In the month of December in the year 1873, the British ship Dei Gratia
steered into Gibraltar, having in tow the derelict brigantine Marie
Celeste, which had been picked up in latitude 38 degrees 40’, longitude
17 degrees 15’ W. There were several circumstances in connection with
the condition and appearance of this abandoned vessel which excited
considerable comment at the time, and aroused a curiosity which has
never been satisfied. What these circumstances were was summed up in an
able article which appeared in the Gibraltar Gazette. The curious can
find it in the issue for January 4, 1874, unless my memory deceives me.
For the benefit of those, however, who may be unable to refer to the
paper in question, I shall subjoin a few extracts which touch upon the
leading features of the case.
“We have ourselves,” says the anonymous writer in the Gazette, “been
over the derelict Marie Celeste, and have closelY questioned the officers
of the Dei Gratia on every point which might throw light on the affair.
They are of opinion that she had been abandoned several days, or perhaps
weeks, before being picked up. The official log, which was found in the
cabin, states that the vessel sailed from Boston to Lisbon, starting
upon October 16. It is, however, most imperfectly kept, and affords
little information. There is no reference to rough weather, and, indeed,
the state of the vessel’s paint and rigging excludes the idea that she
was abandoned for any such reason. She is perfectly watertight. No signs
of a struggle or of violence are to be detected, and there is absolutely
nothing to account for the disappearance of the crew. There are several
indications that a lady was present on board, a sewing-machine being
found in the cabin and some articles of female attire. These probably
belonged to the captain’s wife, who is mentioned in the log as having
accompanied her husband. As an instance of the mildness of the weather,
it may be remarked that a bobbin of silk was found standing upon
the sewing-machine, though the least roll of the vessel would have
precipitated it to the floor. The boats were intact and slung upon the
davits; and the cargo, consisting of tallow and American clocks, was
untouched. An old-fashioned sword of curious workmanship was discovered
among some lumber in the forecastle, and this weapon is said to exhibit
a longitudinal striation on the steel, as if it had been recently wiped.
It has been placed in the hands of the police, and submitted to Dr.
Monaghan, the analyst, for inspection. The result of his examination
has not yet been published. We may remark, in conclusion, that Captain
Dalton, of the Dei Gratia, an able and intelligent seaman, is of opinion
that the Marie Celeste may have been abandoned a considerable distance
from the spot at which she was picked up, since a powerful current runs
up in that latitude from the African coast. He confesses his inability,
however, to advance any hypothesis which can reconcile all the facts of
the case. In the utter absence of a clue or grain of evidence, it is to
be feared that the fate of the crew of the Marie Celeste will be added
to those numerous mysteries of the deep which will never be solved until
the great day when the sea shall give up its dead. If crime has been
committed, as is much to be suspected, there is little hope of bringing
the perpetrators to justice.”
I shall supplement this extract from the Gibraltar Gazette by quoting
a telegram from Boston, which went the round of the English papers, and
represented the total amount of information which had been collected
about the Marie Celeste. “She was,” it said, “a brigantine of 170 tons
burden, and belonged to White, Russell & White, wine importers, of this
city. Captain J. W. Tibbs was an old servant of the firm, and was a man
of known ability and tried probity. He was accompanied by his wife, aged
thirty-one, and their youngest child, five years old. The crew consisted
of seven hands, including two coloured seamen, and a boy. There were
three passengers, one of whom was the well-known Brooklyn specialist on
consumption, Dr. Habakuk Jephson, who was a distinguished advocate
for Abolition in the early days of the movement, and whose pamphlet,
entitled “Where is thy Brother?” exercised a strong influence on public
opinion before the war. The other passengers were Mr. J. Harton, a
writer in the employ of the firm, and Mr. Septimius Goring, a half-caste
gentleman, from New Orleans. All investigations have failed to throw
any light upon the fate of these fourteen human beings. The loss of Dr.
Jephson will be felt both in political and scientific circles.”
I have here epitomised, for the benefit of the public, all that has been
hitherto known concerning the Marie Celeste and her crew, for the past
ten years have not in any way helped to elucidate the mystery. I have
now taken up my pen with the intention of telling all that I know of the
ill-fated voyage. I consider that it is a duty which I owe to society,
for symptoms which I am familiar with in others lead me to believe
that before many months my tongue and hand may be alike incapable of
conveying information. Let me remark, as a preface to my narrative, that
I am Joseph Habakuk Jephson, Doctor of Medicine of the University
of Harvard, and ex-Consulting Physician of the Samaritan Hospital of
Brooklyn.
Many will doubtless wonder why I have not proclaimed myself before,
and why I have suffered so many conjectures and surmises to pass
unchallenged. Could the ends of justice have been served in any way by
my revealing the facts in my possession I should unhesitatingly have
done so. It seemed to me, however, that there was no possibility of such
a result; and when I attempted, after the occurrence, to state my case
to an English official, I was met with such offensive incredulity that
I determined never again to expose myself to the chance of such an
indignity. I can excuse the discourtesy of the Liverpool magistrate,
however, when I reflect upon the treatment which I received at the hands
of my own relatives, who, though they knew my unimpeachable character,
listened to my statement with an indulgent smile as if humouring the
delusion of a monomaniac. This slur upon my veracity led to a quarrel
between myself and John Vanburger, the brother of my wife, and
confirmed me in my resolution to let the matter sink into oblivion--a
determination which I have only altered through my son’s solicitations.
In order to make my narrative intelligible, I must run lightly over one
or two incidents in my former life which throw light upon subsequent
events.
My father, William K. Jephson, was a preacher of the sect called
Plymouth Brethren, and was one of the most respected citizens of Lowell.
Like most of the other Puritans of New England, he was a determined
opponent to slavery, and it was from his lips that I received those
lessons which tinged every action of my life. While I was studying
medicine at Harvard University, I had already made a mark as an advanced
Abolitionist; and when, after taking my degree, I bought a third share
of the practice of Dr. Willis, of Brooklyn, I managed, in spite of my
professional duties, to devote a considerable time to the cause which I
had at heart, my pamphlet, “Where is thy Brother?” (Swarburgh, Lister &
Co., 1859) attracting considerable attention.
When the war broke out I left Brooklyn and accompanied the 113th New
York Regiment through the campaign. I was present at the second battle
of Bull’s Run and at the battle of Gettysburg. Finally, I was severely
wounded at Antietam, and would probably have perished on the field had
it not been for the kindness of a gentleman named Murray, who had me
carried to his house and provided me with every comfort. Thanks to his
charity, and to the nursing which I received from his black domestics,
I was soon able to get about the plantation with the help of a stick. It
was during this period of convalescence that an incident occurred which
is closely connected with my story.
Among the most assiduous of the negresses who had watched my couch
during my illness there was one old crone who appeared to exert
considerable authority over the others. She was exceedingly attentive
to me, and I gathered from the few words that passed between us that
she had heard of me, and that she was grateful to me for championing her
oppressed race.
One day as I was sitting alone in the verandah, basking in the sun, and
debating whether I should rejoin Grant’s army, I was surprised to see
this old creature hobbling towards me. After looking cautiously around
to see that we were alone, she fumbled in the front of her dress and
produced a small chamois leather bag which was hung round her neck by a
white cord.
“Massa,” she said, bending down and croaking the words into my ear,
“me die soon. Me very old woman. Not stay long on Massa Murray’s
plantation.”
“You may live a long time yet, Martha,” I answered. “You know I am a
doctor. If you feel ill let me know about it, and I will try to cure
you.”
“No wish to live--wish to die. I’m gwine to join the heavenly host.”
Here she relapsed into one of those half-heathenish rhapsodies in which
negroes indulge. “But, massa, me have one thing must leave behind me
when I go. No able to take it with me across the Jordan. That one thing
very precious, more precious and more holy than all thing else in the
world. Me, a poor old black woman, have this because my people, very
great people, ‘spose they was back in the old country. But you cannot
understand this same as black folk could. My fader give it me, and his
fader give it him, but now who shall I give it to? Poor Martha hab no
child, no relation, nobody. All round I see black man very bad man.
Black woman very stupid woman. Nobody worthy of the stone. And so I say,
Here is Massa Jephson who write books and fight for coloured folk--he
must be good man, and he shall have it though he is white man, and
nebber can know what it mean or where it came from.” Here the old woman
fumbled in the chamois leather bag and pulled out a flattish black
stone with a hole through the middle of it. “Here, take it,” she said,
pressing it into my hand; “take it. No harm nebber come from anything
good. Keep it safe--nebber lose it!” and with a warning gesture the old
crone hobbled away in the same cautious way as she had come, looking
from side to side to see if we had been observed.
I was more amused than impressed by the old woman’s earnestness, and was
only prevented from laughing during her oration by the fear of hurting
her feelings. When she was gone I took a good look at the stone which
she had given me. It was intensely black, of extreme hardness, and oval
in shape--just such a flat stone as one would pick up on the seashore if
one wished to throw a long way. It was about three inches long, and an
inch and a half broad at the middle, but rounded off at the extremities.
The most curious part about it were several well-marked ridges which ran
in semicircles over its surface, and gave it exactly the appearance of a
human ear. Altogether I was rather interested in my new possession,
and determined to submit it, as a geological specimen, to my friend
Professor Shroeder of the New York Institute, upon the earliest
opportunity. In the meantime I thrust it into my pocket, and rising from
my chair started off for a short stroll in the shrubbery, dismissing the
incident from my mind.
As my wound had nearly healed by this time, I took my leave of Mr.
Murray shortly afterwards. The Union armies were everywhere victorious
and converging on Richmond, so that my assistance seemed unnecessary,
and I returned to Brooklyn. There I resumed my practice, and married the
second daughter of Josiah Vanburger, the well-known wood engraver. In
the course of a few years I built up a good connection and acquired
considerable reputation in the treatment of pulmonary complaints. I
still kept the old black stone in my pocket, and frequently told the
story of the dramatic way in which I had become possessed of it. I also
kept my resolution of showing it to Professor Shroeder, who was much
interested both by the anecdote and the specimen. He pronounced it to
be a piece of meteoric stone, and drew my attention to the fact that its
resemblance to an ear was not accidental, but that it was most carefully
worked into that shape. A dozen little anatomical points showed that the
worker had been as accurate as he was skilful. “I should not wonder,”
said the Professor, “if it were broken off from some larger statue,
though how such hard material could be so perfectly worked is more than
I can understand. If there is a statue to correspond I should like to
see it!” So I thought at the time, but I have changed my opinion since.
The next seven or eight years of my life were quiet and uneventful.
Summer followed spring, and spring followed winter, without any
variation in my duties. As the practice increased I admitted J. S.
Jackson as partner, he to have one-fourth of the profits. The continued
strain had told upon my constitution, however, and I became at last so
unwell that my wife insisted upon my consulting Dr. Kavanagh Smith, who
was my colleague at the Samaritan Hospital.
That gentleman examined me, and pronounced the apex of my left lung to
be in a state of consolidation, recommending me at the same time to go
through a course of medical treatment and to take a long sea-voyage.
My own disposition, which is naturally restless, predisposed me strongly
in favour of the latter piece of advice, and the matter was clinched
by my meeting young Russell, of the firm of White, Russell & White, who
offered me a passage in one of his father’s ships, the Marie Celeste,
which was just starting from Boston. “She is a snug little ship,” he
said, “and Tibbs, the captain, is an excellent fellow. There is nothing
like a sailing ship for an invalid.” I was very much of the same opinion
myself, so I closed with the offer on the spot.
My original plan was that my wife should accompany me on my travels.
She has always been a very poor sailor, however, and there were strong
family reasons against her exposing herself to any risk at the time, so
we determined that she should remain at home. I am not a religious or an
effusive man; but oh, thank God for that! As to leaving my practice, I
was easily reconciled to it, as Jackson, my partner, was a reliable and
hard-working man.
I arrived in Boston on October 12, 1873, and proceeded immediately to
the office of the firm in order to thank them for their courtesy. As
I was sitting in the counting-house waiting until they should be
at liberty to see me, the words Marie Celeste suddenly attracted my
attention. I looked round and saw a very tall, gaunt man, who was
leaning across the polished mahogany counter asking some questions of
the clerk at the other side. His face was turned half towards me, and
I could see that he had a strong dash of negro blood in him, being
probably a quadroon or even nearer akin to the black. His curved
aquiline nose and straight lank hair showed the white strain; but the
dark restless eye, sensuous mouth, and gleaming teeth all told of his
African origin. His complexion was of a sickly, unhealthy yellow, and as
his face was deeply pitted with small-pox, the general impression was so
unfavourable as to be almost revolting. When he spoke, however, it
was in a soft, melodious voice, and in well-chosen words, and he was
evidently a man of some education.
“I wished to ask a few questions about the Marie Celeste,” he repeated,
leaning across to the clerk. “She sails the day after to-morrow, does
she not?”
“Yes, sir,” said the young clerk, awed into unusual politeness by the
glimmer of a large diamond in the stranger’s shirt front.
“Where is she bound for?”
“Lisbon.”
“How many of a crew?”
“Seven, sir.”
“Passengers?”
“Yes, two. One of our young gentlemen, and a doctor from New York.”
“No gentleman from the South?” asked the stranger eagerly.
“No, none, sir.”
“Is there room for another passenger?”
“Accommodation for three more,” answered the clerk.
“I’ll go,” said the quadroon decisively; “I’ll go, I’ll engage my
passage at once. Put it down, will you--Mr. Septimius Goring, of New
Orleans.”
The clerk filled up a form and handed it over to the stranger, pointing
to a blank space at the bottom. As Mr. Goring stooped over to sign it
I was horrified to observe that the fingers of his right hand had been
lopped off, and that he was holding the pen between his thumb and the
palm. I have seen thousands slain in battle, and assisted at every
conceivable surgical operation, but I cannot recall any sight which gave
me such a thrill of disgust as that great brown sponge-like hand with
the single member protruding from it. He used it skilfully enough,
however, for, dashing off his signature, he nodded to the clerk and
strolled out of the office just as Mr. White sent out word that he was
ready to receive me.
I went down to the Marie Celeste that evening, and looked over my
berth, which was extremely comfortable considering the small size of the
vessel. Mr. Goring, whom I had seen in the morning, was to have the one
next mine. Opposite was the captain’s cabin and a small berth for Mr.
John Harton, a gentleman who was going out in the interests of the firm.
These little rooms were arranged on each side of the passage which led
from the main-deck to the saloon. The latter was a comfortable room,
the panelling tastefully done in oak and mahogany, with a rich
Brussels carpet and luxurious settees. I was very much pleased with the
accommodation, and also with Tibbs the captain, a bluff, sailor-like
fellow, with a loud voice and hearty manner, who welcomed me to the ship
with effusion, and insisted upon our splitting a bottle of wine in his
cabin. He told me that he intended to take his wife and youngest child
with him on the voyage, and that he hoped with good luck to make Lisbon
in three weeks. We had a pleasant chat and parted the best of friends,
he warning me to make the last of my preparations next morning, as he
intended to make a start by the midday tide, having now shipped all
his cargo. I went back to my hotel, where I found a letter from my wife
awaiting me, and, after a refreshing night’s sleep, returned to the
boat in the morning. From this point I am able to quote from the journal
which I kept in order to vary the monotony of the long sea-voyage. If
it is somewhat bald in places I can at least rely upon its accuracy in
details, as it was written conscientiously from day to day.
October 16.--Cast off our warps at half-past two and were towed out into
the bay, where the tug left us, and with all sail set we bowled along at
about nine knots an hour. I stood upon the poop watching the low land of
America sinking gradually upon the horizon until the evening haze hid it
from my sight. A single red light, however, continued to blaze balefully
behind us, throwing a long track like a trail of blood upon the water,
and it is still visible as I write, though reduced to a mere speck. The
Captain is in a bad humour, for two of his hands disappointed him at
the last moment, and he was compelled to ship a couple of negroes
who happened to be on the quay. The missing men were steady, reliable
fellows, who had been with him several voyages, and their non-appearance
puzzled as well as irritated him. Where a crew of seven men have to work
a fair-sized ship the loss of two experienced seamen is a serious one,
for though the negroes may take a spell at the wheel or swab the decks,
they are of little or no use in rough weather. Our cook is also a black
man, and Mr. Septimius Goring has a little darkie servant, so that we
are rather a piebald community. The accountant, John Harton, promises to
be an acquisition, for he is a cheery, amusing young fellow. Strange how
little wealth has to do with happiness! He has all the world before him
and is seeking his fortune in a far land, yet he is as transparently
happy as a man can be. Goring is rich, if I am not mistaken, and so am
I; but I know that I have a lung, and Goring has some deeper trouble
still, to judge by his features. How poorly do we both contrast with the
careless, penniless clerk!
October 17.--Mrs. Tibbs appeared upon deck for the first time this
morning--a cheerful, energetic woman, with a dear little child just able
to walk and prattle. Young Harton pounced on it at once, and carried
it away to his cabin, where no doubt he will lay the seeds of future
dyspepsia in the child’s stomach. Thus medicine doth make cynics of us
all! The weather is still all that could be desired, with a fine fresh
breeze from the west-sou’-west. The vessel goes so steadily that you
would hardly know that she was moving were it not for the creaking of
the cordage, the bellying of the sails, and the long white furrow in our
wake. Walked the quarter-deck all morning with the Captain, and I think
the keen fresh air has already done my breathing good, for the exercise
did not fatigue me in any way. Tibbs is a remarkably intelligent man,
and we had an interesting argument about Maury’s observations on ocean
currents, which we terminated by going down into his cabin to consult
the original work. There we found Goring, rather to the Captain’s
surprise, as it is not usual for passengers to enter that sanctum unless
specially invited. He apologised for his intrusion, however, pleading
his ignorance of the usages of ship life; and the good-natured sailor
simply laughed at the incident, begging him to remain and favour us with
his company. Goring pointed to the chronometers, the case of which
he had opened, and remarked that he had been admiring them. He has
evidently some practical knowledge of mathematical instruments, as he
told at a glance which was the most trustworthy of the three, and also
named their price within a few dollars. He had a discussion with the
Captain too upon the variation of the compass, and when we came back to
the ocean currents he showed a thorough grasp of the subject. Altogether
he rather improves upon acquaintance, and is a man of decided culture
and refinement. His voice harmonises with his conversation, and both are
the very antithesis of his face and figure.
The noonday observation shows that we have run two hundred and twenty
miles. Towards evening the breeze freshened up, and the first mate
ordered reefs to be taken in the topsails and top-gallant sails in
expectation of a windy night. I observe that the barometer has fallen to
twenty-nine. I trust our voyage will not be a rough one, as I am a poor
sailor, and my health would probably derive more harm than good from
a stormy trip, though I have the greatest confidence in the Captain’s
seamanship and in the soundness of the vessel. Played cribbage with Mrs.
Tibbs after supper, and Harton gave us a couple of tunes on the violin.
October 18.--The gloomy prognostications of last night were not
fulfilled, as the wind died away again, and we are lying now in a long
greasy swell, ruffled here and there by a fleeting catspaw which is
insufficient to fill the sails. The air is colder than it was yesterday,
and I have put on one of the thick woollen jerseys which my wife knitted
for me. Harton came into my cabin in the morning, and we had a cigar
together. He says that he remembers having seen Goring in Cleveland,
Ohio, in ‘69. He was, it appears, a mystery then as now, wandering
about without any visible employment, and extremely reticent on his own
affairs. The man interests me as a psychological study. At breakfast
this morning I suddenly had that vague feeling of uneasiness which comes
over some people when closely stared at, and, looking quickly up, I
met his eyes bent upon me with an intensity which amounted to ferocity,
though their expression instantly softened as he made some conventional
remark upon the weather. Curiously enough, Harton says that he had
a very similar experience yesterday upon deck. I observe that Goring
frequently talks to the coloured seamen as he strolls about--a trait
which I rather admire, as it is common to find half-breeds ignore their
dark strain and treat their black kinsfolk with greater intolerance than
a white man would do. His little page is devoted to him, apparently,
which speaks well for his treatment of him. Altogether, the man is a
curious mixture of incongruous qualities, and unless I am deceived in
him will give me food for observation during the voyage.
The Captain is grumbling about his chronometers, which do not register
exactly the same time. He says it is the first time that they have ever
disagreed. We were unable to get a noonday observation on account of the
haze. By dead reckoning, we have done about a hundred and seventy miles
in the twenty-four hours. The dark seamen have proved, as the skipper
prophesied, to be very inferior hands, but as they can both manage the
wheel well they are kept steering, and so leave the more experienced men
to work the ship. These details are trivial enough, but a small thing
serves as food for gossip aboard ship. The appearance of a whale in the
evening caused quite a flutter among us. From its sharp back and forked
tail, I should pronounce it to have been a rorqual, or “finner,” as they
are called by the fishermen.
October 19.--Wind was cold, so I prudently remained in my cabin all day,
only creeping out for dinner. Lying in my bunk I can, without moving,
reach my books, pipes, or anything else I may want, which is one
advantage of a small apartment. My old wound began to ache a little
to-day, probably from the cold. Read “Montaigne’s Essays” and nursed
myself. Harton came in in the afternoon with Doddy, the Captain’s child,
and the skipper himself followed, so that I held quite a reception.
October 20 and 21.--Still cold, with a continual drizzle of rain, and
I have not been able to leave the cabin. This confinement makes me feel
weak and depressed. Goring came in to see me, but his company did not
tend to cheer me up much, as he hardly uttered a word, but contented
himself with staring at me in a peculiar and rather irritating manner.
He then got up and stole out of the cabin without saying anything. I am
beginning to suspect that the man is a lunatic. I think I mentioned that
his cabin is next to mine. The two are simply divided by a thin wooden
partition which is cracked in many places, some of the cracks being
so large that I can hardly avoid, as I lie in my bunk, observing his
motions in the adjoining room. Without any wish to play the spy, I see
him continually stooping over what appears to be a chart and working
with a pencil and compasses. I have remarked the interest he displays
in matters connected with navigation, but I am surprised that he should
take the trouble to work out the course of the ship. However, it is a
harmless amusement enough, and no doubt he verifies his results by those
of the Captain.
I wish the man did not run in my thoughts so much. I had a nightmare on
the night of the 20th, in which I thought my bunk was a coffin, that I
was laid out in it, and that Goring was endeavouring to nail up the
lid, which I was frantically pushing away. Even when I woke up, I could
hardly persuade myself that I was not in a coffin. As a medical man, I
know that a nightmare is simply a vascular derangement of the cerebral
hemispheres, and yet in my weak state I cannot shake off the morbid
impression which it produces.
October 22.--A fine day, with hardly a cloud in the sky, and a fresh
breeze from the sou’-west which wafts us gaily on our way. There has
evidently been some heavy weather near us, as there is a tremendous
swell on, and the ship lurches until the end of the fore-yard nearly
touches the water. Had a refreshing walk up and down the quarter-deck,
though I have hardly found my sea-legs yet. Several small
birds--chaffinches, I think--perched in the rigging.
4.40 P.M.--While I was on deck this morning I heard a sudden explosion
from the direction of my cabin, and, hurrying down, found that I had
very nearly met with a serious accident. Goring was cleaning a revolver,
it seems, in his cabin, when one of the barrels which he thought was
unloaded went off. The ball passed through the side partition and
imbedded itself in the bulwarks in the exact place where my head usually
rests. I have been under fire too often to magnify trifles, but there is
no doubt that if I had been in the bunk it must have killed me. Goring,
poor fellow, did not know that I had gone on deck that day, and must
therefore have felt terribly frightened. I never saw such emotion in a
man’s face as when, on rushing out of his cabin with the smoking pistol
in his hand, he met me face to face as I came down from deck. Of
course, he was profuse in his apologies, though I simply laughed at the
incident.
11 P.M.--A misfortune has occurred so unexpected and so horrible that
my little escape of the morning dwindles into insignificance. Mrs. Tibbs
and her child have disappeared--utterly and entirely disappeared. I can
hardly compose myself to write the sad details.
About half-past eight Tibbs rushed into my cabin with a very white face
and asked me if I had seen his wife. I answered that I had not. He then
ran wildly into the saloon and began groping about for any trace of her,
while I followed him, endeavouring vainly to persuade him that his fears
were ridiculous. We hunted over the ship for an hour and a half without
coming on any sign of the missing woman or child. Poor Tibbs lost
his voice completely from calling her name. Even the sailors, who are
generally stolid enough, were deeply affected by the sight of him as
he roamed bareheaded and dishevelled about the deck, searching with
feverish anxiety the most impossible places, and returning to them again
and again with a piteous pertinacity. The last time she was seen was
about seven o’clock, when she took Doddy on to the poop to give him a
breath of fresh air before putting him to bed. There was no one there
at the time except the black seaman at the wheel, who denies having seen
her at all. The whole affair is wrapped in mystery. My own theory
is that while Mrs. Tibbs was holding the child and standing near the
bulwarks it gave a spring and fell overboard, and that in her convulsive
attempt to catch or save it, she followed it. I cannot account for the
double disappearance in any other way. It is quite feasible that such a
tragedy should be enacted without the knowledge of the man at the wheel,
since it was dark at the time, and the peaked skylights of the saloon
screen the greater part of the quarter-deck. Whatever the truth may be
it is a terrible catastrophe, and has cast the darkest gloom upon our
voyage. The mate has put the ship about, but of course there is not the
slightest hope of picking them up. The Captain is lying in a state of
stupor in his cabin. I gave him a powerful dose of opium in his coffee
that for a few hours at least his anguish may be deadened.
October 23.--Woke with a vague feeling of heaviness and misfortune, but
it was not until a few moments’ reflection that I was able to recall
our loss of the night before. When I came on deck I saw the poor skipper
standing gazing back at the waste of waters behind us which contains
everything dear to him upon earth. I attempted to speak to him, but he
turned brusquely away, and began pacing the deck with his head sunk upon
his breast. Even now, when the truth is so clear, he cannot pass a boat
or an unbent sail without peering under it. He looks ten years older
than he did yesterday morning. Harton is terribly cut up, for he was
fond of little Doddy, and Goring seems sorry too. At least he has shut
himself up in his cabin all day, and when I got a casual glance at him
his head was resting on his two hands as if in a melancholy reverie. I
fear we are about as dismal a crew as ever sailed. How shocked my wife
will be to hear of our disaster! The swell has gone down now, and we
are doing about eight knots with all sail set and a nice little breeze.
Hyson is practically in command of the ship, as Tibbs, though he does
his best to bear up and keep a brave front, is incapable of applying
himself to serious work.
October 24.--Is the ship accursed? Was there ever a voyage which began
so fairly and which changed so disastrously? Tibbs shot himself through
the head during the night. I was awakened about three o’clock in the
morning by an explosion, and immediately sprang out of bed and rushed
into the Captain’s cabin to find out the cause, though with a terrible
presentiment in my heart. Quickly as I went, Goring went more quickly
still, for he was already in the cabin stooping over the dead body of
the Captain. It was a hideous sight, for the whole front of his face
was blown in, and the little room was swimming in blood. The pistol was
lying beside him on the floor, just as it had dropped from his hand. He
had evidently put it to his mouth before pulling the trigger. Goring
and I picked him reverently up and laid him on his bed. The crew had all
clustered into his cabin, and the six white men were deeply grieved, for
they were old hands who had sailed with him many years. There were dark
looks and murmurs among them too, and one of them openly declared that
the ship was haunted. Harton helped to lay the poor skipper out, and
we did him up in canvas between us. At twelve o’clock the foreyard was
hauled aback, and we committed his body to the deep, Goring reading the
Church of England burial service. The breeze has freshened up, and we
have done ten knots all day and sometimes twelve. The sooner we reach
Lisbon and get away from this accursed ship the better pleased shall I
be. I feel as though we were in a floating coffin.
Little wonder that the poor sailors are superstitious when I, an
educated man, feel it so strongly.
October 25.--Made a good run all day. Feel listless and depressed.
October 26.--Goring, Harton, and I had a chat together on deck in the
morning. Harton tried to draw Goring out as to his profession, and his
object in going to Europe, but the quadroon parried all his questions
and gave us no information. Indeed, he seemed to be slightly offended
by Harton’s pertinacity, and went down into his cabin. I wonder why
we should both take such an interest in this man! I suppose it is his
striking appearance, coupled with his apparent wealth, which piques our
curiosity. Harton has a theory that he is really a detective, that he
is after some criminal who has got away to Portugal, and that he chooses
this peculiar way of travelling that he may arrive unnoticed and
pounce upon his quarry unawares. I think the supposition is rather a
far-fetched one, but Harton bases it upon a book which Goring left
on deck, and which he picked up and glanced over. It was a sort of
scrap-book it seems, and contained a large number of newspaper cuttings.
All these cuttings related to murders which had been committed at
various times in the States during the last twenty years or so. The
curious thing which Harton observed about them, however, was that they
were invariably murders the authors of which had never been brought
to justice. They varied in every detail, he says, as to the manner of
execution and the social status of the victim, but they uniformly wound
up with the same formula that the murderer was still at large, though,
of course, the police had every reason to expect his speedy capture.
Certainly the incident seems to support Harton’s theory, though it
may be a mere whim of Gorings, or, as I suggested to Harton, he may be
collecting materials for a book which shall outvie De Quincey. In any
case it is no business of ours.
October 27, 28.--Wind still fair, and we are making good progress.
Strange how easily a human unit may drop out of its place and be
forgotten! Tibbs is hardly ever mentioned now; Hyson has taken
possession of his cabin, and all goes on as before. Were it not for
Mrs. Tibbs’s sewing-machine upon a side-table we might forget that the
unfortunate family had ever existed. Another accident occurred on board
to-day, though fortunately not a very serious one. One of our white
hands had gone down the afterhold to fetch up a spare coil of rope, when
one of the hatches which he had removed came crashing down on the top of
him. He saved his life by springing out of the way, but one of his feet
was terribly crushed, and he will be of little use for the remainder of
the voyage. He attributes the accident to the carelessness of his negro
companion, who had helped him to shift the hatches. The latter, however,
puts it down to the roll of the ship. Whatever be the cause, it reduces
our shorthanded crew still further. This run of ill-luck seems to be
depressing Harton, for he has lost his usual good spirits and joviality.
Goring is the only one who preserves his cheerfulness. I see him still
working at his chart in his own cabin. His nautical knowledge would be
useful should anything happen to Hyson--which God forbid!
October 29, 30.--Still bowling along with a fresh breeze. All quiet and
nothing of note to chronicle.
October 31.--My weak lungs, combined with the exciting episodes of the
voyage, have shaken my nervous system so much that the most trivial
incident affects me. I can hardly believe that I am the same man who
tied the external iliac artery, an operation requiring the nicest
precision, under a heavy rifle fire at Antietam. I am as nervous as a
child. I was lying half dozing last night about four bells in the middle
watch trying in vain to drop into a refreshing sleep. There was no light
inside my cabin, but a single ray of moonlight streamed in through the
port-hole, throwing a silvery flickering circle upon the door. As I lay
I kept my drowsy eyes upon this circle, and was conscious that it was
gradually becoming less well-defined as my senses left me, when I was
suddenly recalled to full wakefulness by the appearance of a small
dark object in the very centre of the luminous disc. I lay quietly and
breathlessly watching it. Gradually it grew larger and plainer, and then
I perceived that it was a human hand which had been cautiously inserted
through the chink of the half-closed door--a hand which, as I observed
with a thrill of horror, was not provided with fingers. The door swung
cautiously backwards, and Goring’s head followed his hand. It appeared
in the centre of the moonlight, and was framed as it were in a ghastly
uncertain halo, against which his features showed out plainly. It seemed
to me that I had never seen such an utterly fiendish and merciless
expression upon a human face. His eyes were dilated and glaring, his
lips drawn back so as to show his white fangs, and his straight black
hair appeared to bristle over his low forehead like the hood of a cobra.
The sudden and noiseless apparition had such an effect upon me that I
sprang up in bed trembling in every limb, and held out my hand towards
my revolver. I was heartily ashamed of my hastiness when he explained
the object of his intrusion, as he immediately did in the most courteous
language. He had been suffering from toothache, poor fellow! and had
come in to beg some laudanum, knowing that I possessed a medicine chest.
As to a sinister expression he is never a beauty, and what with my state
of nervous tension and the effect of the shifting moonlight it was easy
to conjure up something horrible. I gave him twenty drops, and he went
off again with many expressions of gratitude. I can hardly say how much
this trivial incident affected me. I have felt unstrung all day.
A week’s record of our voyage is here omitted, as nothing eventful
occurred during the time, and my log consists merely of a few pages of
unimportant gossip.
November 7.--Harton and I sat on the poop all the morning, for the
weather is becoming very warm as we come into southern latitudes. We
reckon that we have done two-thirds of our voyage. How glad we shall
be to see the green banks of the Tagus, and leave this unlucky ship for
ever! I was endeavouring to amuse Harton to-day and to while away the
time by telling him some of the experiences of my past life. Among
others I related to him how I came into the possession of my black
stone, and as a finale I rummaged in the side pocket of my old shooting
coat and produced the identical object in question. He and I were
bending over it together, I pointing out to him the curious ridges upon
its surface, when we were conscious of a shadow falling between us and
the sun, and looking round saw Goring standing behind us glaring over
our shoulders at the stone. For some reason or other he appeared to be
powerfully excited, though he was evidently trying to control himself
and to conceal his emotion. He pointed once or twice at my relic with
his stubby thumb before he could recover himself sufficiently to ask
what it was and how I obtained it--a question put in such a brusque
manner that I should have been offended had I not known the man to be an
eccentric. I told him the story very much as I had told it to Harton. He
listened with the deepest interest, and then asked me if I had any idea
what the stone was. I said I had not, beyond that it was meteoric. He
asked me if I had ever tried its effect upon a negro. I said I had not.
“Come,” said he, “we’ll see what our black friend at the wheel thinks
of it.” He took the stone in his hand and went across to the sailor,
and the two examined it carefully. I could see the man gesticulating and
nodding his head excitedly as if making some assertion, while his face
betrayed the utmost astonishment, mixed I think with some reverence.
Goring came across the deck to us presently, still holding the stone in
his hand. “He says it is a worthless, useless thing,” he said, “and fit
only to be chucked overboard,” with which he raised his hand and would
most certainly have made an end of my relic, had the black sailor behind
him not rushed forward and seized him by the wrist. Finding himself
secured Goring dropped the stone and turned away with a very bad grace
to avoid my angry remonstrances at his breach of faith. The black
picked up the stone and handed it to me with a low bow and every sign of
profound respect. The whole affair is inexplicable. I am rapidly coming
to the conclusion that Goring is a maniac or something very near
one. When I compare the effect produced by the stone upon the sailor,
however, with the respect shown to Martha on the plantation, and the
surprise of Goring on its first production, I cannot but come to the
conclusion that I have really got hold of some powerful talisman which
appeals to the whole dark race. I must not trust it in Goring’s hands
again.
November 8, 9.--What splendid weather we are having! Beyond one little
blow, we have had nothing but fresh breezes the whole voyage. These two
days we have made better runs than any hitherto.
It is a pretty thing to watch the spray fly up from our prow as it cuts
through the waves. The sun shines through it and breaks it up into a
number of miniature rainbows--“sun-dogs,” the sailors call them. I stood
on the fo’csle-head for several hours to-day watching the effect, and
surrounded by a halo of prismatic colours.
The steersman has evidently told the other blacks about my wonderful
stone, for I am treated by them all with the greatest respect. Talking
about optical phenomena, we had a curious one yesterday evening which
was pointed out to me by Hyson. This was the appearance of a triangular
well-defined object high up in the heavens to the north of us. He
explained that it was exactly like the Peak of Teneriffe as seen from
a great distance--the peak was, however, at that moment at least five
hundred miles to the south. It may have been a cloud, or it may have
been one of those strange reflections of which one reads. The weather
is very warm. The mate says that he never knew it so warm in these
latitudes. Played chess with Harton in the evening.
November 10.--It is getting warmer and warmer. Some land birds came and
perched in the rigging today, though we are still a considerable way
from our destination. The heat is so great that we are too lazy to do
anything but lounge about the decks and smoke. Goring came over to me
to-day and asked me some more questions about my stone; but I answered
him rather shortly, for I have not quite forgiven him yet for the cool
way in which he attempted to deprive me of it.
November 11, 12.--Still making good progress. I had no idea Portugal was
ever as hot as this, but no doubt it is cooler on land. Hyson himself
seemed surprised at it, and so do the men.
November 13.--A most extraordinary event has happened, so extraordinary
as to be almost inexplicable. Either Hyson has blundered wonderfully,
or some magnetic influence has disturbed our instruments. Just about
daybreak the watch on the fo’csle-head shouted out that he heard the
sound of surf ahead, and Hyson thought he saw the loom of land. The ship
was put about, and, though no lights were seen, none of us doubted that
we had struck the Portuguese coast a little sooner than we had expected.
What was our surprise to see the scene which was revealed to us at break
of day! As far as we could look on either side was one long line of
surf, great, green billows rolling in and breaking into a cloud of foam.
But behind the surf what was there! Not the green banks nor the
high cliffs of the shores of Portugal, but a great sandy waste which
stretched away and away until it blended with the skyline. To right and
left, look where you would, there was nothing but yellow sand, heaped
in some places into fantastic mounds, some of them several hundred feet
high, while in other parts were long stretches as level apparently as a
billiard board. Harton and I, who had come on deck together, looked
at each other in astonishment, and Harton burst out laughing. Hyson
is exceedingly mortified at the occurrence, and protests that the
instruments have been tampered with. There is no doubt that this is the
mainland of Africa, and that it was really the Peak of Teneriffe which
we saw some days ago upon the northern horizon. At the time when we saw
the land birds we must have been passing some of the Canary Islands. If
we continued on the same course, we are now to the north of Cape Blanco,
near the unexplored country which skirts the great Sahara. All we can
do is to rectify our instruments as far as possible and start afresh for
our destination.
8.30 P.M.--Have been lying in a calm all day. The coast is now about a
mile and a half from us. Hyson has examined the instruments, but cannot
find any reason for their extraordinary deviation.
This is the end of my private journal, and I must make the remainder of
my statement from memory. There is little chance of my being mistaken
about facts which have seared themselves into my recollection. That very
night the storm which had been brewing so long burst over us, and I came
to learn whither all those little incidents were tending which I had
recorded so aimlessly. Blind fool that I was not to have seen it sooner!
I shall tell what occurred as precisely as I can.
I had gone into my cabin about half-past eleven, and was preparing to go
to bed, when a tap came at my door. On opening it I saw Goring’s little
black page, who told me that his master would like to have a word with
me on deck. I was rather surprised that he should want me at such a late
hour, but I went up without hesitation. I had hardly put my foot on the
quarter-deck before I was seized from behind, dragged down upon my back,
and a handkerchief slipped round my mouth. I struggled as hard as I
could, but a coil of rope was rapidly and firmly wound round me, and I
found myself lashed to the davit of one of the boats, utterly powerless
to do or say anything, while the point of a knife pressed to my throat
warned me to cease my struggles. The night was so dark that I had
been unable hitherto to recognise my assailants, but as my eyes became
accustomed to the gloom, and the moon broke out through the clouds that
obscured it, I made out that I was surrounded by the two negro sailors,
the black cook, and my fellow-passenger Goring. Another man was
crouching on the deck at my feet, but he was in the shadow and I could
not recognise him.
All this occurred so rapidly that a minute could hardly have elapsed
from the time I mounted the companion until I found myself gagged and
powerless. It was so sudden that I could scarce bring myself to realise
it, or to comprehend what it all meant. I heard the gang round me
speaking in short, fierce whispers to each other, and some instinct told
me that my life was the question at issue. Goring spoke authoritatively
and angrily--the others doggedly and all together, as if disputing his
commands. Then they moved away in a body to the opposite side of
the deck, where I could still hear them whispering, though they were
concealed from my view by the saloon skylights.
All this time the voices of the watch on deck chatting and laughing at
the other end of the ship were distinctly audible, and I could see them
gathered in a group, little dreaming of the dark doings which were going
on within thirty yards of them. Oh! that I could have given them one
word of warning, even though I had lost my life in doing it! but it was
impossible. The moon was shining fitfully through the scattered clouds,
and I could see the silvery gleam of the surge, and beyond it the vast
weird desert with its fantastic sand-hills. Glancing down, I saw that
the man who had been crouching on the deck was still lying there, and
as I gazed at him, a flickering ray of moonlight fell full upon his
upturned face. Great Heaven! even now, when more than twelve years
have elapsed, my hand trembles as I write that, in spite of distorted
features and projecting eyes, I recognised the face of Harton, the
cheery young clerk who had been my companion during the voyage. It
needed no medical eye to see that he was quite dead, while the twisted
handkerchief round the neck, and the gag in his mouth, showed the
silent way in which the hell-hounds had done their work. The clue which
explained every event of our voyage came upon me like a flash of light
as I gazed on poor Harton’s corpse. Much was dark and unexplained, but I
felt a great dim perception of the truth.
I heard the striking of a match at the other side of the skylights, and
then I saw the tall, gaunt figure of Goring standing up on the bulwarks
and holding in his hands what appeared to be a dark lantern. He lowered
this for a moment over the side of the ship, and, to my inexpressible
astonishment, I saw it answered instantaneously by a flash among the
sand-hills on shore, which came and went so rapidly, that unless I
had been following the direction of Goring’s gaze, I should never have
detected it. Again he lowered the lantern, and again it was answered
from the shore. He then stepped down from the bulwarks, and in doing so
slipped, making such a noise, that for a moment my heart bounded with
the thought that the attention of the watch would be directed to
his proceedings. It was a vain hope. The night was calm and the ship
motionless, so that no idea of duty kept them vigilant. Hyson, who after
the death of Tibbs was in command of both watches, had gone below to
snatch a few hours’ sleep, and the boatswain who was left in charge was
standing with the other two men at the foot of the foremast. Powerless,
speechless, with the cords cutting into my flesh and the murdered man at
my feet, I awaited the next act in the tragedy.
The four ruffians were standing up now at the other side of the deck.
The cook was armed with some sort of a cleaver, the others had knives,
and Goring had a revolver. They were all leaning against the rail and
looking out over the water as if watching for something. I saw one of
them grasp another’s arm and point as if at some object, and following
the direction I made out the loom of a large moving mass making towards
the ship. As it emerged from the gloom I saw that it was a great canoe
crammed with men and propelled by at least a score of paddles. As it
shot under our stern the watch caught sight of it also, and raising
a cry hurried aft. They were too late, however. A swarm of gigantic
negroes clambered over the quarter, and led by Goring swept down the
deck in an irresistible torrent. All opposition was overpowered in a
moment, the unarmed watch were knocked over and bound, and the sleepers
dragged out of their bunks and secured in the same manner.
Hyson made an attempt to defend the narrow passage leading to his cabin,
and I heard a scuffle, and his voice shouting for assistance. There
was none to assist, however, and he was brought on to the poop with the
blood streaming from a deep cut in his forehead. He was gagged like the
others, and a council was held upon our fate by the negroes. I saw our
black seamen pointing towards me and making some statement, which was
received with murmurs of astonishment and incredulity by the savages.
One of them then came over to me, and plunging his hand into my pocket
took out my black stone and held it up. He then handed it to a man who
appeared to be a chief, who examined it as minutely as the light would
permit, and muttering a few words passed it on to the warrior beside
him, who also scrutinised it and passed it on until it had gone from
hand to hand round the whole circle. The chief then said a few words
to Goring in the native tongue, on which the quadroon addressed me in
English. At this moment I seem to see the scene. The tall masts of the
ship with the moonlight streaming down, silvering the yards and bringing
the network of cordage into hard relief; the group of dusky warriors
leaning on their spears; the dead man at my feet; the line of
white-faced prisoners, and in front of me the loathsome half-breed,
looking in his white linen and elegant clothes a strange contrast to his
associates.
“You will bear me witness,” he said in his softest accents, “that I am
no party to sparing your life. If it rested with me you would die as
these other men are about to do. I have no personal grudge against
either you or them, but I have devoted my life to the destruction of the
white race, and you are the first that has ever been in my power and has
escaped me. You may thank that stone of yours for your life. These poor
fellows reverence it, and indeed if it really be what they think it
is they have cause. Should it prove when we get ashore that they are
mistaken, and that its shape and material is a mere chance, nothing can
save your life. In the meantime we wish to treat you well, so if there
are any of your possessions which you would like to take with you, you
are at liberty to get them.” As he finished he gave a sign, and a couple
of the negroes unbound me, though without removing the gag. I was
led down into the cabin, where I put a few valuables into my pockets,
together with a pocket-compass and my journal of the voyage. They then
pushed me over the side into a small canoe, which was lying beside the
large one, and my guards followed me, and shoving off began paddling for
the shore. We had got about a hundred yards or so from the ship when
our steersman held up his hand, and the paddlers paused for a moment
and listened. Then on the silence of the night I heard a sort of dull,
moaning sound, followed by a succession of splashes in the water. That
is all I know of the fate of my poor shipmates. Almost immediately
afterwards the large canoe followed us, and the deserted ship was left
drifting about--a dreary, spectre-like hulk. Nothing was taken from her
by the savages. The whole fiendish transaction was carried through as
decorously and temperately as though it were a religious rite.
The first grey of daylight was visible in the east as we passed through
the surge and reached the shore. Leaving half-a-dozen men with the
canoes, the rest of the negroes set off through the sand-hills, leading
me with them, but treating me very gently and respectfully. It was
difficult walking, as we sank over our ankles into the loose, shifting
sand at every step, and I was nearly dead beat by the time we reached
the native village, or town rather, for it was a place of considerable
dimensions. The houses were conical structures not unlike bee-hives,
and were made of compressed seaweed cemented over with a rude form of
mortar, there being neither stick nor stone upon the coast nor anywhere
within many hundreds of miles. As we entered the town an enormous crowd
of both sexes came swarming out to meet us, beating tom-toms and howling
and screaming. On seeing me they redoubled their yells and assumed a
threatening attitude, which was instantly quelled by a few words shouted
by my escort. A buzz of wonder succeeded the war-cries and yells of the
moment before, and the whole dense mass proceeded down the broad central
street of the town, having my escort and myself in the centre.
My statement hitherto may seem so strange as to excite doubt in the
minds of those who do not know me, but it was the fact which I am now
about to relate which caused my own brother-in-law to insult me by
disbelief. I can but relate the occurrence in the simplest words, and
trust to chance and time to prove their truth. In the centre of this
main street there was a large building, formed in the same primitive way
as the others, but towering high above them; a stockade of beautifully
polished ebony rails was planted all round it, the framework of the door
was formed by two magnificent elephant’s tusks sunk in the ground on
each side and meeting at the top, and the aperture was closed by a
screen of native cloth richly embroidered with gold. We made our way
to this imposing-looking structure, but, on reaching the opening in the
stockade, the multitude stopped and squatted down upon their hams, while
I was led through into the enclosure by a few of the chiefs and
elders of the tribe, Goring accompanying us, and in fact directing the
proceedings. On reaching the screen which closed the temple--for such it
evidently was--my hat and my shoes were removed, and I was then led in,
a venerable old negro leading the way carrying in his hand my stone,
which had been taken from my pocket. The building was only lit up by
a few long slits in the roof, through which the tropical sun poured,
throwing broad golden bars upon the clay floor, alternating with
intervals of darkness.
The interior was even larger than one would have imagined from the
outside appearance. The walls were hung with native mats, shells, and
other ornaments, but the remainder of the great space was quite empty,
with the exception of a single object in the centre. This was the figure
of a colossal negro, which I at first thought to be some real king or
high priest of titanic size, but as I approached it I saw by the way in
which the light was reflected from it that it was a statue admirably cut
in jet-black stone. I was led up to this idol, for such it seemed to be,
and looking at it closer I saw that though it was perfect in every other
respect, one of its ears had been broken short off. The grey-haired
negro who held my relic mounted upon a small stool, and stretching up
his arm fitted Martha’s black stone on to the jagged surface on the side
of the statue’s head. There could not be a doubt that the one had been
broken off from the other. The parts dovetailed together so accurately
that when the old man removed his hand the ear stuck in its place for
a few seconds before dropping into his open palm. The group round
me prostrated themselves upon the ground at the sight with a cry of
reverence, while the crowd outside, to whom the result was communicated,
set up a wild whooping and cheering.
In a moment I found myself converted from a prisoner into a demi-god.
I was escorted back through the town in triumph, the people pressing
forward to touch my clothing and to gather up the dust on which my foot
had trod. One of the largest huts was put at my disposal, and a banquet
of every native delicacy was served me. I still felt, however, that I
was not a free man, as several spearmen were placed as a guard at the
entrance of my hut. All day my mind was occupied with plans of escape,
but none seemed in any way feasible. On the one side was the great arid
desert stretching away to Timbuctoo, on the other was a sea untraversed
by vessels. The more I pondered over the problem the more hopeless did
it seem.