Boats of the Glen Carrig and Other Nautical Adventures

by William Hope Hodgson

  Cargunka kept a couple of the men by him, as temporary Cook’s Mates, as he chose to call them; but the rest, he allowed to go off at their own will; warning them, however, to keep their ears open for the “dinner gong.” It was growing dusk, by the time that he had cooked a meal that seemed to him worthy of the occasion, and he and his two “Cook’s Mates” were warm and perspiring. The dinner gong, he achieved by the simple expedient of singing out to the Mate in the brig, to strike eight bells; for it was close upon eight o’clock.

  Now you must remember that it was just coming on dusk (the somewhat brief dusk of the semi-tropics); though both the brig and sunken barque were in plain view from the beach, and no more than a little vague with the first shadowing of evening. Yet, despite, as I have shown, that nothing was yet hidden by the night, a most extraordinary and quite inexplicable thing occurred. For, as the deep notes of the brig’s forrard bell died away across the water, there came, like an answer, from the direction of the submerged barque, eight eldritch, sharp, thin-sounding strokes on a bell.

  Cargunka jumped, and swore suddenly.

  “My Oath!” he said, and stared away towards the barque. He noticed that the tide had fallen now, and the rail around the fo’cas’le head had become unsubmerged. It was to the after part of this rail that the barque’s ship’s-bell was fixed, and it showed now, a shape of verdigris brass, dumb and immutable.

  “My Oath!” said Cargunka again, and limped away from the fire, down the beach to the water. “My Oath!” he muttered, once more, as he stopped and stared out at the barque. “That’s rum! Who the blamed thump is playin’ the blessed goat!”

  He put his hands to his mouth, and hailed the brig.

  “A-a-hoy there!” he sung out. “A-a-ahoy!”

  Then, as the Mate’s face showed over the rail:—

  “Did you hear that, Mister?” he shouted. “Did you hear that? Take a look at the barque from where you are. Is there anyone there?”

  The Mate ran across the deck, without a word, and stared under his hands, both at the barque’s poop-deck house and her fo’cas’le head rail; for, otherwise, the whole hulk of her was still entirely submerged. In a minute, he was back again at the landward rail of the brig.

  “There’s nothin’, Sir! Nothing at all!” he shouted back.

  “Did you hear that other bell go?” roared Cargunka.

  “Yes, Sir, I certainly heard something,” replied the Mate, as non-committal as possible.

  “You heard something! My Oath! I should say you did!” replied Cargunka. He turned to the two men behind him, where they both stood, looking in a puzzled fashion towards the wreck. “Did you men hear nothin’?” queried Cargunka.

  “Yes, Sir, we bofe ’eard it,” answered one of the men. “Someone struck eight bells over yon on the barque.” He looked from Cargunka to the barque and back again; then scratched his head violently.

  “Get into the punt,” said Cargunka; and stepped in after them, in his long apron. “Pull me out round the barque!”

  This was done; but though they rounded the barque twice, there was not a thing to see, beyond the top of the submerged deck house, the stumps of the three wooden masts, and the rail around the fo’cas’le head, with the bell upon it, about a foot clear of the surface of the sea. As they came opposite to the bell for the second time, Cargunka spoke to the men:—

  “Shove me in, just abaft the head, as close as you can. There’s plenty water over her to float the boat. I want to ’ave a look at that bell.”

  The men obeyed, and in a few moments, Cargunka was leaning out over the boat, feeling up inside the bell for the tongue and lanyard.

  “My Oath!” he muttered, suddenly. “There ain’t no striker. It’s unshipped, sure!” Then, abruptly, as a thought struck him:— “Pass me over a thole-pin.”

  He reached out for the wooden pin, and as soon as it was given to him, he struck the bell smartly with it. The bell gave out the identical, attenuated, sharply-thin note that they had heard directly after the bell of the Happy Return was struck.

  The men jumped unaccountably at the sound; as if it were already associated in their minds with something uncomfortably peculiar; but Cargunka merely listened intently; then struck the bell a second time, making it give out once more the thin, faraway sound.

  “My Oath!” he muttered, then. “That’s mighty rum! Mighty rum!”

  He bent and examined the bell, with the light of a match, both inside and out; for the dusk was deepening; but it was just an ordinary ship’s bell… a mere shape of solidly-fixed brass, tongueless and alone, there above the darkening sea…. And then, in a queerly effective way, it came home to Cargunka that the drowned hull of the vessel was close below them. Somehow, there in the increasing dark, the realisation came home to him, curiously clear, with something of a queer, vague, dreary, uncomfortable feeling.

  “Ug!” he said. “A blessed sea-churchyard she is!” And he took his supporting hand from the dank, water-sodden rail. “She’s fair got the stink of sea-slime on ’er! Back out, my lads, an’ let’s get our suppers. The Lord knows what we heard, or what we thought we heard. I’m middling sure, though, this bell’s never ’ad a clapper in it, not these last three year, or more. My Oath! Pull, lads; there’s the men all back, an’ smellin’ the cookin’; and small blame to ’em, though I say it! Pull, my sons!”

  When Cargunka go ashore, he found all the men waiting, except the steward. Some of them had seen the man last, away up in the woods of the island; but he had seemed so anxious to be alone, that none of them had bothered him.

  “Now, men,” said Cargunka, “move around handy! Two of you take the punt off wiv my compliments, an’ ask the Mate and the Cap’n if they’ll come an’ join us for a snack. If the steward don’t turn up, poor devil, so much the worse for ’im. Move now!”

  The men were early back with the Captain; but it appeared that the Mate had taken temporary offence at Cargunka’s tone, when Cargunka questioned him regarding the bell-sounds; and so the Mate had decided to stay aboard and nurse his vanity. This, however, bothered no one; and the meal was soon in full swing, with only an occasional expression of regret that the steward was missing it all. Once, far away, through the quiet forests of the island, they heard his voice, calling.

  “Poor devil!” said Cargunka; and therewith dismissed him.

  After the dinner, or supper, there was plenty of watered rum, with resultant cheerfulness and songs, which were kept up until nearly midnight. About eleven-thirty, the singing was dropped, and various cuffers were spun; during which Cargunka and his Captain discussed the puzzle of the bell-sounds which he was convinced he had heard, earlier, as you know. The Captain, however, felt that there must be some simple explanation—some freakish echo, perhaps.

  It was just as the Captain made this suggestion, that eight bells were struck by the Mate aboard the brig. There came a sudden expectant silence upon the men about the fire; but never a sound followed, though they waited several minutes.

  “No echo there, Cap’n!” said Cargunka.

  The words were not fully spoken when, clear and thin, with that curious faraway quality in the sound that Cargunka had previously noted, there came the sharp:— ting-ting, ting-ting, ting-ting, ting-ting of the bell upon the wreck.

  There came a burst of exclamations from the men about the fire; and both Cargunka and his Captain jumped to their feet.

  “My Oath! Cap’n, did you hear that?” said Cargunka. Then, without a pause:— “The boat, smart , Cap’n! Maybe that poor mad devil of a steward is playin’ some fool-game. You mind the song, Cap’n?”

  “Stop!” said the Captain, abruptly. “Listen!” He held up his hand; and they all heard it, then—the voice of the steward, faraway on the other side of the island, calling:— “Agnes! Agnes!” or, at least, that is how it sounded; his voice coming strange and small through the hush of the night, incredibly faint.

  “Poor lad!” said the Captain. “It’s not him at the bell, that’s plain.�
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  “The boat, quick!” interrupted Cargunka. “There’s somethin’ mighty rum in this business. Bring one of them burnin’ faggots wiv you, Cap’n. Buck after me smart!”

  Even as he spoke, he was racing down the strip of sand to the boats. The Captain snatched up a blazing, resinous branch out of the fire, and ran after him, the wood flaring and crackling as he dashed down the beach. The two of them leaped aboard the punt, and the men, who had followed at a run, shoved the boat out good and strong; then lined up along the shore, to watch.

  Cargunka shipped a pair of the oars, and rowed, whilst the Captain stood in the bows, and held the blazing branch high over his head, as he stared towards the sunken barque. Cargunka headed the boat straight for the fo’cas’le, standing with his face towards the bows of the boat. He pushed the boat right in over the submerged fore-deck of the barque, drew in his oars, and caught at the bell. The tide had risen, and he found the water now within four or five inches of the bell. He struck a match, and examined the bell again, feeling inside it, and all round about.

  “Nothin’ here, Cap’n,” he muttered. He reached for a thole-pin. “Listen,” he said, and struck the bell, smartly. It gave back the same clear, thin sound they had heard.

  “That’s sure what we heard, Cap’n,” said Cargunka. “Now what devilment have we run into? That’s what I want to know!”

  Cargunka backed the boat out from over the submerged vessel, and began to pull slowly round her, with the Captain holding up the burning, resinous branch, which cast a fitful, uneasy, flickering light over the dark water of the near lagoon, showing the strangely painted top of the deck house aft, and the green-rusted shape of the bell forrard, with the three stumps of the naked slimy masts growing up, as it were, out of the oily quiet of the water between. At times, as the light flared up, the whole of these details would spring into clear view, then, as the light fell, a comparative darkness would come.

  Thrice the boat circumnavigated the long-sunken craft; but never a thing could either Cargunka or his Captain find to explain that uncomfortable striking of the bell.

  Presently, Cargunka lay on his oars.

  “What do you make of it, Cap’n?” he asked, in a low voice.

  “I’m completely puzzled, Sir,” said the Captain. “In a way, I don’t like it… I mean, it’s funny. It’s a bit beastly, somehow, you know.”

  Cargunka nodded; then, as a notion seemed to strike him suddenly, he turned and paddled quietly towards the brig. When he had brought the boat quite near, he hailed the Mate, in a low voice, and told him to strike eight bells a second time. This the Mate did; but though the Captain and Cargunka waited silently in the punt for some minutes, there came no answering bells from the submerged craft.

  “Now, look here,” called Cargunka up to the Mate. “As soon as it’s half past twelve, strike one bell, like as if we was at sea.”

  “What’s your notion, Sir?” asked the Captain.

  “I’m blest if I know, myself,” answered Cargunka. “I’m half beginnin’ to think things I’d not care to put into words. You noticed that blessed dead hulk yonder took no sort of notice of the fake eight-bells. Well, now I’m going to see if it answers just only those bells as is struck at the proper times. More’n that, I just carn’t say, Cap’n; for I’m blowed if I know myself what I thinks or believes.”

  Cargunka began to paddle the punt noiselessly across again to the submerged vessel, explaining, as he did so, that he meant to go back unseen, if possible; and as the night was very dark, and the water gave out no ripples of phosphorescence under the oars, it was not difficult; for the Captain’s torch had long since died out and been dumped into the water.

  Very slowly, Cargunka urged the boat across, until, at last, they were lying within some three or four fathoms of the bell; though they could only know its position approximately by their distance from the stump of the foremast, which rose up into dim visibility against the night-sky, about four fathoms off their starboard bow.

  Cargunka lay on his oars, keeping the boat in position, by an occasional, gentle stroke; and thus for some minutes there was an almost perfect quiet, through which came the low, constant roar of the fine-weather seas upon the outer reef, and the odd mutter of talk from the men along the beach; they being plain also to see, by reason of the fire which still burned cheerfully behind them, up the beach.

  As Cargunka sat, listening for any vague sound that might come from the direction of the submerged hulk, he heard the Captain moving cautiously aft in the punt towards him; and then the Captain was whispering:— “Hark, Sir! I’m sure he’s singing.”

  Cargunka heard it then, a voice coming far and thin through the night; one moment plain to be heard, though infinitely remote; and then, again, lost, as some eddy of the night airs carried the sounds astray.

  “Poor devil!” muttered Cargunka. “ ’E’ll sure go barmy, if we don’t corral ’im, an’ bring him in, an’ get ’im sensible. It’s mighty strange soundin’, to ’ear him singin’ like that, now, away over there by his lonesome. Maybe he’s thinkin’ she’ll hear, if she’s anywheres on the island. But there’s no one ashore yon. I told the men to have a good look round, while I was makin’ supper; an’ they none of ’em saw a thing; an’ they fair covered the island wiv their noise an’ singin’ an’ shouting. There’s no castaways ashore yon, as well I knew; an’ I thought maybe to get yon poor feller more settled in his mind, if I could let ’im see for himself. I wish now I’d left him to home. Hark to him now!—”

  A single line was wafted far and clear and faint to them through the night upon the island:—

  “The Laughing Sally sailed away—”

  From the brig, at this instant, there came, deep and sonorous, the single stroke of the ship’s bell, as the Mate struck the half past midnight, exactly to the moment by the chronometer.

  “Ssdt!” whispered Cargunka, and stiffened into rigid intensity, listening, and staring unblinkingly towards the spot where he knew the bell must be. As he sat there, in a half-conscious fashion he caught a second odd line of the remote singer’s, as it floated faintly through the night air:—

  “And the sound of her bells came back to me—”

  Even as he heard, and half comprehended the words, there came a single, incredible sound from the sunken barque—the solitary, thin “ting” of the bell; yet curiously muffled, and seeming to be no more than a couple of fathoms off the port bow of the little punt. Evidently they had come closer to the bell than Cargunka had guessed.

  A strange, extraordinary thrill, that made him shiver vaguely, travelled swiftly over the back of his head. Then, without a word, he dashed the oars into the water, and drove the boat towards the sound.

  “Strike a light, Cap’n…. Quick!” he whispered tensely. But instead of the Captain obeying, he backed suddenly upon Cargunka, in the darkness, with a muttered:— “Let’s get out of here! Let’s get out of here!”

  “My Oath! Yes…. When I’M done!” said Cargunka, and crammed him down savagely onto a thwart. He drew out his own box of matches, and struck a light. He found that he had driven the punt close beside the bell, and that the bell was now partly submerged by the rising tide, which detail, he realised, had likely enough caused the sound to be muffled. The Captain had himself in hand by now, and fished out his own matches, which he struck and held, whilst his Owner examined the bell, feeling all about it, inside and out.

  Presently, Cargunka stood upright, his hands and sleeves dripping sea-water.

  “My Oath, Cap’n!” he said. “What sort of funny devil-work have we sure struck now!”

  “I don’t know, Sir,” said the Captain, in a low voice. “I don’t like to say what I think. I’m not a fanciful sort of man; but I don’t like this; and I don’t think we’re being wise to be here just now in the dark. I think we ought to get away ashore right now.”

  “I’m wiv you, Cap’n,” replied Cargunka, quietly. “It’s just a peg outside my understandin’; and I don’t like it, no
how.”

  He reached for the oars, which were still lying loosely in the thole-pins, and drove the boat astern, clear away from the wreck; then headed her round for the shore, where the sailormen had grouped together, talking in low tones. Behind the men, the fire showed the gloom of the near border of the forests that covered the island. Whilst above, against the starlight, loomed vaguely the three great Peaks, from which the island had gained its name.

  “The song about the bells, Sir! … and then that bell striking like that!” said the Captain, suddenly, as they neared the shore. “It’s making me think along pretty rum lines.”

  “My Oath, yes, Cap’n,” said Cargunka, and drove the boat ashore near the group of seamen, who hauled her up, questioning a hundred questions, and voicing a score of quaint superstitions, as they did so. But it was Durritt, the bo’sun, who said nakedly the quaintest and perhaps the ugliest:—

  “That’s a dead man’s bell, Cap’n,” he said, earnestly. “Strike me! but there’s no good’ll come messin’ round wiv that!”

  “You go an’ boil yourself, my lad!” said Cargunka. “Now then, stow all this talk, an’ spread out and find the steward.”

  But not a man of them would budge, declaring there was something rum about the island, and Durritt was so badly scared that he offered to forgo his prospective share of any of old Captain Barstow’s money that might be found, if only Cargunka would up anchor and away.

  Cargunka, however, consigned him to the devil, and ordered him and all the crew aboard, with their gear; telling them to leave the punt. Then he called to the Captain, and the two of them made their way through the darkness towards where they had last heard the steward. From time to time, as they went, they would catch the faint sound of his voice in the distance, which was some sort of a guide; though puzzling, as the man appeared to be on the road the whole time. Eventually, however, they ran him down; and persuaded him to be sensible, and come aboard, which he did; though in a heavy and silent fashion, as if he were dazed with the emotions of hope and despair through which he had been passing.