Blackheart then turned to consider the notion that the crew of the mysterious ship had seen their approach and, guessing their intention, had hidden themselves out of sight, ready to attack them once they began to board. Even now, there might be hidden cannons ready to be blasted.
It was a dilemma to be sure. The Firefly was struggling. Water was filling the holds and she was beginning to list perilously. Blackheart had no choice. This ship was their only chance.
He ordered a boarding party to man the small sailing boat they sometimes used to lead an attack and he himself would take her across. Lewis watched them arm themselves to the teeth with swords and axes and pistols, and he could see by their faces that they were preparing themselves for death or killing. Then Blackheart told Lewis that he was to be one of the boarding party.
‘Me?’ said Lewis. ‘But –’
‘Come on!’ said Blackheart, thumping him in the chest. ‘Your first boarding! Best day of your life. I can remember mine like it was yesterday!’
There was nothing more to be said. Lewis knew he had no choice. He picked out a hatchet that he felt looked especially menacing and climbed aboard the boat with the others.
During the whole of the short journey across to the ship, Lewis was flinching as if a shot or cannon blast was forever about to strike the boat, and he avowed that if he was ever part of another boarding, he would pay more attention to the seating arrangements and not be foolish enough to sit in the prow.
If sailing across was fraught with apprehension, then climbing aboard the ship was doubly so. Blackheart was fearless and bounded aboard as if he already owned the ship and had every right to stand on her decks. He halloed in his loudest voice, but there was no reply. He halloed again. Nothing.
Lewis could see that this was no usual boarding. The pirates were as wary as he was, clearly fearing an ambush. Blackheart sent a small party down into the holds to search for crew members, telling them in a loud voice to cut the throat of the first person they found unless the rest of the crew made themselves known that instant. But nothing stirred and the pirates found no one on their search. The ship was deserted.
The pirates regrouped on the weather deck, each man wearing the same puzzled and apprehensive expression.
‘What’s goin’ on, Cap’n?’ said a man called Murnau.
‘I don’t rightly know,’ said Blackheart.
Suddenly there was a great rending sound and the Firefly keeled over and began to sink with shocking speed. They heard the cries of their crewmates as she went down and those who fell clear were dragged under by the sinking vessel.
‘Damn it!’ shouted Blackheart. ‘But I loved that ship!’
Lewis could only think about the drowned men and how close to going down with her he had been. Like most of the men aboard the Firefly, he had never learned to swim.
Blackheart rallied his men. A seaworthy ship was treasure enough on this occasion, but that did not stop the pirates from searching for more and once again they moved about the strange deserted ship.
Lewis followed Blackheart down into the hold, dark enough and seeming all the more Stygian after the daylight’s bright blazing above. They both squinted into the gloom, but it was the smell that Lewis noted first: a smell he could not place but that for some reason made his skin crawl.
On closer inspection they could see that the hold was full of boxes, crates and jars containing nuts and seeds, shells, rocks and even earth. Blackheart looked at Lewis and raised an eyebrow.
‘What the hell is all this?’ he said. ‘And were they taking it somewhere or bringing it back?’
Lewis and Blackheart spotted the cage at the same time. It was a sturdy if crudely made construction, a cube of about three feet square with stout sticks for bars bound together by some kind of tough vine. But the vine had snapped and the door swung open.
‘What was in that, I wonder?’ said Blackheart grimly.
Just at that moment there was a movement at the other end of the hold and Blackheart pulled a pistol from his waistband and cocked it – then another movement, like a large mouse scurrying. Something careered out of the hold at rare speed, its feet pattering like a drum roll on the steps.
‘What the devil is it?’ said Blackheart, sounding nervous for the first time since Lewis had met him. Suddenly there was a shout from above.
‘Captain! Come quick.’
Blackheart, his pistol still raised, began to scale the steps out of the hold two at a time. Lewis practically threw himself on to the deck after him, where he came face to face with the reason for all the shouting.
Lying on his back in the baking sun was a pirate called Gower, though Lewis only knew it to be him because of the gaudy clothes he perpetually wore and the garland of necklaces draped across his chest. For Gower’s face and body were bloated like he had been dead for days instead of minutes, and blue-black as if a mighty beating had been the cause.
‘What happened?’ said Blackheart as Lewis scrabbled to his feet.
‘There was a damned monkey,’ said one of the men. ‘It bit him. Couple of minutes later he cries out and I find him like this.’
The crew scowled at the black and bloated body.
‘At least we know what was in that cage now,’ said Blackheart.
Suddenly Gower’s eyes flicked open and the crew flinched.
‘Help . . . me,’ said Gower, his eyes wild with terror.
‘He’s alive!’ gasped Lewis.
Blackheart turned to the crew. ‘I want that monkey dead – understand?’
‘Aye, Captain!’ said the pirates and they set off in search of the creature, pistols cocked and cutlasses drawn.
Gower was trying to say something, but he could not get the words out and a white froth bubbled at his lips. Blackheart and Lewis crouched at his side and strained their ears to hear.
g
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‘Kill . . . me,’ he finally said, and looked at them with tear-filled eyes.
Blackheart nodded, pulled out a long knife and plunged it with fearful suddenness and strength into his crewmate’s chest, pressing down until all signs of life disappeared from Gower’s face.
‘I sailed with him for twenty years or more,’ said Blackheart, without looking round at Lewis. ‘I’m going to kill that animal myself, gut it, skin it and cut it into tiny pieces.’
A pistol shot rang out towards the stern and Lewis and Blackheart ran to its sound. The pirates were pointing up at the top of the mizzenmast. There was the monkey, staring down, teeth bared.
But understandably no man was keen to go up the rigging after him, and three more shots proved him to be a difficult target.
‘Put a bowl of water on the deck there. He’ll come down when he’s thirsty,’ said Blackheart. ‘Then we’ll have him.’
Blackheart posted two men with cocked pistols to watch at a safe distance and then went with Lewis and a couple of other men to search the officers’ cabins.
The cabins were in a state of disarray. One of the crew speculated that perhaps other pirates had attacked the ship before them and taken the crew or killed them and thrown them overboard.
But the cabins did not look as though they had been searched for valuables. The disturbance was too arbitrary and violent. Besides, there were valuables lying about on the floor for all to see. Then Lewis happened upon a book that fell open as he searched, many of its pages ripped or torn and those remaining soaked in some sort of sticky liquid. He started to examine it.
Blackheart walked by and asked Lewis what he was reading. Lewis told him that it was the journal of a gentleman explorer whom the ship had taken aboard at some island in the Indies.
The journal detailed the many seeds and so on he had collected on his travels – the evidence of which was in the hold – but the writer had devoted most of his en
ergy to describing the ‘marvellous specimen’, the ‘most extraordinary creature’ he had captured on the island. On a torn fragment of one of the pages, Lewis read how he was going to take it back to England and exhibit it at the Royal Society. His writing became giddy with excitement as he talked about the looks on the faces of his rivals.
‘Damn and blast him!’ said Blackheart. ‘What the hell would anyone want to bring a poisonous monkey back to England for?’
Lewis carried on reading. Another fragment spoke a little of how they had captured it, despite all the warnings from the natives, and had caged it and brought it aboard the ship.
Lewis turned the page. The journal came to an abrupt end. In a hasty and almost illegible scrawl were the words, ‘God save us. It has escaped. I must’. And there it ended.
It was dusk now and light was fading fast. The sea was like molten copper, glowing with the fire from the setting sun. Lewis and the others walked back to the stern to see if the men had had any luck with the monkey, but instead they found one of them in a similar state to Gower, bruised all over and bloated. The other man was missing and though Blackheart’s yell would have brought Satan himself running, he did not answer.
Blackheart thrust his cutlass into the bloated man’s chest to finish him off.
‘Throw him overboard,’ he said, turning to a man called Vetch. ‘Do the same with Gower. And keep an eye out for that monkey.’
‘Aye, Captain,’ said Vetch.
Vetch and another pirate hauled the corpse to the gunwales and threw him over, the body hitting the water with a loud splash. Then they went to get Gower’s body, but returned moments later.
‘He’s gone,’ said Vetch, his troubled face ghostly pale in the twilight.
‘Who has?’ said Blackheart.
‘Gower,’ said Vetch.
Blackheart cast a glance at Lewis and then back at Vetch, grabbing the man by his shirt.
‘What nonsense is this?’ said Blackheart, his voice wavering for the first time. ‘How could he be gone?’
Vetch shrugged Blackheart’s hand away.
‘Well, he is!’
Blackheart put his hand to his forehead and stared at the deck as if hoping to find the answer scratched into the planks. Light seemed to be draining away by the second and Lewis could barely see beyond the nearest mast.
‘Did any of you filthy swabs throw Gower overboard without my say-so?’
The crew were quick to deny doing any such thing, but this only caused more confusion and alarm among the pirates. Night was almost upon them, and each man felt a chill in the pit of his guts. Danger was second nature to men like these and they thrived on it, welcomed it. But this was different.
Lewis looked into the shadows beyond the reach of the lanterns that were now being lit against the onrush of night. He shivered at the thought that the monkey was out there somewhere, hidden from view but waiting to strike.
The idea of sleeping while that murderous beast was still loose seemed preposterous, but Blackheart knew that it was better to rest and keep their wits about them. He posted a watch of two men to stand guard at either side of the main group, who would do their best to sleep.
Lewis had thought the idea of sleep unimaginable, but had not realised how exhausted he was. Eventually the day took its toll and, though he tried hard to stay awake, after half an hour of watching the shadows for any trace of movement, his eyelids seemed to gain the weight of lead and he could not hold them open. His head lolled. His shallow fearful breathing turned to snores.
Lewis slept and dreamed. As if his brain welcomed the chance to escape the nightmare that had overtaken his waking life, he dreamed a happy sailor’s dream of billowing sails against a blue sky. He dreamed of his own bravery in the capture of a ship. He led the attack, leaping over open sea, and shot the captain dead with his pistol before taking on the best part of the whole crew with a cutlass and forcing them to surrender. The holds were filled with gold and pearls and precious stones of every kind.
These happy adventures were brought to an abrupt end by the feel of soft fur against his cheek and he woke immediately, eyes blazing, knife in his hand. Did something scamper away? Or did he dream it all? Lewis wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and looked about him, disorientated. His shipmates were stirring, lit by the welcome glow of daybreak.
Slowly Lewis gathered his wits and joined the rest of the men as they stamped their feet and hugged themselves against the morning chill. The men who had stood watch joked about their hours on guard, but Lewis saw the ghost of the fear that still haunted their tense and ashen faces. Then he noticed something else. Only six men now stood on the weather deck. Blackheart had clearly noticed the same thing.
‘Where’s Murnau? And McCloud?’ he shouted, his voice booming in the still air.
No one knew.
‘This ship’s cursed!’ said Vetch, who was standing beside Lewis. There were murmurs of agreement.
‘Well, you’re free to swim for it,’ said Blackheart, turning on him. ‘Me, I’m for killing that –’
Blackheart suddenly broke off and looked at Lewis with an expression that was a frightening mix of fear, anger and madness. He drew a brace of pistols from his waistband and pointed them straight at his head.
‘Captain?’ said Lewis, taking a step backwards, but Blackheart pulled the triggers and there was a mighty blast and Lewis felt the whistling passage of the balls as they hurtled past his ears and the thump of something falling behind him. He turned to find the monkey lying on its back, one hole in its forehead, the other in its chest.
Despite his promise to anatomise the creature, Blackheart, wary of whatever poison filled the monkey’s body, lifted it up on the end of a boat hook and unceremoniously tossed it overboard.
A great cheer went up among the pirates and after a moment’s pause to recover from the shock of believing himself about to be shot, Lewis joined them.
Blackheart called for a celebration and grog was duly fetched and consumed with the usual piratical enthusiasm. There being a considerable amount of rum aboard, the surviving crew were soon in a state of profound intoxication.
The morning drifted lazily by. It was hot. The sun was directly overhead and branded any flesh that did not seek shadow. Lewis lay back against a mass of coiled rope and laughed at a joke he did not fully understand.
He realised that he had never felt so alive. He imagined that he could feel the very blood moving in his veins. To face death and cheat it: that was real life, lived to the full, and he pitied the dull landlubbers in their shops and markets. He pitied their poor untested lives.
The danger aboard ship was over and Blackheart had to concern himself with the more mundane threat of being caught by the Navy and hanged, so after a goodly amount of time he roused his crew and told them it was time to set sail.
They were a small crew to be sure, but it was a small ship and they were skilled seamen. Lewis climbed the mainmast, looking down once or twice to see Hart and Prentice at the capstan, hauling the anchor, and the reassuring figure of Blackheart standing at the centre of the deck, hands on hips, barking commands.
Lewis continued his climb, pulling himself up on to the main yard so that he could unfurl the sail. As he did so his hands rested on something sticky, and he paused, wondering what it might be, when there was a cry so high and sharp it sounded like a woman’s – though it must have been Hart or Prentice, because Lewis saw Blackheart draw his cutlass and run in that direction. Another scream rang out and then a pistol shot and then an awful silence.
‘Captain!’ he yelled, tugging at the rope to free the sail. ‘Captain Blackheart, sir!’
And just at that moment, the knot came free and the sail came loose and fell down, revealing that inside it, like the tobacco in a cigar, was half a dozen bodies and the decomposing pieces of more, swaddled in sil
ken threads. He recognised the startled face of Murnau before turning away with a cry of horror and looking down at the deck.
What he saw almost stopped his heart, and he knew there and then what had been in the crate. The spider scampered across the deck. Its body alone was as big as a large dog, and its great, long, many-jointed and bristled legs added horrifically to its size and nightmarish appearance. It stopped to look up at him with its eight black eyes and drummed its two front legs on the deck as a horse might paw the earth. As if in response, the first of the eggs, which Lewis could now see tucked among the remains of the crew, split open.
*
Cathy let out an involuntary whimper at the end of Thackeray’s tale and it was only a supreme effort of will on my behalf that prevented a similar utterance emerging from my lips.
‘Cathy has a particular horror of spiders,’ I said.
Thackeray nodded, not with concern, as one might have expected, but with an expression that spoke more of satisfaction. It was as if he thought I had given him praise.
‘Do such creatures exist?’ said Cathy tremulously.
‘Of course not, Cath,’ I said, giving her a cuddle and looking to Thackeray for confirmation. But he simply snorted and took another drink.
‘I thought you had a stronger stomach, miss,’ said Thackeray. ‘Perhaps you are both a mite young for these stories, after all.’
‘Come now, sir,’ I said. ‘You are not so very much older than I am, I fancy.’
He leaned forward in the most intimidating manner.
‘How old do you think I am?’
I ventured that I thought him to be in the order of seventeen or eighteen and to my surprise he roared with laughter, slapping the table and making his drink and my sister jump three inches in the air.
I could not for the life of me see what was so amusing about my reply and was about to say so in the strongest terms I felt able to, when he looked at us both in turn and I could see tears in his eyes.
‘’Tis a curious thing,’ said Thackeray, ‘but as dangerous a beast as the sea surely is, it has a magnetic pull on certain souls and to such as those there is no resisting its power.’
Tales of Terror from the Black Ship Page 11
