Boats of the Glen Carrig and Other Nautical Adventures

by William Hope Hodgson

  I could have fancied that I heard the Lieutenant, down in the darkness, stifle a vague exclamation. There followed a few moments of absolute silence, during which I ran over all sorts of possibilities in my mind…. All the probabilities and possibilities of his suspecting us of being there for any other reason than I had given. At last he spoke—

  “I am sorry, Captain, to hear of your misfortune,” he said. Then, with a charming air of friendliness, he went on: “Our Second Mechanician (Engineer, you call him), Lieutenant Cagnes, is with me in the boat; we are enjoying a promenade. We will come aboard, Captain, if you will invite us, and have the pleasure of a talk. I will polish my poor English upon you; and my friend will be pleased to assist your mechanician in any way he can. Lieutenant Cagnes never can resist the call of the machinery. It will be for him a pleasure most great to be of assistance. And for me, Captain, perhaps, if you weary of your own ship, you will come across to La Gaul, and split (is not that the idiom) a bottle of our friend Cassis with me?”

  I did not hesitate an instant in my reply; for I had thought like lightning, as the Lieutenant was speaking, and it was plain that he had strong suspicions of the reality of our accident.

  “Come aboard, Monsieur, by all means,” I said. “Your offer is downright good entente cordiale! I dare say my Chief Engineer, Mr. MacWhirr, will pal on with your friend; but for me, I fear I shall have to decline with regrets, for I have certain letters which I must get off at this opportunity. Perhaps, Monsieur would cause them to be posted for me tomorrow.”

  My reasoning had shown me that it was most necessary that they should see at once that we were genuinely disabled; and I could tell, by the change of tone in the Lieutenant’s voice, that he was half-way to doubting he had any cause for seriously suspecting us. Also, by getting him to post the letters, I hoped I should be able to get rid of him early.

  I had a ladder put over, and they came aboard at once, and a couple of active young men they seemed, too. I took them, myself, down to the engine-room, and left them with Mac, explaining that I was no Engineer, so could not explain the nature of the trouble; but that doubtless Mister MacWhirr would be able to give all particulars.

  I smiled to myself. I could picture MacWhirr giving them particulars in broad Scots.

  As I left, I heard Mac begin:

  “I’d ha’ ye to unnerstan’, gentlemen, as that’s noo Engineers the like o’ the Scottish in this worrld. I mind me when I wer’ in the Agyptian Queen, runnin’ fro’ Belfast to Glasga—”

  That was as far as I heard, before I reached the decks. I stopped there to laugh. Mac would certainly polish his English for him!

  Then I went round the decks, to make sure there were no give-away things about. I found everything correct; for I had previously had the aerial wires, of my wireless installation, unrigged; for a tramp steamer, in the circumstances, was better without the display of such luxuries.

  Half an hour later, Jales (the steward) knocked at my cabin door.

  “Them two Frenchies is going off in their boat, Sir,” he told me. “One of ’em says as you wanted him to post some letters.”

  “Thank you, Jales,” I said, raking my letters together. “I’ll come up myself.”

  I found the two officers standing ready by the side ladder. They seemed to me almost apologetic in their manner, as if they were ashamed for having suspected me. It was obvious that my plan of allowing them to invite themselves aboard had produced exactly the effect I had hoped for. Moreover, as I had expected, half an hour of Mac’s Scots version of the English language had proved sufficient to stunt both their desires for more exact information, either on the cause of our accident or on the finer glazes that may be given to our English speech.

  “Monsieur MacWheer has been very gracious,” said Lieutenant Brengae. “But he will not allow my friend to salir his paws—is not that the idiom, Captain? So we will take your letters and return; for we have a slumber most great upon us.”

  “That’s certainly a complaint that calls for hammock treatment, Messieurs les Lieutenants,” I said. “Many thanks for offering to post my letters. Don’t apologize for inviting yourselves aboard. I’m sure we’re always open to give instruction in Scots English and Engineering at any hour of the night. Mind the step!—as we have it in our idiom. Good night!”

  And I bowed them both down over the side, in a somewhat puzzled state of mind, while one of the watch held a lantern over the ladder, to light them.

  This showed their boat; and I could not help thinking it curious that two French lieutenants should go “promenading” with a fully manned gig of six oars, with each man of the crew armed. There is, of course, no accounting for tastes. But to me, it looked less like “promenading,” than doing a sort of glorified sentry-go.

  I stood and listened to the sounds of their oars die away into the distance across the bay; then I gave the word to lower the dinghy, which we carry on davits across the stern. It is a light, convenient boat, and pulls well with two men.

  I did not have the oars muffled; for I would not put myself into the position of allowing the men to suspect that I was mixed up in anything irregular; also, if we were discovered, prior to reaching the point, there would be no material for evidence to prove that I was not also indulging in the favourite water “promenading” of the south coast. All I did to quiet the sounds of the oars was to tell the men to “pull easy.”

  I took my night-glasses with me and studied the end of the long, low point on our port bow, which I knew, from its position, must be the Point Issol. It was a simply perfect night, so quiet that from some place, far in the bight of the bay to the eastward, I could hear the constant, interminable karr, karr, karr, of the bull-frogs, in some unseen marshland ashore.

  Presently we had come so close in that I could see the stark outline of the low snout of rock, black against the clear night sky to the westward.

  “Gently! Gently!” I said to my men; and then, after a minute. “‘Vast pulling! Back starboard!” and the boat’s gunnel was rubbing gently against the rocky end of the snout. I climbed out of the boat, and fumbled my way up on to the rock. Then I turned to the men.

  “Lie off a couple of lengths,” I said. “Don’t smoke. Chew, if you want to, and keep your ears open for my hail.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir,” they said, and I turned to go up the black slope of the point.

  I went slowly for about ten fathoms, listening, as I went, and doing my best, for obvious reasons, not to stumble on the sharp edges of the rock surface. Then I stopped and adjusted my night-glasses and made as thorough an examination as possible, all round me.

  So far as my glasses showed me, there was no kind of shrubbery or cover anywhere near—nothing but just the bare mass of the back of the long snout, in which the point ended.

  Farther up the slope, however, I could see the vague straggle of odd small trees, and above them, a squat tower showed, black and silent against the night. This I presumed to be the mill, near which I was to signal to Herr Fromach that I had come for him.

  I put my glasses in my pocket, and continued slowly and carefully; but in spite of my care, I slipped twice, and the second time, I sent a small lump of rock rolling and clattering down the right-hand side of the point. The “plunk” it made, as it entered the calm water, seemed to me to be loud enough to be heard half across the absolute silence of the bay.

  I stood for nearly a minute listening, but there was not a sound anywhere, and I knew that there was no reason, in the ordinary course of things, for me to trouble about the noise made by a smallish piece of rock tumbling into the water. But my state of mind was naturally a little tensed up by the situation.

  I began to go upwards again towards the old mill, and presently I had come among the first of the odd trees. They were small, and I could tell by their smell that they were pines.

  Presently, I was quite close to the old mill. It stood about twenty to thirty feet high, in a clear space, near the brow, to the right hand, where the poi
nt sloped down into the Bay of Sanary. But ahead of me, I could see vaguely that the pine trees grew thicker, and seemed to cover most of the landward portion of the point. To my left, the rock sloped away broadly into a small bay, and I could see numbers of stunted trees here and there, scattered oddly.

  I literally tiptoed up to the side of the mill, and there I squatted low down, silently, and stared round through my night-glasses for maybe two or three minutes. Once, I thought I saw something move among the odd trees on the left-hand slope of the point; but after looking fixedly for a time, I could not be sure I had seen anything.

  I stood up then, and walked quietly round the mill; and after about a dozen steps, I found that I had come opposite an open doorway, with a small pile of rubble just tumbled loosely across the old threshold. I had a sudden thought to step inside; but a feeling of repugnance of the unknown possibilities of the old place, stopped me, and I stood absolutely still again to listen.

  It seemed to me that I never was in such a silent part of the world; for, except for the vague and monotonous karr, karr, karr of the bull-frogs, somewhere in the bight of the long bay, and the occasional far-off howling of dogs among the hidden farms, there seemed no other sound at all.

  Then I heard a faint noise near me; that made me listen the more intently. I could not locate it at first, and I drew back out, of a line with the dark, open doorway, and squatted down once more, so as to be hidden. Also, as anyone knows, who has ever done any “night work,” one can generally see objects better, the nearer the ground one gets.

  I squatted still for quite a minute, and heard the slight noise twice. And then, as I looked up, I found the cause; for a length of broken wire was swinging gently, as an occasional slight air of wind moved it. I could only see it when it swung idly, between me and the night sky.

  I stood up noiselessly and reached for it. I had a sudden vague, perhaps absurd, suspicion of a trap, in my mind, and I thought I would make sure the wire was no more than a broken end, swinging from the old structure. I caught the end, and gave it a good hard tug, and fortunate it was for me that the night was no darker, or I should not have seen in time to jump; for there was a vague rumble above me, and then I saw something revolve against the sky. I made one jump to the side, and as I did so, some heavy mass fell close to me, with a crash that seemed to echo through miles of the quiet night. I ran several steps, like a cat; then stopped and listened. But there was no sound anywhere, and I began to realise what an ass I had been; for I had pulled at some hanging bit of wire, which had probably been fixed at some time or other to some woodwork of the old mill.

  I walked quietly over to the fallen mass and felt it. I was right in my supposition; for I had simply pulled down a large portion of a rotten beam, and come very near to making my night’s work thoroughly unprofitable in every sense of the word.

  I guessed that I had better get done with my business, and be off. I held my wristwatch out in the starlight, and managed to see that it was just on the half-past twelve. As I did so, a clock, somewhere along the shore, struck the half-hour, and I raised my hands to my lips and howled three times like a dog. The sounds were most horribly mournful in that lonely sort of place, and I could almost have given myself the creeps, with the way the last of the infernal sounds seemed to die away and away, among the black masses of the trees that lay all along inland of where I stood.

  I waited for about five minutes, listening; but there came never an answer; and then I howled once more, and I felt that if I had to make the beastly noises again, I should want twice the cash that was coming to me. I had not thought a man could have made so weird and horrible a cry, so infernally able to disturb about ten miles of silent night. I felt that half the people of Sanary would be getting out of their beds, to stare up at the black bulk of the Point Issol, to discover the cause.

  Yet, still there came no answer; and presently, after waiting a little longer, I thought I would walk quietly a short distance from the old mill, along the inland portion of the point.

  I went very carefully, looking round me, every moment or two, and I found, after about twenty or thirty steps, that I was in a kind of gloomy little road, with the small pine trees thick on each side of me, and the night full of their rich, oily smell.

  Presently, I went a little further along the road, which had begun to lead down towards the hidden town. And all the time, as I went, I stared to right and left; for I was quite sure, on two separate occasions, that I had heard some further sound, almost as if something were following me among the trees; but on which side I could not be sure.

  Abruptly, as I stared down the slope to my right, I saw distinctly a vague movement among the dark boles of the trees. I felt I was not mistaken, and I squatted down again near the ground, and stared. For quite five minutes I remained like this, and there was not a single noise, or movement of any kind, to suggest that there was anyone near me. Then, as I stood upright, I saw something move again among the trees; and the suggestion came to me, like a flash, that I should make quite sure it was not Herr Fromach dodging me in turn, waiting for me to give the signal again. So,without waiting a moment, I just clapped my hands to my mouth, and let go the first of the three howls. As I did so, a most extraordinary thing happened. I heard someone turn in the path, not thirty yards before me, and begin to walk hurriedly away. I howled again, and the walk became a run; and then suddenly there was a rush of feet, and a loud crying in the night, about a hundred yards away, and a sound of scuffling and muffled cries and a fall and a voice shouting: “Attrapé! Attrapé! Attrapé!”

  There came a number of voices shouting, and then a quick command, which was followed by a silence, in which I heard a man’s voice protesting monotonously.

  There rang out, far and clear, three or four notes on a bugle, and immediately the whole night was filled with enormous beams of light, that circled and poised and then rested immovably along the length of the point. I saw the tops of the pine trees shine like ten million fronds of silver against the light; and down among the trunks of the trees on the right-hand slope, there burned great silent splashes of light.

  Behind me, up on the highest brow of the point, the old mill stood like a chunk of white fire, every edging of broken stone or mortar picked out with the great blazes that beat in on every side; and in the light, standing immovable in a silent row, as if they were statues, was a long line of French man-of-war’s men, with rifles and fixed bayonets. They were drawn clean across the point, the ends of the line vanishing among the trees on each side.

  I comprehended thoroughly the perfectness of the trap into which I had walked. In some way, a complete knowledge of what I had sent by wireless, must have been obtained by the authorities. There were warships lying in the bay, and it had been easy to arrange every-thing. The two lieutenants, probably with a score of other officers and boats, had patrolled the mouth of the bay, and kept a watch for every vessel that came “near in.” They had come aboard, apparently in casual friendly fashion; and when they had left, they had evidently been confirmed in their own minds, that my ship was the one they were looking for. Possibly the whole of the Point Issol had been silently invested, in readiness, for some hours, and every step of my way, even up the “snout,” and my little adventure with the old beam, must all have had their silent onlookers.

  A rare bit of drama I had been providing the fleet with! And there had obviously been orders not to interfere with me in any way; but to give every chance to the German to meet me, for it was not me they wanted, but the German, Herr Fromach, with (as I had already guessed) the almost priceless plans of the new additions to the great Fortress of Toulon.

  As I stared, fascinated, at the line of silent man-of-war’s men, with the blaze making their bayonets shine like spikes of fire, someone touched my shoulder gently, and I whirled round.

  Monsieur Brengae was standing close to me, saying something, which I did not hear; for over his shoulder, down the slope, among the trees, there were vaguely seen movements of hun
dreds of men among the shadows.

  “Monsieur the Captain has come ashore for a promenade?” I realised that the lieutenant was saying, in the most courteous fashion possible.

  “Good Lord!” I said, staring. “That you, Monsieur?…. What are your men doing? Is it an execution?”

  “The men!” he said, looking at me, in a mild kind of way. “But what is Monsieur’s remark? What men?”

  “Why!” I said, and turned up the brow towards the old mill. But there was not a man visible, of all the silent guards who had stood a moment before across the breadth of the point, between me and the sea.

  I laughed, as I looked at the Lieutenant. Evidently they were acknowledging nothing unusual, except a searchlight display.

  “Remarkably fine show!” I said, staring down at Lieutenant Brengae.

  “A little welcome, shall we say?” said the Lieutenant, smiling; but his lips came back a bit too much from his teeth, and quite spoilt the friendly tone of his preceding words.

  “Perhaps, Monsieur the Captain had an assignation,” he said, still in his gentle way. “… No?”

  “Certainly not, Monsieur,” I answered.

  “Ah!” he said, smiling still; but now the way his lips left his teeth was almost a sneer. “Perhaps Monsieur came ashore to sample the cheese of the country, or maybe it was a foreign cheese… perhaps Monsieur has a fondness for cheese, shall we say, Roquefort? But I fear the shops are shut tonight!”

  I’m not much of a French scholar, but I knew enough to remember that fromage goes for cheese, and that the little Lieutenant was rotting me; he was simply punning on the German’s name. But I only laughed, as good naturedly as I could, in the circumstances.

  “I fear Monsieur disbelieves me?” I said.

  “Perhaps as the shops have closed up,” said the Lieutenant, looking at me fixedly, “Monsieur the Captain will not want to buy any cheese tonight?”