The Ghost Pirates, by William Hope Hodgson


The Ghost Ships

At four o’clock, when again we went on deck, the Second Mate told me to go on with a paunch mat I was making; while Tammy, he sent to get out his sinnet. I had the mat slug on the fore side of the mainmast, between it and the after end of the house; and, in a few minutes, Tammy brought his sinnet and yarns to the mast, and made fast to one of the pins.

“What do you think it was, Jessop?” he asked, abruptly, after a short silence.

I looked at him.

“What do you think?” I replied.

“I don’t know what to think,” he said. “But I’ve a feeling that it’s something to do with all the rest,” and he indicated aloft, with his head.

“I’ve been thinking, too,” I remarked.

“That it is?” he inquired.

“Yes,” I answered, and told him how the idea had come to me at my dinner, that the strange men-shadows which came aboard, might come from that indistinct vessel we had seen down in the sea.

“Good Lord!” he exclaimed, as he got my meaning.

And then for a little, he stood and thought.

“That’s where they live, you mean?” he said, at last, and paused again.

“Well,” I replied. “It can’t be the sort of existence we should call life.”

He nodded, doubtfully.

“No,” he said, and was silent again.

Presently, he put out an idea that had come to him.

“You think, then, that that — vessel has been with us for some time, if we’d only known?” he asked.

“All along,” I replied. “I mean ever since these things started.”

“Supposing there are others,” he said, suddenly.

I looked at him.

“If there are,” I said. “You can pray to God that they won’t stumble across us. It strikes me that whether they’re ghosts, or not ghosts, they’re blood-gutted pirates.”

“It seems horrible,” he said solemnly, “to be talking seriously like this, about — you know, about such things.”

“I’ve tried to stop thinking that way,” I told him. “I’ve felt I should go cracked, if I didn’t. There’s damned queer things happen at sea, I know; but this isn’t one of them.”

“It seems so strange and unreal, one moment, doesn’t it?” he said. “And the next, you know it’s really true, and you can’t understand why you didn’t always know. And yet they’d never believe, if you told them ashore about it.”

“They’d believe, if they’d been in this packet in the middle watch this morning,” I said.

“Besides,” I went on. “They don’t understand. We didn’t. . . . I shall always feel different now, when I read that some packet hasn’t been heard of.”

Tammy stared at me.

“I’ve heard some of the old shellbacks talking about things,” he said. “But I never took them really seriously.”

“Well,” I said. “I guess we’ll have to take this seriously. I wish to God we were home!”

“My God! so do I,” he said.

For a good while after that, we both worked on in silence; but, presently, he went off on another tack.

“Do you think we’ll really shorten her down every night before it gets dark?” he asked.

“Certainly,” I replied. “They’ll never get the men to go aloft at night, after what’s happened.”

“But, but — supposing they ordered us aloft —” he began.

“Would you go?” I interrupted.

“No!” he said, emphatically. “I’d jolly well be put in irons first!”

“That settles it, then,” I replied. “You wouldn’t go, nor would any one else.”

At this moment the Second Mate came along.

“Shove that mat and that sinnet away, you two,” he said. “Then get your brooms and clear up.”

“i, i, Sir,” we said, and he went on forrard.

“Jump on the house, Tammy,” I said. “And let go the other end of this rope, will you?”

“Right” he said, and did as I had asked him. When he came back, I got him to give me a hand to roll up the mat, which was a very large one.

“I’ll finish stopping it,” I said. “You go and put your sinnet away.”

“Wait a minute,” he replied, and gathered up a double handful of shakins from the deck, under where I had been working. Then he ran to the side.

“Here!” I said. “Don’t go dumping those. They’ll only float, and the Second Mate or the Skipper will be sure to spot them.”

“Come here, Jessop!” he interrupted, in a low voice, and taking no notice of what I had been saying.

I got up off the hatch, where I was kneeling. He was staring over the side.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“For God’s sake, hurry!” he said, and I ran, and jumped on to the spar, alongside of him.

“Look!” he said, and pointed with a handful of shakins, right down, directly beneath us.

Some of the shakins dropped from his hand, and blurred the water, momentarily, so that I could not see. Then, as the ripples cleared away, I saw what he meant.

“Two of them!” he said, in a voice that was scarcely above a whisper. “And there’s another out there,” and he pointed again with the handful of shakins.

“There’s another a little further aft,” I muttered.

“Where? — where?” he asked.

“There,” I said, and pointed.

“That’s four,” he whispered. “Four of them!”

I said nothing; but continued to stare. They appeared to me to be a great way down in the sea, and quite motionless. Yet, though their outlines were somewhat blurred and indistinct, there was no mistaking that they were very like exact, though shadowy, representations of vessels. For some minutes we watched them, without speaking. At last Tammy spoke.

“They’re real, right enough,” he said, in a low voice.

“I don’t know,” I answered.

“I mean we weren’t mistaken this morning,” he said.

“No,” I replied. “I never thought we were.”

Away forrard, I heard the Second Mate, returning aft. He came nearer, and saw us.

“What’s up now, you two?” he called, sharply. “This isn’t clearing up!”

I put out my hand to warn him not to shout, and draw the attention of the rest of the men.

He took several steps towards me.

“What is it? what is it?” he said, with a certain irritability; but in a lower voice.

“You’d better take a look over the side, Sir,” I replied.

My tone must have given him an inkling that we had discovered something fresh; for, at my words, he made one spring, and stood on the spar, alongside of me.

“Look, Sir,” said Tammy. “There’s four of them.”

The Second Mate glanced down, saw something and bent sharply forward.

“My God!” I heard him mutter, under his breath.

After that, for some half-minute, he stared, without a word.

“There are two more out there, Sir,” I told him, and indicated the place with my finger.

It was a little time before he managed to locate these and when he did, he gave them only a short glance. Then he got down off the spar, and spoke to us.

“Come down off there,” he said, quickly. “Get your brooms and clear up. Don’t say a word! — It may be nothing.”

He appeared to add that last bit, as an afterthought, and we both knew it meant nothing. Then he turned and went swiftly aft.

“I expect he’s gone to tell the Old Man,” Tammy remarked, as we went forrard, carrying the mat and his sinnet.

“H’m,” I said, scarcely noticing what he was saying; for I was full of the thought of those four shadowy craft, waiting quietly down there.

We got our brooms, and went aft. On the way, the Second Mate and the Skipper passed us. They went forrard too by the fore brace, and got up on the spar. I saw the Second point up at the brace and he appeared to be saying something about the gear. I guessed that this was done purposely, to act as a blind, should any of the other men be looking. Then the Old Man glanced down over the side, in a casual sort of manner; so did the Second Mate. A minute or two later, they came aft, and went back, up on to the poop. I caught a glimpse of the Skipper’s face as he passed me, on his return. He struck me as looking worried — bewildered, perhaps, would be a better word.

Both Tammy and I were tremendously keen to have another look; but when at last we got a chance, the sky reflected so much on the water, we could see nothing below.

We had just finished sweeping up when four bells went, and we cleared below for tea. Some of the men got chatting while they were grubbing.

“I ’ave ’eard,” remarked Quoin, “as we’re goin’ ter shorten ’er down afore dark.”

“Eh?” said old Jaskett, over his pannikin of tea.

Quoin repeated his remark.

“ ’oo says so?” inquired Plummer.

“I ’eard it from ther Doc,” answered Quoin. “ ’e got it from ther Stooard.”

“ ’ow would ’ee know?” asked Plummer.

“I dunno,” said Quoin. “I ’spect ’e’s ’eard ’em talkin’ ’bout it arft.”

Plummer turned to me.

“ ’ave you ’eard anythin’, Jessop?” he inquired.

“What, about shortening down?” I replied.

“Yes,” he said. “Weren’t ther Old Man talkin’ ter yer, up on ther poop this mornin’?”

“Yes,” I answered. “He said something to the Second Mate about shortening down; but it wasn’t to me.”

“They’are!” said Quoin. “ ’aven’t I just said so?”

At that instant, one of the chaps in the other watch, poked his head in through the starboard doorway.

“All hands shorten sail!” he sung out; at the same moment the Mate’s whistle came sharp along the decks.

Plummer stood up, and reached for his cap.

“Well,” he said. “It’s evydent they ain’t goin’ ter lose no more of us!”

Then we went out on deck.

It was a dead calm; but all the same, we furled the three royals, and then the three t’gallants. After that, we hauled up the main and foresail, and stowed them. The crossjack, of course, had been furled some time, with the wind being plumb aft.

It was while we were up at the foresail, that the sun went over the edge of the horizon. We had finished stowing the sail, out upon the yard, and I was waiting for the others to clear in, and let me get off the foot-rope. Thus it happened that having nothing to do for nearly a minute, I stood watching the sun set, and so saw something that otherwise I should, most probably, have missed. The sun had dipped nearly half-way below the horizon, and was showing like a great, red dome of dull fire. Abruptly, far away on the starboard bow, a faint mist drove up out of the sea. It spread across the face of the sun, so that its light shone now as though it came through a dim haze of smoke. Quickly, this mist or haze grew thicker; but, at the same time, separating and taking strange shapes, so that the red of the sun struck through ruddily between them. Then, as I watched, the weird mistiness collected and shaped and rose into three towers. These became more definite, and there was something elongated beneath them. The shaping and forming continued, and almost suddenly I saw that the thing had taken on the shape of a great ship. Directly afterwards, I saw that it was moving. It had been broadside on to the sun. Now it was swinging. The bows came round with a stately movement, until the three masts bore in a line. It was heading directly towards us. It grew larger; but yet less distinct. Astern of it, I saw now that the sun had sunk to a mere line of light. Then, in the gathering dusk it seemed to me that the ship was sinking back into the ocean. The sun went beneath the sea, and the thing I had seen became merged, as it were, into the monotonous greyness of the coming night.

A voice came to me from the rigging. It was the Second Mate’s. He had been up to give us a hand.

“Now then, Jessop,” he was saying. “Come along! come along!”

I turned quickly, and realised that the fellows were nearly all off the yard.

“i, i, Sir,” I muttered, and slid in along the foot-rope, and went down on deck. I felt fresh dazed and frightened.

A little later, eight bells went, and, after roll call, I cleared up, on to the poop, to relieve the wheel. For a while as I stood at the wheel my mind seemed blank, and incapable of receiving impressions. This sensation went, after a time, and I realised that there was a great stillness over the sea. There was absolutely no wind, and even the everlasting creak, creak of the gear seemed to ease off at times.

At the wheel there was nothing whatever to do. I might just as well have been forrard, smoking in the fo’cas’le. Down on the main-deck, I could see the loom of the lanterns that had been lashed up to the sherpoles in the fore and main rigging. Yet they showed less than they might, owing to the fact that they had been shaded on their after sides, so as not to blind the officer of the watch more than need be.

The night had come down strangely dark, and yet of the dark and the stillness and the lanterns, I was only conscious in occasional flashes of comprehension. For, now that my mind was working, I was thinking chiefly of that queer, vast phantom of mist, I had seen rise from the sea, and take shape.

I kept staring into the night, towards the West, and then all round me; for, naturally, the memory predominated that she had been coming towards us when the darkness came, and it was a pretty disquieting sort of thing to think about. I had such a horrible feeling that something beastly was going to happen any minute.

Yet, two bells came and went, and still all was quiet — strangely quiet, it seemed to me. And, of course, besides the queer, misty vessel I had seen in the West I was all the time remembering the four shadowy craft lying down in the sea, under our port side. Every time I remembered them, I felt thankful for the lanterns round the maindeck, and I wondered why none had been put in the mizzen rigging. I wished to goodness that they had, and made up my mind I would speak to the Second Mate about it, next time he came aft. At the time, he was leaning over the rail across the break of the poop. He was not smoking, as I could tell; for had he been, I should have seen the glow of his pipe, now and then. It was plain to me that he was uneasy. Three times already he had been down on to the maindeck, prowling about. I guessed that he had been to look down into the sea, for any signs of those four grim craft. I wondered whether they would be visible at night.

Suddenly, the time-keeper struck three bells, and the deeper notes of the bell forrard, answered them. I gave a start. It seemed to me that they had been struck close to my elbow. There was something unaccountably strange in the air that night. Then, even as the Second Mate answered the look-out’s “All’s well,” there came the sharp whir and rattle of running gear, on the port side of the mainmast. Simultaneously, there was the shrieking of a parrel, up the main; and I knew that someone, or something, had let go the main-topsail haul-yards. From aloft there came the sound of something parting; then the crash of the yard as it ceased falling.

The Second Mate shouted out something unintelligible, and jumped for the ladder. From the maindeck there came the sound of running feet, and the voices of the watch, shouting. Then I caught the Skipper’s voice; he must have run out on deck, through the Saloon doorway.

“Get some more lamps! Get some more lamps!” he was singing out. Then he swore.

He sung out something further. I caught the last two words.

“ . . . carried away,” they sounded like.

“No, Sir,” shouted the Second Mate. “I don’t think so.”

A minute of some confusion followed; and then came the click of pawls. I could tell that they had taken the haulyards to the after capstan. Odd words floated up to me.

“ . . . all this water?” I heard in the Old Man’s voice. He appeared to be asking a question.

“Can’t say, Sir,” came the Second Mate’s.

There was a period of time, filled only by the clicking of the pawls and the sounds of the creaking parrel and the running gear. Then the Second Mate’s voice came again.

“Seems all right, Sir,” I heard him say.

I never heard the Old Man’s reply; for in the same moment, there came to me a chill of cold breath at my back. I turned sharply, and saw something peering over the taffrail. It had eyes that reflected the binnacle light, weirdly, with a frightful, tigerish gleam; but beyond that, I could see nothing with any distinctness. For the moment, I just stared. I seemed frozen. It was so close. Then movement came to me, and I jumped to the binnacle and snatched out the lamp. I twitched round, and shone the light towards it. The thing, whatever it was, had come more forward over the rail; but now, before the light, it recoiled with a queer, horrible litheness. It slid back, and down, and so out of sight. I have only a confused notion of a wet glistening Something, and two vile eyes. Then I was running, crazy, towards the break of the poop. I sprang down the ladder, and missed my footing, and landed on my stern, at the bottom. In my left hand I held the still burning binnacle lamp. The men were putting away the capstan-bars; but at my abrupt appearance, and the yell I gave out at falling, one or two of them fairly ran backwards a short distance, in sheer funk, before they realised what it was.

From somewhere further forrard, the Old Man and the Second Mate came running aft.

“What the devil’s up now?” sung out the Second, stopping and bending to stare at me. “What’s to do, that you’re away from the wheel?”

I stood up and tried to answer him; but I was so shaken that I could only stammer.

“I— I— there —” I stuttered.

“Damnation!” shouted the Second Mate, angrily. “Get back to the wheel!”

I hesitated, and tried to explain.

“Do you damned well hear me?” he sung out.

“Yes, Sir; but —” I began.

“Get up on to the poop, Jessop!” he said.

I went. I meant to explain, when he came up. At the top of the ladder, I stopped. I was not going back alone to that wheel. Down below, I heard the Old Man speaking.

“What on earth is it now, Mr. Tulipson?” he was saying.

The Second Mate made no immediate reply; but turned to the men, who were evidently crowding near.

“That will do, men!” he said, somewhat sharply.

I heard the watch start to go forrard. There came a mutter of talk from them. Then the Second Mate answered the Old Man. He could not have known that I was near enough to overhear him.

“It’s Jessop, Sir. He must have seen something; but we mustn’t frighten the crowd more than need be.”

“No,” said the Skipper’s voice.

They turned and came up the ladder, and I ran back a few steps, as far as the skylight. I heard the Old Man speak as they came up.

“How is it there are no lamps, Mr. Tulipson?” he said, in a surprised tone.

“I thought there would be no need up here, Sir,” the Second Mate replied. Then he added something about saving oil.

“Better have them, I think,” I heard the Skipper say.

“Very good, Sir,” answered the Second, and sung out to the time-keeper to bring up a couple of lamps.

Then the two of them walked aft, to where I stood by the skylight.

“What are you doing, away from the wheel?” asked the Old Man, in a stern voice.

I had collected my wits somewhat by now.

“I won’t go, Sir, till there’s a light,” I said.

The Skipper stamped his foot, angrily; but the Second Mate stepped forward.

“Come! Come, Jessop!” he exclaimed. “This won’t do, you know! You’d better get back to the wheel without further bother.”

“Wait a minute,” said the Skipper, at this juncture. “What objection have you to going back to the wheel?” he asked.

“I saw something,” I said. “It was climbing over the taffrail, Sir —”

“Ah!” he said, interrupting me with a quick gesture. Then, abruptly: “Sit down! sit down; you’re all in a shake, man.”

I flopped down on to the skylight seat. I was, as he had said, all in a shake, and the binnacle lamp was wobbling in my hand, so that the light from it went dancing here and there across the deck.

“Now,” he went on. “Just tell us what you saw.”

I told them, at length, and while I was doing so, the time-keeper brought up the lights and lashed one up on the sheerpole in each rigging.

“Shove one under the spanker boom,” the Old Man sung out, as the boy finished lashing up the other two. “Be smart now.”

“i, i, Sir,” said the ’prentice, and hurried off.

“Now then,” remarked the Skipper when this had been done “You needn’t be afraid to go back to the wheel. There’s a light over the stern, and the Second Mate or myself will be up here all the time.”

I stood up.

“Thank you, Sir,” I said, and went aft. I replaced my lamp in the binnacle, and took hold of the wheel; yet, time and again, I glanced behind and I was very thankful when, a few minutes later, four bells went, and I was relieved.

Though the rest of the chaps were forrard in the fo’cas’le, I did not go there. I shirked being questioned about my sudden appearance at the foot of the poop ladder; and so I lit my pipe and wandered about the maindeck. I did not feel particularly nervous, as there were now two lanterns in each rigging, and a couple standing upon each of the spare top-masts under the bulwarks.

Yet, a little after five bells, it seemed to me that I saw a shadowy face peer over the rail, a little abaft the fore lanyards. I snatched up one of the lanterns from off the spar, and flashed the light towards it, whereupon there was nothing. Only, on my mind, more than my sight, I fancy, a queer knowledge remained of wet, peery eyes. Afterwards, when I thought about them, I felt extra beastly. I knew then how brutal they had been . . . Inscrutable, you know. Once more in that same watch I had a somewhat similar experience, only in this instance it had vanished even before I had time to reach a light. And then came eight bells, and our watch below.

Last updated Sunday, March 27, 2016 at 11:55