The Ghost Pirates and Other Revenants of the Sea

by William Hope Hodgson

  The rest of the watch picked him up and carried him forward to his bunk where, however, he was found to have done no great damage to himself, being merely badly bruised and stunned. When he recovered sufficiently to speak, he insisted that he had seen a great black giant standing at the top. And not a man in the forecastle but felt that Svensen was telling the truth.

  Away aft, however, the Captain was jeering the Mate. “Nigger! Nigger be damned!” he bellowed, as he walked up and down. “Funk! Just blue cussed funk! Funk and fancy, that’s all the ghosts there is aloft in this packet, an’ I don’t allow them to bother me in my ship. No, Sir! Pity he didn’t break his bloomin’ neck!”

  From that time onward whenever there was anything to be done aloft at night, the two Mates got into the way of going up with their men to give them a bit of heart.

  “There’s sure somethin’ queer up there at nights,” the First Mate told the Second. “I was up with my lot in the middle watch, an’ comin’ down over the top, I heard Old Golly speak out close to my ear, as plain as you like.”

  “If it comes to that,” said the Second. “I thought I heard somethin’ two nights ago when I was up. I couldn’t be sure, though.”

  “It sounds darned silly,” said the First. “But there it is, you know. Svensen swears he saw him, but I wouldn’t take too much heed of that if it hadn’t been for the A.B. He must have seen something.”

  That same night it breezed up a bit hard, and the First Mate, whose watch on deck it was, clewed up the main topgallant—the fore and the mizzen having been taken off her the previous watch.

  “Up an’ make it fast lads,” he sang out, and was the first to jump on the sheerpole.

  “Where are you goin’, Mister?” shouted the Captain’s voice at that moment from the poop.

  The Mate called back an explanation.

  “You’ll please to come right up here, Mister,” replied the Captain. “This is your part of the ship. I keep A.B.’s for goin’ aloft and,” he concluded in a fierce shout, “they’re goin’, Mister, without coddlin’!”

  With that, he was down on to the main-deck among the men, who gave way before him in all directions. “Up, you old women!” he roared. “Up!” And seizing the nearest man he hove him bodily onto the rail.

  The man caught the sheerpole and climbed into the rigging, while three others scrambled hurriedly after him. There, as they realised through their haze of fright that there might be something even worse than the Skipper to face, up above in the darkness, they came to a pause and crouched on the ratlines.

  “What!” roared the Skipper, and after them he went with a bound.

  At that, they began to run aloft, followed by the Captain, who hammered the last man over the top. The man, in his fright, went clumsily and, in getting out of the futtock-rigging, his foot slipped and came down on the Skipper’s face, causing him to swear horribly as he hurled himself up over the top, that he might “sock it to him good!” The A.B., realising what he had done, raced his hardest, tried to climb over the back of the man above, and it was in this position that the Captain caught him.

  “My oath! I’ll skin you!” he shouted, hitting at him blindly in the dark.

  The man yelled, and the A.B. above him began to curse. The Skipper jumped a ratline higher; but before he could hit again, the men heard something say, “Golly! Golly!” quite softly out of the shadows of the maintop.

  The Captain hove himself round and then—how it happened no one ever knew—he had missed his grip and was falling.

  He fell over the forward end of the top, and the bight of the clew-garnet caught him and broke his back. They found him hanging there, limp and silent, when they raced down from the threatening heights of the lofty main-mast.

  Two days later, the First Mate, now acting Captain, found something that seemed to be a partial explanation of the mystery. He had gone aloft with the Boatswain to take a look at the heel of the main top-mast; which the latter said was rotten. Afterward, he went a bit farther up, trying the top-mast with his knife as he went. He was standing on the lid which loosely covered the head of the hollow steel main-mast, when suddenly he heard, apparently under his feet, someone saying, “Golly! Golly!”

  For a moment he experienced a horrible thrill of superstitious fear; but the Boatswain was quick to recognise the sound now that there was no darkness to breed fancies.

  “It’s the scoop-pump, Sir,” he explained. “The last Old Man had it fitted. It were like a fancy of his; but it never acted proper. It comes up inside the mast, and there’s a screw nozzle just foreside of the mast above the pin-rail. His idea was that, when the ship’s goin’ through the water, she’d scoop the water up with a sort of shovel-flange of iron that’s fixed to ’er bottom, just where the pipe opens out into the water. There’s a lever to pull the scoop up, but I s’pect the pin’s slipped!”

  This, indeed, proved to be the case; and when the long disused lever inside the hollow main-mast was once pulled up into its place, so as to close the lower end of the pipe to the sea, there was never any more talk of hearing Old Golly whispering in the main-top. The hollow steel mast had carried the noise of the gurgling water upward, giving a curious, semi-human quality to the sound, so that in the dark, windy nights it could certainly be thought that a low voice kept muttering the word, “Golly! Golly!”

  Yet, though this may have been the cause of the sounds which had been heard odd times by the men aloft, not a man in the forecastle believed it. Their explanation of the ceasing of the haunting was different. As Johnstone put it: “I told you he’d go up. Old Golly’d never have rest till he got level. If he hadn’t got him that time, he’d have got him in the end!”

  He stopped and nodded significantly at the other men. And all the men nodded back in solemn assent.

  Demons of the Sea

  Come out on deck and have a look, ‘Darky!’ ” Jepson cried, rushing into the half-deck. “The Old Man says there’s been a submarine earthquake, and the sea’s all bubbling and muddy!”

  Obeying the summons of Jepson’s excited tone, I followed him out. It was as he had said; the everlasting blue of the ocean was mottled with splotches of a muddy hue, and at times a large bubble would appear, to bust with a loud “pop.” Aft, the Skipper and the three Mate could be seen on the poop, peering at the sea through their glasses. As I gazed out over the gently heaving water, far off to windward something was hove up into the evening air. It appeared to be a mass of seaweed, but fell back into the water with a sullen plunge as though it were something more substantial. Immediately after this strange occurence, the sun set with tropical swiftness, and in the brief afterglow things assumed a strange unreality.

  The crew were all below, no one but the Mate and the Helmsman remaining on the poop. Away forward, on the topgallant forecastle head the dim figure of the man on lookout could be seen, leaning against the forestay. No sound was heard save the occasional jingle of a chain-sheet, or the flog of the steering gear as a small swell passed under our counter. Presently the Mate’s voice broke the silence, and, looking up, I saw that the Old Man had come on deck, and was talking with him. From the few stray words which could be overheard, I knew they were talking of the strange happenings of the day.

  Shortly after sunset, the wind which had been fresh during the day, died down, and with its passing the air grew excessively hot. Not long after two bells, the Mate sung out for me, and ordered me to fill a bucket from overside, and bring it to him. When I had carried out his instructions, he placed a thermometer in the bucket.

  “Just as I thought,” he muttered, removing the instrument and showing it to the Skipper; “ninety-nine degrees. Why, the sea’s hot enough to make tea with!”

  “Hope it doesn’t get any hotter,” growled the latter; “if it does, we shall all be boiled alive.”

  At a sign from the Mate, I emptied the bucket, and replaced it in the rack, after which I resumed my former position by the rail. The Old Man and the Mate walked the poop side by side.
The air grew hotter as the hours passed, and after a long period of silence broken only by the occasional “pop” of a bursting gas bubble, the moon arose. It shed but a feeble light, however, as a heavy mist had arisen from the sea, and through this, the moonbeams struggled weakly. The mist, we decided, was due to the excessive heat of the sea water; it was a very wet mist, and we were soon soaked to the skin. Slowly the interminable night wore on, and the sun arose, looking dim and ghostly through the mist which rolled and billowed about the ship. From time to time we took the temperature of the sea, although we found but a slight increase therein. No work was done, and a feeling as of something impending pervaded the ship.

  The fog horn was kept going constantly, as the lookout peered through the wreathing mists. The Captain walked the poop in company with the Mates, and once the Third Mate spoke and pointed out into the clouds of tog. All eyes followed his gesture; we saw what was apparently a black line, which seemed to cut the whiteness of the billows. It reminded us of nothing so much as an enormous cobra standing on its tail. As we looked it vanished. The grouped Mates were evidently puzzled; there “erred to be a difference of opinion among them. Presently as they argued, I heard the Second Mate’s voice:

  “That’s all rot,” he said. “I’ve seen things in fogs before, but they’ve always turned out to be imaginary.”

  The Third shook his head and made some reply which I could not overhear, but no further comment was made. Going below that afternoon, I got a short sleep, and on coming on deck at eight bells, I found that the steam still held us; if anything, it seemed to be thicker than ever. Hansard, who had been taking the temperatures during my watch below, informed me that the sea was three degrees hotter, and that the Old Man was getting into a rare old state. At three bells I went forward to have a look over the bows, and a chin with Stevenson, whose lookout it was. On gaining the forecastle head, I went to the side and looked down into the water. Stevenson came over and stood beside me.

  “Rum go, this,” he grumbled.

  He stood by my side for a time in silence; we seemed to be hypnotized by the gleaming surface of the sea. Suddenly out of the depths, right before us, there arose a monstrous black face. It was like a frightful caricature of a human countenance. For a moment we gazed petrified; my blood seemed to suddenly turn to ice water; I was unable to move. With a mighty effort of will, I regained my self-control and, grasping Stevenson’s arm, I found I could do no more than croak, my powers of speech seemed gone. “Look!” I gasped. “Look!”

  Stevenson continued to stare into the sea, like a man turned to stone. He seemed to stoop further over, as if to examine the thing more closely. “Lord,” he exclaimed, “it must be the devil himself!”

  As though the sound of his voice had broken a spell, the thing disappeared. My companion looked at me, while I rubbed my eyes, thinking that I had been asleep, and that awful visitation had been a frightful nightmare. One look at my friend, however, disabused me of any such thought. His face wore a puzzled expression.

  “Better go aft and tell the Old Man,” he faltered. I nodded and left the forecastle head, making my way aft like one in a trance. The Skipper and the Mate were standing at the break of the poop, and running up the ladder I told them what we had seen.

  “Bosh!” sneered the Old Man. “You’ve been looking at your own ugly reflection in the water.”

  Nevertheless, in spite of his ridicule, he questioned me closely. Finally he ordered the Mate forward to see if he could see anything. The latter, however, returned in a few moments, to report that nothing unusual could be seen. Four bells were struck, and we were relieved for tea. Coming on deck afterward, I found the men clustered together forward. The sole topic of conversation with them was the thing which Stevenson and I had seen.

  “I suppose, Darky, it couldn’t have been a reflection by any chance, could it?” one of the older men asked.

  “Ask Stevenson,” I replied as I made my way aft.

  At eight bells, my watch came on deck again, to find that nothing further had developed. But, about an hour before midnight, the Mate, thinking to have a smoke, sent me to his room for a box of matches with which to light his pipe. It took me no time to clatter down the brass-treaded ladder, and back to the poop, where I handed him the desired article. Taking the box, he removed a match and struck it on the heel of his boot. As he did so, far out in the night a muffled screaming arose. Then came a clamour as of hoarse braying, like an ass, but considerably deeper, and with a horribly suggestive human note running through it.

  “Good God! Did you hear that, Darky?” asked the Mate in awed tones.

  “Yes, Sir,” I replied, listening—and scarcely noticing his question—for a repetition of the strange sounds. Suddenly the frightful bellowing broke out afresh. The Mate’s pipe fell to the deck with a clatter.

  “Run for’ard!” he cried. “Quick, now, and see if you can see anything.”

  With my heart in my mouth and pulses pounding madly, I raced forward. The watch were all up on the forecastle head, clustered around the lookout. Each man was talking and gesticulating wildly. They became silent, and turned questioning glances toward me as I shouldered my way among them.

  “Have you seen anything?” I cried.

  Before I could receive an answer, a repetition of the horrid sounds broke out again, profaning the night with their horror. They seemed to have definite direction now, in spite of the fog which enveloped us. Undoubtedly, too, they were nearer. Pausing a moment to make sure of their bearing, I hastened aft and reported to the Mate. I told him that nothing could be seen, but that the sounds apparently came from right ahead of us. On hearing this, he ordered the man at the wheel to let the ship’s head come off a couple of points. A moment later a shrill screaming tore its way through the night, followed by the hoarse braying sounds once more.

  “It’s close on the starboard bow!” exclaimed the Mate, as he beckoned the Helmsman to let her head come off a little more. Then, singing out for the watch, he ran forward, slacking the lee braces on his way. When he had the yards trimmed to his satisfaction on the new course, he returned to the poop and hung far out over the rail listening intently. Moments passed that seemed like hours, yet the silence remained unbroken. Suddenly the sounds began again, and so close that it seemed as though they must be right aboard us. At this time I noticed a strange booming note that mingled with the brays. And once or twice, there came a sound which can only be described as a sort of “gug, gug.” Then would come a wheezy whistling, for all the world like an asthmatic person breathing.

  All this while the moon shone wanly through the steam which seemed to me to be somewhat thinner. Once the Mate gripped me by the shoulder as the noises rose and fell again. They now seemed to be coming from a point broad on our beam. Every eye on the ship was straining into the mist, but with no result. Suddenly one of the men cried out, as something long and black slid past us into the fog astern. From it there rose four indistinct and ghostly towers, which resolved themselves into spars and ropes, and sails.

  “A ship! It’s a ship!” we cried excitedly. I turned to Mr. Gray; he, too, had seen something, and was staring aft into the wake. So ghostlike, unreal, and fleeting had been our glimpse of the stranger, that we were not sure that we had seen an honest, material ship, but thought that we had been vouchsafed a vision of some phantom vessel like the Flying Dutchman. Our sails gave a sudden flap, the clew irons flogging the bulwarks with hollow thumps. The Mate glanced aloft.

  “Wind’s dropping,” he growled savagely. “We shall never get out of this infernal place at this gait!”

  Gradually the wind fell until it was a flat calm, no sound broke the deathlike silence save the rapid patter of the reef points, as she gently rose and fell on the light swell. Hours passed, and the watch was relieved and I then went below. At seven bells we were called again, and as I went along the deck to the galley, I noticed that the fog seemed thinner and the air cooler. When eight bells were struck, I relieved Hansard at coilin
g down the ropes. From him I learned that the steam had begun to clear about four bells, and that the temperature of the sea had fallen ten degrees.

  In spite of the thinning mist, it was not until about half an hour later that we were able to get a glimpse of the surrounding sea. It was still mottled with dark passages, but the bubbling and popping had ceased. As much of the surface of the ocean as could be seen had a peculiarly desolate aspect. Occasionally a wisp of steam would float up from the nearer sea, and roll undulatingly across its silent surface, until lost in the vagueness which still held the hidden horizon. Here and there columns of steam rose up in pillars, which gave me the Impression that the sea was hot in patches. Crossing to the starboard side and looking over, I found that conditions there were similar to those to port. The desolate aspect of the sea filled me with an idea of chilliness, although the air was quite warm and muggy. From the break of the poop the Mate called to me to get his glasses.

  When I had done this, he took them from me and walked to the taffrail. Here he stood for some moments, polishing them with his handkerchief. After a moment he raised them to his eyes and peered long and intently into the mist astern. I stood for some time staring at the point on which the Mate had focused his glasses. Presently, something shadowy grew upon my vision. Steadily watching it, I distinctly saw the outlines of a ship take form in the fog.

  “See!” I cried, but even as I spoke, a lifting wraith of mist disclosed to view a great four-masted barque lying becalmed with all sails set, within a few hundred yards of our stern. As though a curtain had been raised, and then allowed to fall, the fog once more settled down, hiding the strange bark from our sight. The Mate was all excitement, striding with quick, jerky steps, up and down the poop, stopping every few moments to peer through his glasses at the point where the four-master had disappeared in the fog. Gradually, as the mists dispersed again, the vessel could be seen more plainly, and it was then that we got an inkling of the cause of the dreadful noises during the night.