Chapter XIV: Part 14

‘Why don’t you do so, as it is?’ I asked. ‘You’ve got charge of the deck for the next four hours, and have practically a free hand.’

‘No I haven’t,’ he answered. ‘I’ve got to obey orders, though I think sometimes, between you and me, sir, that the old man’s got a bee in his bonnet, as they say in Scotland.’

‘What makes you think that?’ I queried, my interest in the skipper making me anxious to hear what the mate had to say. I had not before had any conversation with him about the captain’s condition. Indeed, he was not a very talkative or communicative person. He was what is termed a cautious Scotsman.

‘Well, I think it’s because he’s given to seeing the devil, or something as bad.’

I laughed, although I was serious enough; and being anxious to draw the officer out, I remarked:

‘Well, I shouldn’t say it’s quite as bad as that; but he is ill, there is no doubt about it, and wants looking after.’

‘I should think he does,’ was the reply, given with peculiar decisiveness. Then, bending his head towards me, the better to make himself heard without raising his voice too much, for the howling of the wind made it difficult to hear sometimes, he added, ‘Look here, Mr. Gibling, will you give me your promise that, if I express an opinion, it won’t go any farther?’

‘Yes, I think you may trust me,’ I answered.

‘Well, look here, sir, if you have any influence with the old man, you should persuade him to keep his room for the rest of the passage. And if he won’t, I say that in his own interest and the interest of everyone on board this craft, that he should be made to stay there.’

Never before had the mate been so outspoken to me, and it was further evidence, if I needed any, that the skipper’s condition had not escaped the observation of others; and I seriously determined to act on the suggestion, and use every effort to induce the captain to keep his room.

As a slight shift in the wind here necessitated the mate ordering the watch to trim the yards, I went below, and, feeling thoroughly exhausted, I drank a glass of whisky, and turning in, fell asleep. I must have slept between three and four hours, when I awoke with a start, for overhead was a tremendous hubbub. The tramping of heavily-booted feet, the rattling of cordage, the shaking of sails; while the ship, which was heeled over at an unusual angle, was quivering. I hastily donned my dressing-gown, and rushed on deck. A very heavy squall had struck us, and had torn the main-sail out of the bolt ropes. ‘All hands’ had been called on deck, and what with the shrieking wind and roaring sea, and the hoarse voices of the sailors, the situation seemed alarming enough to a landsman like myself. A lurch of the ship drove me down to the lee rail against the mizzen shrouds, which I clung to for dear life. Suddenly I felt myself gripped round the waist, and a body seemed to fall at my feet. I realised in an instant that it was the captain. He had only his shirt and drawers on. His feet were bare, his head was bare. So much I was able to make out in the darkness that wasn’t altogether darkness, for a few stars still shone.

‘For the love of God, for the sake of the Christ that was crucified, save me!’ shrieked the unhappy man, as he crouched on his knees and linked his hands round my body.

‘Don’t give way like this,’ I said, feeling almost distracted myself. ‘Come, let me lead you down to your cabin. The mate will look after the ship. She is in good hands.’

It seemed as if the unhappy man did not understand what I had said to him, for pointing to the sea, he cried in a voice of acute terror:

‘There, there, don’t you see it? there on that wave? Oh, my God, it’s awful!’

Mechanically I turned my eyes to where he pointed, and to my astonishment I saw what appeared to me to be a pale, lambent flame, shapeless and blue and nebulous. But I am conscious of thinking to myself that this was some natural phenomenon, like the well-known St. Elmo’s fire. Slowly, however, even as I watched (for my eyes were riveted on that light by some strange fascination), I saw the shapeless mass grow brighter. Then for the first time it seemed to dawn upon me that I was gazing upon something unearthly. My heart leaped to my mouth at the conviction, and a cold shivering thrilled through my body. I tried to shut out the vision, but my eyes would not close; I was under some spell, against which I had no power of resistance.

As I gazed, the flame assumed shape; the shape of a human being. I distinguished a face, wan and ghastly. The eyes were lustreless and fixed, like those of a dead man. In the naked body were many wounds, and from these wounds blood spurted out in streams, and as it seemed to me made the sea around crimson. I shuddered with horror at this dreadful sight; my knees bent under me, and I was on the point of sinking down, when I made a supreme effort and rallied. For the skipper was still clinging to me. I felt his weight, I heard his groans, but I saw nothing save that spectral figure with the gory streams pouring from its body.

Panting and breathless, a cold perspiration bursting through every pore, and with a feeling as if the scalp of my head was shrinking to nothing, I continued to gaze. The figure remained motionless, but its dull, glazed, dead eyes riveted themselves upon me as I thought, and I could not endure their gaze. I felt my brain maddening with terror; driven to frenzy I made a supreme effort to lift the captain in my arms and carry him bodily down to his room. But he broke from me. He made as it seemed a flying leap from the poop to the waist of the ship; then another flying leap over the rail into the dark seething waters. I heard the heavy splash his falling body made. One long, piercing shriek as he floated astern filled the air.

I remember little more. There was a cry of ‘Man overboard!’; a wild rush of feet; a hasty cutting away of lifebuoys; hoarse voices mingling with flapping sails. How I got below I don’t know, but I found myself lying in my berth with the Spanish lady standing over me, putting eau de cologne on my temples.

‘Do you feel better now?’ she asked in a not unkindly way.

‘Yes, thank you,’ I answered, feeling confused; ‘but tell me, what does it mean? What has happened?’

‘Why, don’t you know?’ she exclaimed; ‘the captain has jumped overboard. I told you what would happen. He was haunted and went mad, I suppose. Anyway the poor fellow’s gone.’

‘And how did I get here?’ I asked, with a dreadful sinking sensation at the heart and a dazed numb feeling in the brain.

‘Well, you tumbled down the companion-way and were insensible when the stewards picked you up. You fainted, I suppose, with fright, eh?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ I murmured. ‘It’s all a dream.’

‘Now tell me and speak the truth?’ she said, in a commanding tone. ‘Did you see anything?’

‘Yes’

‘What?’

‘The vision of a bleeding man.’

‘Ah!’ she exclaimed triumphantly, ‘how about your scepticism now, eh?’

I had to confess that, according to my belief, I had seen the spectre of a man bleeding from several wounds; but still I thought it was nothing more than a delusion.

‘But the captain was with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And he saw it?’

‘I have reason to think so.’

‘Then were you both deluded? Anyway, poor fellow, he was deluded to his death. For he has perished.’

I could not enter into any argument. I felt too ill and distressed. I thanked her for her attention, and begged that she would leave me, as I thought I could sleep. She complied with this request, but I tossed and dreamed nightmare dreams, and dreamed and tossed for hours. It took me several days to recover from that awful shock to the nerves; indeed, I don’t think I have ever quite recovered, or that I ever shall. I need scarcely say that from the moment the poor demented captain took that flying leap into the sea nothing more was ever seen of him, and an entry of his suicide was made in the log-book, and I signed it. On our arrival at Havana an inquiry was held by the British Consul, and I was called upon to state what I knew. I confined myself to saying that the captain believed himself that he saw a vision occasionally. He was very greatly affected, and I presume his brain gave way. I did not attempt to speak of my own awful experience. It was not necessary. Even if I had done so how could I have hoped to be believed? And yet I had seen with my own eyes. I, a scoffer in such matters, had been convinced, and what I have written here I solemnly declare to be true. Perhaps somebody cleverer than I, and more learned than I, may be able to explain away the mystery, but for me it will remain an awful, appalling mystery until I cease to breathe. Then, perhaps--who knows?--I may be able to solve it.

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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Perceived typographical errors have been corrected.

Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.

On page 181, the sentence "There was but one person at all disposed to
rebel against the despotic sovereignty which John Morgan--" appears.
The transcriber believes that the name should be William Morgan, but
has retained the text as printed.

On page 222, the sentence "Morgan, as was remembered, had gambled his
fortune away..." appears. The transcriber believes that the name
should be Jones, but has retained the text as printed.