the galley, yarning, until, feeling tired, they had decided to go forrard and turn-in. They extinguished the light, and came out upon the deck, closing the door behind them. Then, just as they turned to go forrard, Jessop gave out a yell. The next instant they heard him screaming in the air above their heads, and, realising that some terrible thing was upon them, they took forthwith to their heels, and ran for the security of the fo’cas’le.

  “Then I had come.

  “As the men made an end of telling me, I thought I heard something outside, and held up my hand for silence. I caught the sound again. Someone was calling my name. It was Miss Knowles. Likely enough she was calling me to supper—and she had no knowledge of the dread thing which had happened. I sprang to the door. She might be coming along the main-deck in search of me. And there was Something out there, of which I had no conception—something unseen, but deadly tangible!

  “ ‘Stop, Sir!’ shouted the men, together; but I had the door open.

  “ ‘Mr. Philips!’ came the girl’s voice at no great distance. ‘Mr. Philips!’

  “ ‘Coming, Miss Knowles!’ I shouted, and snatched the lamp from the man’s hand.

  “The next instant, I was running aft, holding the lamp high, and glancing fearfully from side to side. I reached the place where the mainmast had been, and spied the girl coming towards me.

  “ ‘Go back!’ I shouted. ‘Go back!’

  “She turned at my shout, and ran for the poop ladder. I came up with her, and followed close at her heels. On the poop, she turned and faced me.

  “ ‘What is it, Mr. Philips?’

  “I hesitated. Then:—

  “ ‘I don’t know!’ I said.

  “ ‘My father heard something,’ she began. ‘He sent me. He— ’

  “I put up my hand. It seemed to me that I had caught again the sound of something stirring on the main-deck.

  “ ‘Quick!’ I said sharply. ‘Down into the cabin!’ And she, being a sensible girl, turned and ran down without waste of time. I followed, closing and fastening the companion-doors behind me.

  “In the saloon, we had a whispered talk, and I told her everything. She bore up bravely, and said nothing; though her eyes were very wide, and her face pale. Then the Captain’s voice came to us from the adjoining cabin.

  “ ‘Is Mr. Philips there, Mary?’

  “ ‘Yes, father.’

  “ ‘Bring him in.’

  “I went in.

  “ ‘What was it, Mr. Philips?’ he asked, collectedly.

  “I hesitated; for I was willing to spare him the ill news; but he looked at me with calm eyes for a moment, and I knew that it was useless attempting to deceive him.

  “ ‘Something has happened, Mr. Philips,’ he said, quietly. ‘You need not be afraid to tell me.’

  “At that, I told him so much as I knew, he listening, and nodding his comprehension of the story.

  “ ‘It must be something big,’ he remarked, when I had made an end. ‘And yet you saw nothing when you came aft?’

  “ ‘No,’ I replied.

  “ ‘It is something in the weed,’ he went on. ‘You will have to keep off the deck at night.’

  “After a little further talk, in which he displayed a calmness that amazed me, I left him, and went presently to my berth.

  “The following day, I took the two men, and, together, we made a thorough search through the ship; but found nothing. It was evident to me that the Captain was right. There was some dread Thing hidden within the weed. I went to the side and looked down. The two men followed me. Suddenly, one of them pointed.

  “ ‘Look, Sir!’ he exclaimed. ‘Right below you, Sir! Two eyes like blessed great saucers! Look!’

  “I stared; but could see nothing. The man left my side, and ran into the galley. In a moment, he was back with a great lump of coal.

  “ ‘Just there, Sir,’ he said, and hove it down into the weed immediately beneath where we stood.

  “Too late, I saw the thing at which he aimed—two immense eyes, some little distance below the surface of the weed. I knew instantly to what they belonged; for I had seen large specimens of the octopus some years previously, during a cruise in Australasian waters.

  “ ‘Look out, man!’ I shouted, and caught him by the arm. ‘It’s an octopus! Jump back!’ I sprang down on to the deck. In the same instant, huge masses of weed were hurled in all directions, and half a dozen immense tentacles whirled up into the air. One lapped itself about his neck. I caught his leg; but he was torn from my grasp, and I tumbled backwards on to the deck. I heard a scream from the other man as I scrambled to my feet. I looked to where he had been; but of him there was no sign. Regardless of the danger, in my great agitation, I leapt upon the rail, and gazed down with frightened eyes. Yet, neither of him nor his mate, nor the monster, could I perceive a vestige.

  “How long I stood there staring down bewilderedly, I cannot say; certainly some minutes. I was so bemazed that I seemed incapable of movement. Then, all at once, I became aware that a light quiver ran across the weed, and the next instant, something stole up out of the depths with a deadly celerity. Well it was for me that I had seen it in time, else should I have shared the fate of those two—and the others. As it was, I saved myself only by leaping backwards on to the deck. For a moment, I saw the feeler wave above the rail with a certain apparent aimlessness; then it sank out of sight, and I was alone.

  “An hour passed before I could summon a sufficiency of courage to break the news of this last tragedy to the Captain and his daughter, and when I had made an end, I returned to the solitude of the poop; there to brood upon the hopelessness of our position.

  “As I paced up and down, I caught myself glancing continuously at the nearer weed tufts. The happenings of the past two days had shattered my nerves, and I feared every moment to see some slender death-grapple searching over the rail for me. Yet, the poop, being very much higher out of the weed than the main-deck, was comparatively safe; though only comparatively.

  “Presently, as I meandered up and down, my gaze fell upon the hulk of the ancient ship, and, in a flash, the reason for that great superstructure was borne upon me. It was intended as a protection against the dread creatures which inhabited the weed. The thought came to me that I would attempt some similar means of protection; for the feeling that, at any moment, I might be caught and lifted out into that slimy wilderness, was not to be borne. In addition, the work would serve to occupy my mind, and help me to bear up against the intolerable sense of loneliness which assailed me.

  “I resolved that I would lose no time, and so, after some thought as to the manner in which I should proceed, I routed out some coils of rope and several sails. Then I went down on to the main-deck and brought up an armful of capstan bars. These
I lashed vertically to the rail all round the poop. Then I knotted the rope to each, stretching it tightly between them, and over this framework stretched the sails, sewing the stout canvas to the rope, by means of twine and some great needles which I found in the Mate’s room.

  “It is not to be supposed that this piece of work was accomplished immediately. Indeed, it was only after three days of hard labour that I got the poop completed. Then I commenced work upon the main-deck. This was a tremendous undertaking, and a whole fortnight passed before I had the entire length of it enclosed; for I had to be continually on the watch against the hidden enemy. Once, I was very nearly surprised, and saved myself only by a quick leap. Thereafter, for the rest of that day, I did no more work;being too greatly shaken in spirit. Yet, on the following morning, I recommenced, and from thence, until the end, I was not molested.

  “Once the work was roughly completed, I felt at ease to begin and perfect it. This I did, by tarring the whole of the sails with Stockholm tar; thereby making them stiff, and capable of resisting the weather. After that, I added many fresh uprights, and much strengthening ropework, and finally doubled the sailcloth with additional sails, liberally smeared with the tar.

  “In this manner, the whole of January passed away, and a part of February. Then, it would be on the last day of the month, the Captain sent for me, and told me, without any preliminary talk, that he was dying. I looked at him; but said nothing; for I had known long that it was so. In return, he stared back with a strange intentness, as though he would read my inmost thoughts, and this for the space of perhaps two minutes.

  “ ‘Mr. Philips,’ he said at last, ‘I may be dead by this time tomorrow. Has it ever occurred to you that my daughter will be alone with you?’

  “ ‘Yes, Captain Knowles,’ I replied, quietly, and waited.

  “For a few seconds, he remained silent; though, from the changing expressions of his face, I knew that he was pondering how best to bring forward the thing which it was in his mind to say.

  “ ‘You are a gentleman—’ he began, at last.

  “ ‘I will marry her,’ I said, ending the sentence for him.

  “A slight flush of surprise crept into his face.

  “ ‘You—you have thought seriously about it?’

  “ ‘I have thought very seriously,’ I explained.

  “ ‘Ah!’ he said, as one who comprehends. And then, for a little, he lay there quietly. It was plain to me that memories of past days were with him. Presently, he came out of his dreams, and spoke, evidently referring to my marriage with his daughter.

  “ ‘It is the only thing,’ he said, in a level voice.

  “I bowed, and after that, he was silent again for a space. In a little, however, he turned once more to me:—

  “ ‘Do you—do you love her?’

  “His tone was keenly wistful, and a sense of trouble lurked in his eyes.

  “ ‘She will be my wife,’ I said, simply; and he nodded.

  “ ‘God has dealt strangely with us,’ he murmured, presently, as though to himself.

  “Abruptly, he bade me tell her to come in.

  “And then he married us.

  “Three days later, he was dead, and we were alone.

  “For a while, my wife was a sad woman; but gradually time eased her of the bitterness of her grief.

  “Then, some eight months after our marriage, a new interest stole into her life. She whispered it to me, and we, who had borne our loneliness uncomplainingly, had now this new thing to which to look forward. It became a bond between us, and bore promise of some companionship as we grew old. Old! At the idea of age, a sudden flash of thought darted like lightning across the sky of my mind:— FOOD! Hitherto, I had thought of myself, almost as of one already dead, and had cared naught for anything beyond the immediate troubles which each day forced upon me. The loneliness of the vast Weed World had become an assurance of doom to me, which had clouded and dulled my faculties, so that I had grown apathetic. Yet, immediately, as it seemed, at the shy whispering of my wife, was all this changed.

  “That very hour, I began a systematic search through the ship. Among the cargo, which was of a ‘general’ nature, I discovered large quantities of preserved and tinned provisions, all of which I put carefully on one side. I continued my examination until I had ransacked the whole vessel. The business took me near upon six months to complete, and when it was finished, I seized paper, and made calculations, which led me to the conclusion that we had sufficient food in the ship to preserve life in three people for some fifteen to seventeen years. I could not come nearer to it than this; for I had no means of computing the quantity the child would need year by year. Yet it is sufficient to show me that seventeen years must be the limit. Seventeen years! And then—

  “Concerning water, I am not troubled; for I have rigged a great sailcloth tun-dish, with a canvas pipe into the tanks; and from every rain, I draw a supply, which has never run short.

  “The child was born nearly five months ago. She is a fine little girl, and her mother seems perfectly happy. I believe I could be quietly happy with them, were it not that I have ever in mind the end of those seventeen years. True! we may be dead long before then; but, if not, our little girl will be in her teens—and it is a hungry age.

  “If one of us died—but no! Much may happen in seventeen years. I will wait.

  “My method of sending this clear of the weed is likely to succeed. I have constructed a small fireballoon, and this missive, safely enclosed in a little barrel, will be attached. The wind will carry it swiftly hence.

  “Should this ever reach civilised beings, will they see that it is forwarded to:— ”

  (Here followed an address, which, for some reason, had been roughly obliterated. Then came the signature of the writer)

  “Arthur Samuel Philips.”

  The Captain of the schooner looked over at Jock, as the man made an end of his reading.

  “Seventeen years pervisions,” he muttered thoughtfully. “An’ this ’ere were written sumthin’ like twenty-nine years ago!” He nodded his head several times. “Poor creetures!” he exclaimed. “It’d be er long while, Jock—a long while!”

  From the Tideless Sea Part Two:

  Further News of the Homebird

  In the August of 1902, Captain Bateman, of the schoner Agnes, picked up a small barrel, upon which was painted a half obliterated word; which, finally, he succeeded in deciphering as “Homebird,” the name of a full-rigged ship, which left London in the November of 1873, and from thenceforth was heard of no more by any man.

  Captain Bateman opened the barrel, and discovered a packet of Manuscript, wrapped in oilskin. This, on examination, proved to be an account of the losing of the Homebird amid the desolate wastes of the Sargasso Sea. The papers were written by one Arthur Samuel Philips, a passenger in the ship; and, from them, Captain Bateman was enabled to gather that the ship, mastless, lay in the very heart of the dreaded Sargasso; and that all of the crew had been lost; some in the storm which drove them thither, and some in attempts to free the ship from the weed, which locked them in on all sides.

  Only Mr. Philips and the Captain’s daughter had been left alive, and they two, the dying Captain had married. To them had been born a daughter, and the papers ended with a brief but touching allusion to their fear that, eventually, they must run short of food.

  There is need to say but little more. The account was copied into most of the papers of the day, and caused widespread comment. There was even some talk of fitting out a rescue expedition; but this fell through, owing chiefly to lack of knowledge of the whereabouts of the ship in all the vastness of the immense Sargasso Sea. And so, gradually, the matter has slipped into the background of the Public’s memory.

  Now, however, interest will be once more excited in the lonesome fate of this lost trio; for a second barrel, identical, it would seem, with that found by Captain Bateman, has been picked up by a Mr. Bolton, of Baltimore, master of a small brig, engaged
in the South American coast-trade. In this barrel was enclosed a further message from Mr. Philips—the fifth that he has sent abroad to the world; but the second, third and fourth, up to this time, have not been discovered.

  This “fifth message” contains a vital and striking account of their lives during the year 1879, and stands unique as a document informed with human lonesomeness and longing. I have seen it, and read it through, with the most intense and painful interest. The writing, though faint, is very legible; and the whole manuscript bears the impress of the same hand and mind that wrote the piteous account of the losing of the Homebird, of which I have already made mention, and with which, no doubt, many are well acquainted.

  In closing this little explanatory note, I am stimulated to wonder whether, somewhere, at some time, those three missing messages ever shall be found. And then there may be others. What stories of human, strenuous fighting with Fate may they not contain. We can but wait and wonder. Nothing more may we ever learn; for what is this one little tragedy among the uncounted millions that the silence of the sea holds so remorselessly. And yet, again, news may come to us out of the Unknown—out of the lonesome silences of the dread Sargasso Sea—the loneliest and the most inaccessible place of all the lonesome and inaccessible places of this earth.

  And so I say, let us wait. W.H.H.

  THE FIFTH MESSAGE

  “This is the fifth message that I have sent abroad over the loathsome surface of this vast Weed-World, praying that it may come to the open sea, ere the lifting power of my fire-balloon begone, and yet, if it come there—the which I could now doubt—how shall I be the better for it? Yet write I must, or go mad, and so I choose to write, though feeling as I write that no living creature, save it be the giant octopi that live in the weed about me, will ever see the thing I write.

  “My first message I sent out on Christmas Eve, 1875, and since then, each eve of the birth of Christ has seen a message go skywards upon the winds, towards the open sea. It is as though this approaching time, of festivity and the meeting of parted loved ones, overwhelms me, and drives away the half apathetic peace that has been mine through spaces of these years of lonesomeness; so that I seclude myself from my wife and the little one, and with ink, pen, and paper, try to ease my heart of the pent emotions that seem at times to threaten to burst it.