“What are we doing?” I asked.
“The Old Man’s given orders to lash all the spare lamps we can find, in the rigging, so as to have the decks light,” said Tammy. “And a damned good job too!”
He handed me a couple of the lamps, and took two himself.
“Come on,” he said, and stepped out on deck. “We’ll fix these in the main rigging, and then I want to talk to you.”
“What about the mizzen?” I inquired.
“Oh,” he replied. “He” (meaning the other ’prentice) “will see to that. Anyway, it’ll be daylight directly.”
We shoved the lamps up on the sherpoles—two on each side. Then he came across to me.
“Look here, Jessop!” he said, without any hesitation. “You’ll have to jolly well tell the Skipper and the Second Mate all you know about all this.”
“How do you mean?” I asked.
“Why, that it’s something about the ship herself that’s the cause of what’s happened,” he replied. “If you’d only explained to the Second Mate when I told you to, this might never have been!”
“But I don’t know,” I said. “I may be all wrong. It’s only an idea of mine. I’ve no proofs —”
“Proofs!” he cut in with. “Proofs! what about tonight? We’ve had all the proofs ever I want!”
I hesitated before answering him.
“So have I, for that matter,” I said, at length. “What I mean is, I’ve nothing that the Skipper and the Second Mate would consider as proofs. They’d never listen seriously to me.”
“They’d listen fast enough,” he replied. “After what’s happened this watch, they’d listen to anything. Anyway, it’s jolly well your duty to tell them!”
“What could they do, anyway?” I said, despondently. “As things are going, we’ll all be dead before another week is over, at this rate.”
“You tell them,” he answered. “That’s what you’ve got to do. If you can only get them to realise that you’re right, they’ll be glad to put into the nearest port, and send us all ashore.”
I shook my head.
“Well, anyway, they’ll have to do something,” he replied, in answer to my gesture. “We can’t go round the Horn, with the number of men we’ve lost. We haven’t enough to handle her, if it comes on to blow.”
“You’ve forgotten, Tammy,” I said. “Even if I could get the Old Man to believe I’d got at the truth of the matter, he couldn’t do anything. Don’t you see, if I’m right, we couldn’t even see the land, if we made it. We’re like blind men.…”
“What on earth do you mean?” he interrupted. “How do you make out we’re like blind men? Of course we could see the land —”
“Wait a minute! wait a minute!” I said. “You don’t understand. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell what?” he asked.
“About the ship I spotted,” I said. “I thought you knew!”
“No,” he said. “When?”
“Why,” I replied. “You know when the Old Man sent me away from the wheel?”
“Yes,” he answered. “You mean in the morning watch, day before yesterday?”
“Yes,” I said. “Well, don’t you know what was the matter?”
“No,” he replied. “That is, I heard you were snoozing at the wheel, and the Old Man came up and caught you.”
“That’s all a darned silly yarn!” I said. And then I told him the whole truth of the affair. After I had done that, I explained my idea about it, to him.
“Now you see what I mean?” I asked.
“You mean that this strange atmosphere—or whatever it is—we’re in, would not allow us to see another ship?” he asked, a bit awestruck.
“Yes,” I said. “But the point I wanted you to see, is that if we can’t see another vessel, even when she’s quite close, then, in the same way, we shouldn’t be able to see land. To all intents and purposes we’re blind. Just you think of it! We’re out in the middle of the briny, doing a sort of eternal blind man’s hop. The Old Man couldn’t put into port, even if he wanted to. He’d run us bang on shore, without our ever seeing it.”
“What are we going to do, then?” he asked, in a despairing sort of way. “Do you mean to say we can’t do anything? Surely something can be done! It’s terrible!”
For perhaps a minute, we walked up and down, in the light from the different lanterns. Then he spoke again.
“We might be run down, then,” he said, “and never even see the other vessel?”
“It’s possible,” I replied. “Though, from what I saw, it’s evident that we’re quite visible; so that it would be easy for them to see us, and steer clear of us, even though we couldn’t see them.”
“And we might run into something, and never see it?” he asked me, following up the train of thought.
“Yes,” I said. “Only there’s nothing to stop the other ship from getting out of our way.”
“But if it wasn’t a vessel?” he persisted. “It might be an iceberg, or a rock, or even a derelict.”
“In that case,” I said, putting it a bit flippantly, naturally, “we’d probably damage it.”
He made no answer to this and for a few moments, we were quiet.
Then he spoke abruptly, as though the idea had come suddenly to him.
“Those lights the other night!” he said. “Were they a ship’s lights?”
“Yes,” I replied. “Why?”
“Why,” he answered. “Don’t you see, if they were really lights, we could see them?”
“Well, I should think I ought to know that,” I replied. “You seem to forget that the Second Mate slung me off the look-out for daring to do that very thing.”
“I don’t mean that,” he said. “Don’t you see that if we could see them at all, it showed that the atmosphere-thing wasn’t round us then?”
“Not necessarily,” I answered. “It may have been nothing more than a rift in it; though, of course, I may be all wrong. But, anyway, the fact that the lights disappeared almost as soon as they were seen, shows that it was very much round the ship.”
That made him feel a bit the way I did, and when next he spoke, his tone had lost its hopefulness.
“Then you think it’ll be no use telling the Second Mate and the Skipper anything?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’ve been thinking about it, and it can’t do any harm. I’ve a very good mind to.”
“I should,” he said. “You needn’t be afraid of anybody laughing at you, now. It might do some good. You’ve seen more than anyone else.”
He stopped in his walk, and looked round.
“Wait a minute,” he said, and ran aft a few steps. I saw him look up at the break of the poop; then he came back.
“Come along now,” he said. “The Old Man’s up on the poop, talking to the Second Mate. You’ll never get a better chance.”
Still I hesitated; but he caught me by the sleeve, and almost dragged me to the lee ladder.
“All right,” I said, when I got there. “All right, I’ll come. Only I’m hanged if I know what to say when I get there.”
“Just tell them you want to speak to them,” he said. “They’ll ask what you want, and then you spit out all you know. They’ll find it interesting enough.”
“You’d better come too,” I suggested. “You’ll be able to back me up in lots of things.”
“I’ll come, fast enough,” he replied. “You go up.”
I went up the ladder, and walked across to where the Skipper and the Second Mate stood talking earnestly, by the rail. Tammy kept behind. As I came near to them, I caught two or three words; though I attached no meaning then to them. They were: “…send for him.” Then the two of them turned and looked at me, and the Second Mate asked what I wanted.
“I want to speak to you and the Old M—Captain, Sir,” I answered.
“What is it, Jessop?” the Skipper inquired.
“I scarcely know how to put it, Sir,” I said. “It’s—i
t’s about these—these things.”
“What things? Speak out, man,” he said.
“Well, Sir,” I blurted out. “There’s some dreadful thing or things come aboard this ship, since we left port.”
I saw him give one quick glance at the Second Mate, and the Second looked back.
Then the Skipper replied.
“How do you mean, come aboard?” he asked.
“Out of the sea, Sir,” I said. “I’ve seen them. So’s Tammy, here.”
“Ah!” he exclaimed, and it seemed to me, from his face, that he was understanding something better. “Out of the Sea!”
Again he looked at the Second Mate; but the Second was staring at me.
“Yes Sir,” I said. “It’s the ship. She’s not safe! I’ve watched. I think I understand a bit; but there’s a lot I don’t.”
I stopped. The Skipper had turned to the Second Mate. The Second nodded, gravely. Then I heard him mutter, in a low voice, and the Old Man replied; after which he turned to me again.
“Look here, Jessop,” he said. “I’m going to talk straight to you. You strike me as being a cut above the ordinary shellback, and I think you’ve sense enough to hold your tongue.”
“I’ve got my mate’s ticket, Sir,” I said, simply.
Behind me, I heard Tammy give a little start. He had not known about it until then.
The Skipper nodded.
“So much the better,” he answered. “I may have to speak to you about that, later on.”
He paused, and the Second Mate said something to him, in an undertone.
“Yes,” he said, as though in reply to what the Second had been saying. Then he spoke to me again.
“You’ve seen things come out of the sea, you say?” he questioned. “Now just tell me all you can remember, from the very beginning.”
I set to, and told him everything in detail, commencing with the strange figure that had stepped aboard out of the sea, and continuing my yarn, up to the things that had happened in that very watch.
I stuck well to solid facts; and now and then he and the Second Mate would look at one another, and nod. At the end, he turned to me with an abrupt gesture.
“You still hold, then, that you saw a ship the other morning, when I sent you from the wheel?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir,” I said. “I most certainly do.”
“But you knew there wasn’t any!” he said.
“Yes, Sir,” I replied, in an apologetic tone. “There was; and, if you will let me, I believe that I can explain it a bit.”
“Well,” he said. “Go on.”
Now that I knew he was willing to listen to me in a serious manner all my funk of telling him had gone, and I went ahead and told him my ideas about the mist, and the thing it seemed to have ushered, you know. I finished up, by telling him how Tammy had worried me to come and tell what I knew.
“He thought then, Sir,” I went on, “that you might wish to put into the nearest port; but I told him that I didn’t think you could, even if you wanted to.”
“How’s that?” he asked, profoundly interested.
“Well, Sir,” I replied. “If we’re unable to see other vessels, we shouldn’t be able to see the land. You’d be piling the ship up, without ever seeing where you were putting her.”
This view of the matter, affected the Old Man in an extraordinary manner; as it did, I believe, the Second Mate. And neither spoke for a moment. Then the Skipper burst out.
“By Gad! Jessop,” he said. “If you’re right, the Lord have mercy on us.”
He thought for a couple of seconds. Then he spoke again, and I could see that he was pretty well twisted up:
“My God!…if you’re right!”
The Second Mate spoke.
“The men mustn’t know, Sir,” he warned him. “It’d be a mess if they did!”
“Yes,” said the Old Man.
He spoke to me.
“Remember that, Jessop,” he said. “Whatever you do, don’t go yarning about this, forward.”
“No, Sir,” I replied.
“And you too, boy,” said the Skipper. “Keep your tongue between your teeth. We’re in a bad enough mess, without your making it worse. Do you hear?”
“Yes, Sir,” answered Tammy.
The Old Man turned to me again.
“These things, or creatures that you say come out of the sea,” he said. “You’ve never seen them, except after nightfall?” he asked.
“No, Sir,” I replied. “Never.”
He turned to the Second Mate.
“So far as I can make out, Mr. Tulipson,” he remarked, “the danger seems to be only at night.”
“It’s always been at night, Sir,” the Second answered.
The Old Man nodded.
“Have you anything to propose, Mr. Tulipson?” he asked.
“Well, Sir,” replied the Second Mate. “I think you ought to have her snugged down every night, before dark!”
He spoke with considerable emphasis. Then he glanced aloft, and jerked his head in the direction of the unfurled t’gallants.
“It’s a damned good thing, Sir,” he said, “that it didn’t come on to blow any harder.”
The Old Man nodded again.
“Yes,” he remarked. “We shall have to do it; but God knows when we’ll get home!”
“Better late than not at all,” I heard the Second mutter, under his breath.
Out loud, he said:
“And the lights, Sir?”
“Yes,” said the Old Man. “I will have lamps in the rigging every night, after dark.”
“Very good, Sir,” assented the Second. Then he turned to us.
“It’s getting daylight, Jessop,” he remarked, with a glance at the sky. “You’d better take Tammy with you, and shove those lamps back again into the locker.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” I said, and went down off the poop with Tammy.
XIII
The Shadow in the Sea
When eight bells went, at four o’clock, and the other watch came on deck to relieve us, it had been broad daylight for some time. Before we went below, the Second Mate had the three t’gallants set; and now that it was light, we were pretty curious to have a look aloft, especially up the fore; and Tom, who had been up to overhaul the gear, was questioned a lot, when he came down, as to whether there were any signs of anything queer up there. But he told us there was nothing unusual to be seen.
At eight o’clock, when we came on deck for the eight to twelve watch, I saw the Sailmaker coming forward along the deck, from the Second Mate’s old berth. He had his rule in his hand, and I knew he had been measuring the poor beggars in there, for their burial outfit. From breakfast time until near noon, he worked, shaping out three canvas wrappers from some old sailcloth. Then, with the aid of the Second Mate and one of the hands, he brought out the three dead chaps on to the after hatch, and there sewed them up, with a few lumps of holy stone at their feet. He was just finishing when eight bells went, and I heard the Old Man tell the Second Mate to call all hands aft for the burial. This was done, and one of the gangways unshipped.
We had no decent grating big enough, so they had to get off one of the hatches, and use it instead. The wind had died away during the morning, and the sea was almost a calm—the ship lifting ever so slightly to an occasional glassy heave. The only sounds that struck on the ear were the soft, slow rustle and occasional shiver of the sails, and the continuous and monotonous creak, creak of the spars and gear at the gentle movements of the vessel. And it was in this solemn half-quietness that the Skipper read the burial service.
They had put the Dutchman first upon the hatch (I could tell him by his stumpiness), and when at last the Old Man gave the signal, the Second Mate tilted his end, and he slid off, and down into the dark.
“Poor old Dutchie,” I heard one of the men say, and I fancy we all felt a bit like that.
Then they lifted Jacobs on to the hatch, and when he had gone, Jock. When Jock was lifted, a
sort of sudden shiver ran through the crowd. He had been a favourite in a quiet way, and I know I felt, all at once, just a bit queer. I was standing by the rail, upon the after bollard, and Tammy was next to me; while Plummer stood a little behind. As the Second Mate tilted the hatch for the last time, a little, hoarse chorus broke from the men:
“S’long, Jock! So long, Jock!”
And then, at the sudden plunge, they rushed to the side to see the last of him as he went downwards. Even the Second Mate was not able to resist this universal feeling, and he, too, peered over. From where I had been standing, I had been able to see the body take the water, and now, for a brief couple of seconds, I saw the white of the canvas, blurred by the blue of the water, dwindle and dwindle in the extreme depth. Abruptly, as I stared, it disappeared—too abruptly, it seemed to me.
“Gone!” I heard several voices say, and then our watch began to go slowly forward, while one or two of the other, started to replace the hatch.
Tammy pointed, and nudged me.
“See, Jessop,” he said. “What is it?”
“What?” I asked.
“That queer shadow,” he replied. “Look!”
And then I saw what he meant. It was something big and shadowy, that appeared to be growing clearer. It occupied the exact place—so it seemed to me—in which Jock had disappeared.
“Look at it!” said Tammy, again. “It’s getting bigger!”
He was pretty excited, and so was I.
I was peering down. The thing seemed to be rising out of the depths. It was taking shape. As I realised what the shape was, a queer, cold funk took me.
“See,” said Tammy. “It’s just like the shadow of a ship!”
And it was. The shadow of a ship rising out of the unexplored immensity beneath our keel. Plummer, who had not yet gone forward, caught Tammy’s last remark, and glanced over.
“What’s ’e mean?” he asked.
“That!” replied Tammy, and pointed.
I jabbed my elbow into his ribs; but it was too late. Plummer had seen. Curiously enough, though, he seemed to think nothing of it.
“That ain’t nothin’, ’cept ther shadder er ther ship,” he said.
The Pirate Story Megapack: 25 Classic and Modern Tales Page 342
