The Ghost Pirates and Other Revenants of the Sea

by William Hope Hodgson

  “It was while I was pacing Mount Misery in this fashion, and with plenty of time to think, that I got a notion, and an ugly notion it was. I fired it off at the Second Mate when he came up to relieve me at the end of the watch.

  “ ‘Mr. Jackson,’ I said, watching his face by the light of the lantern from the standard binnacle, ‘I’ve been thinking that there’s a reason for these brutes round this ship.’

  “He looked at me in a queer sort of way but said nothing.

  “ ‘Mr. Jackson,’ I went on, ‘there’s dead men in this packet, and you know it, Sir.’

  “ ‘I know nothing, Bo’sun,’ he’d said, still looking at me in that queer way.

  “ ‘But you suspect something, Sir,’ I went on, looking at him hard.

  “He shook his head. ‘I’ve neither share nor part in it, Bo’sun,’ he replied.

  “ ‘Maybe not, but the Old Man and the Mate have,’ I told him looking him straight in the face.

  “ ‘I know nothing about it, Bo’sun,’ was all he would say, but I knew there’d been some dirty work going on, and that he had some idea of it all, too. What was troubling his little soul was the fact that he’s been given no share of any money there was knocking around.

  “Now, I said nothing more for five minutes or so while I took a turn to and fore across the break of the poop. Then it got plainer to me that there was something pretty wrong aboard, and that there was big money in it, somehow. The way the two men were drinking showed that. It was just the way two men like the Skipper and the Mate would act if they’d cut loose a bit, standing either to make a heap of money or get into trouble. If the Mate hadn’t been in it with the Skipper, it wasn’t likely the Old Man would have let him be on the drink. And that’s how I sized it all up, looking down over the ship’s side into the darkness, and thinking what an unpleasant sort of death was lying so precious a few feet below my nose.

  “ ‘I’m going down to have a look at the ship’s papers, Mr. Jackson,’ I told the Second Mate.

  “He just shrugged his shoulders in a way he had, and from that I gathered that he had spoken the truth when he said he was out of it.

  “ ‘Please yourself,’ he muttered. ‘You do it on your own responsibility, mind. Remember, I’ll have nothing to do with it, one way or the other…. Anyway, you’ll find nothing.’ He turned his back on me and then called out, ‘I had a look myself… I had a notion there might be something wrong.’

  “I laughed. ‘I guess you’d more than a notion,’ I told him. ‘I expect you know more than you’re ever likely to own up to!’

  “And with that I went straight down into the Captain’s cabin where the Old Man, lashed up securely, was chattering to himself and staring up at the desk over his head. He was saying something over and over to himself all the while I was rummaging through the papers. At last I got the hang of it:

  “ ‘Fifty dead Chinamen all in a row!

  Fifty dead Chinamen all in a row!

  Fifty dead Chinamen all in a row!’

  “When I realised what it was he was saying, I was struck in a heap and stopped rummaging, for I tumbled to it all in a moment. Once I’d cut loose from superstition I knew that it was a pretty uncomfortable explanation that was going to explain away all those sharks waiting so patiently round the ship. I knew they were waiting for something.

  “But what?

  “I stood a moment or two watching that old devil lashed up to his bunk, but he never stopped his queer singing:

  “ ‘Fifty dead Chinamen all in a row!

  Fifty dead Chinamen all in a row!

  Fifty dead Chinamen all in a row!’

  “I left him staring up at the deck planks above him and went to find the Second Mate.

  “ ‘Mr. Jackson,’ I said, ‘I’m going forrard to have a talk with the men, and if I were you, Sir, I’d have a look over the taffrail and not bother about what you may hear.’

  “He looked at me doubtfully a moment.

  “ ‘It’s all right, Mister,’ I assured him. ‘I’ll keep them in hand, never you fear.’

  “Anyway, he took the hint and wandered aft as natural as you please to watch the beauties of the night.

  “And then, lad, I went forrard to the fo’cas’le and routed out all hands.

  “ ‘Now, my men,’ I said to them, ‘if you want to see an end to all this Jonah business you’re so mad about, come along with me and lift the main hatch. And go as quiet as you can or I’ll break some of your necks for you. One of you boys go and call the Carpenter and tell him I want him.’

  “Well, we got the hatches lifted and I sent for the bull’s-eye lamp, lit it, and shone the light round the cargo that was showing. I was soon quite sure that what I had guessed was right. I jumped down onto the cargo, took a grip of a mighty great hogshead and gave the thing a heave. Sure enough, I could stir it, and that was enough for me, for by rights it should have been so heavy that nothing short of a tackle and the winch could have moved it.

  “ ‘Now, lads, out with it onto the deck!’ I ordered.

  “We lifted it pretty easily, and I told Chips to knock up the hoops and let us have a look inside. I don’t mind telling you, lad, I had a queer feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “Chips got at his job as quietly as he could, and while I held up the light he shoved in his chisel and lifted out the head of the great tub while the men crowded round to look in.

  “The next moment they all gave back, for sure enough inside that tub was a dead man. And a Chinaman at that.

  “ ‘My God!’ cried Chips, and dropped his hammer with a thump on the deck, making us all jump.

  “ ‘And there’s forty-nine more of ’em, boys,’ I told them. ‘Come on, there’s nothing to be afraid of in a dead Chinaman. We’ll get the lot out and dump them. You’ll not get rid of those sharks otherwise.’

  “But it took a bit to get the men going. They weren’t for touchin’ those barrels, but I put a bit of courage into a few, and the rest followed, shoving the opened hogshead away aft a bit by the house till we could get all the others up. And a mercy it was we did, and a greater mercy that I didn’t give word to dump it overboard straight away.

  “It took us nearly three hours lifting out those forty-nine tubs, and opening them to make sure we’d got the right ones. I was right all along, for fifty was the number all told and a body in each. A pretty ghastly business it was too, with the deck full to those great tubs and their contents and then to think what was waiting just outside the iron skin of our packet.

  “And then we got the surprise of our lives, for out of one of the tubs a white arm started to wave.

  “The men went off like a parcel of women, slap into the fo’cas’le and screaming like a lot of idiots. Chips nearly knocked the lantern out of my hand, and I confess I didn’t feel too steady myself.

  “The next thing I knew were two arms coming out and a voice which helped to assure me that whatever was in that hogshead was certainly not dead, Chinaman or no Chinaman. Anyway, to cut the story short, we got the beggar out and laid him out on the deck. He was too feeble to stand. You wouldn’t believe it but for every question we asked him, he asked us two in his queer pidgin English. It took us some time to get the whole story clear, and a pretty dirty story it was. There wasn’t a dead man among the lot. They were all as wick as wick in no time. You can’t kill a Chinaman anyway. In some cunning fashion, the hogshead had been made to let air in and, although they were all drugged, they all seemed none the worse after their experience.

  “As far as we could understand them, it seems they all belonged to a political society whose great idea was to get rid of their present figurehead and put up another. However, as it happened, there was plenty of power at the back of the government; for all these men were tracked down, caught and drugged with one of their devilish drugs and popped into the barrels. Then they must have been shipped aboard our vessel to be carried off secretly to China where each one was to be made an example of if he landed there alive
. From what Chin-chin told me, the Chinese government had no power to touch them so long as they remained in ’Frisco, as theirs was a political offense. That was why they were all being shipped back where the government could deal with them openly and make an example of them. And a precious near thing it was for them. If it hadn’t been for those engines breaking down, they’d have been in the Kingdom by this time.

  “And speaking of the engines, I’ve thought sometimes that there was more in that than met the eye, as you might say. There were several Chinamen among the Stokers and Trimmers, and two Chinese Greasers. Now, did they have a bit of a game with the works so to speak? Why did our engines keep breaking down, eh? I’ve sometimes thought those Greasers had been put up to the job by someone in the know. But there, I may be mistaken. Anyway, it was a lucky thing for Chin-chin that he waved his arms when he did, or they’d all have gone overboard. And I guess it was a lucky thing for me too. I didn’t do so badly out of it. Some of those Chinamen were worth more than you’d think—unless, of course, you know Chinatown Down ’Frisco way.

  “Hushed up, did you say? Oh yes, it was all hushed up, right enough. The Skipper and the Mate when they got sober didn’t want any talk, no fear, and the Chinamen didn’t want any either, poor beggars. They were all too feeble after their drugging to want any arguments, I can tell you. And what the shellbacks said didn’t matter a tinker’s cuss, for they’re always drunk ashore, and no one cares a darn what they say, or believes a word of it either. So when the engines started running again—and they got going all right—we just turned right back and landed our ‘cargo’ on the quiet.

  “Now, would you believe it, lad, when daylight came there wasn’t a shark in sight! Nothing but the sea. Now, what did they know? That’s what I’m always asking myself. Who told them? Eh? It’s a queer place is the sea, a queer place. A mighty big, queer, blue mysterious place, and the mysteries that it holds will never be known this side of Eternity, my lad. Aye, it’s a queer place, and well I know it…. And to think I nearly dumped the whole fifty of ’em! Just think of it! My word! just think of it!”

  “Sailormen”

  “All hands on deck! Shorten sail!” A few minutes later we are out on the wet, slippery deck, fully dressed in oilskins and heavy sea-boots. All around and overhead is deep blackness, while away to windward the weird phosphorescent loom of light, caused by the oncoming squall tearing the wave tops into foam, only serves to intensify the stormy darkness of the night. Ever and anon, some white-topped mountain heaves its briny head above the weather bulwarks, descending with a roar and swirl upon our heads, burying us beneath tons of water and foam.

  “Stand by t’gallant halyards… Lower away!… Man the clewlines and buntlines.” Next instant, above the roar of the squall, comes the deep, hollow thuttering of the sail, as the wind, catching it aback, tears it to ribbons. “Up aloft, and furl!” comes the order, and away I go, followed by five of the hands. Being first on the yard, I lay out to windward with Joe Norton (New Zealand Joe, we call him) next to me—a fine, strapping young fellow. The wind is lashing the torn sail in one continuous thunder, causing the yard, with the six men on it, to quiver like a steel spring. It is too dark to attempt to dodge flying ends; we must take our chance. Slowly and surely, despite the darkness and storm, we manage to get the sail in hand. Joe holds it. I feel under the yard for the gasket. While doing so a fiercer gust, filled with sleet, strikes the ship. I hear a cry; “My God, hold on all!” I stop breathing. Far down, some hundred feet below, distinct, in spite of the roar of the storm, I hear a sickening thud that seems to vibrate through the ship. I stretch out my hand to touch Joe. Shout his name. He is not there. Then I know and go dizzy. The man farther in on the yard is violently sick. For some minutes I can only hold on and pray. Soon as may be, we get the gaskets round the sail; and then down from aloft as best we can, feeling for each ratline, and holding on like death.

  We reach the deck. No need to ask of those below.

  In one of the deck-houses a dim oil-lamp lights up one of the tables, on which lies a long, still form, covered with an old ensign. ’Tis New Zealand Joe.

  By the Lee

  “Where the Hell are you running her off to? Look where you’re going, man! You’ll have us by the lee!” and the burly Mate grasps the spokes of the big wheel and puts forth his strength to assist the weary Helmsman in heaving it down.

  They are off Cape Horn. Midnight has passed, and the murderous blackness of the night is slit at times with livid gleams that rise astern and hover, then sink with a sullen harsh roar beneath the uplifting stern, only to be followed by others.

  The straining steersman snatches an occasional nervous glance over his shoulder at these dread spectres. He does not fear the foam-topped phosphorescent caps; but shudders at the hollow blackness that comes beneath. Occasionally, as the ship plunges, the binnacle light flares up, striking a reflected gleam from that moving gloom, and shewing living walls of water poised above his head. At moments such as these, he looks ahead resolutely. The threatening death behind is not to be borne.

  The storm grows fiercer, and hungry winds howl a dreadful chorus aloft. At times comes the deep hollow booming of the main lower top-sail.

  The man at the wheel strains desperately. The wind is icy cold and the night full of spray and sleet, yet he perspires damply in his strenuous fight with death.

  Presently, the hoarse bellow of the Mate’s voice is heard through the gloom:

  “Another man to the wheel.” It is time. Unaided, the solitary, struggling figure guiding the huge, plunging craft through the watery thunders, is unable to cope longer alone with his task, and now another form takes its place on the lee side of the groaning wheel, and gives its strength to assist the master hand through the stress. An hour passes: the Mate stands silently swaying near the binnacle. Once his voice comes tumultuously through the pall: “God damn you! Keep her straight; do you want to send us all to Hell?”

  There is no reply; none is needed. The Mate knows the man is doing his utmost, and so struggles forrard, and is swallowed up in the blackness.

  With a tremendous clap, the main top-sail leaves the ropes and drives forward upon the fore mast—a dark and flickering shadow seen mistily against the sombre dome of night. The ship steers madly in swooping semi-circles, and with each one she looks death between the eyes. The hurricane seems to flatten the men against the wheel, and grows stronger.

  The sooty night becomes palpably darker, and nothing can be seen save those foamy giant forms leaping up like grasping hands astern; then sweeping forward overwhelmingly.

  Time passes—

  A human note comes out of the night. It comes from the Mate standing unseen, hidden midst the briny reek:

  “Steady!” it rises to a hoarse scream, “For God’s sake, steady!”

  The ship sweeps up against the ocean. Things vast and watery hang above her for one brief moment. Then….

  The morning is dawning leaden and weary, like the face of a worn woman.

  The light strikes through the bellying scum o’er head and shews broken hills and valleys carven momentarily in liquid shapes.

  The eye sweeps round the eternal desolation.

  Tossed on a briny mountain, something shews briefly, a piece of wreckage perchance, or a body….

  A Note on the Texts

  Whenever possible, texts for this series have been based on versions that were published in book form, preferably during Hodgson’s lifetime. The major exceptions to this rule are the stories that appear in volumes edited by Sam Moskowitz. Moskowitz was known to have access to original manuscripts and other source materials. Some stories were published only in serial form, and have been taken from those primary sources.

  Over the years, many of Hodgson’s stories have appeared under variant titles, which are noted below. As a rule, the titles used in this series are based on the first book publication of a story, even if the story previously appeared under a different title, in serial form.


  Specific textual sources are noted below. The only changes that have been made to the texts have been to correct obvious typographical errors, and to standardize punctuation and capitalization. British and archaic spelling has been retained.

  The Ghost Pirates is based on the 1909 Stanley Paul & Company edition.

  “The Silent Ship” (AKA “The Phantom Ship,” AKA “The Silent Ship Tells How Jessop Was Picked Up”) is based on its publication in The Haunted Pampero (Grant, 1991). It was originally published as “The Phantom Ship” in Shadow No. 20 (October 1973).

  “A Tropical Horror” is based on its publication in Out of the Storm: (Grant, 1975). It was originally published in Grand Magazine (April 1905).

  “The Voice in the Night” is based on its publication in Men Of Deep Waters (Eveleigh Nash, 1914). It was originally published in Blue Book Magazine 6, No. 1 (November 1907).

  “The Shamraken Homeward-Bounder” (AKA “Homeward Bound”) is based on its publication in Men Of Deep Waters (Eveleigh Nash, 1914). It was originally published in Putnam’s Monthly 4, No. 1 (April 1908).

  “Out of the Storm” is based on its publication in Out of the Storm (Grant, 1975). It was originally published in Putnam’s Monthly 5, No. 5 (February 1909).

  “The Albatross” is based on its publication in Out of the Storm (Grant, 1975). It was originally published in Adventure 2 No. 3 (July 1911).

  “ ’Prentices’ Mutiny” (AKA “Mutiny”) is based on its publication in At Sea (Necronomicon Press, 1993). It was originally published in Wide World Magazine 28, No. 5; 28 No. 6; and 29, No. 1 (February, March, and April 1912).

  “On the Bridge” (AKA “The Real Thing: On the Bridge”) is based on its publication in Men Of Deep Waters (Eveleigh Nash, 1914). It was originally published in Saturday Westminster Gazette No. 5899 (April 20, 1912).