And that was the beginning of it.
The next day, I kept a pretty close watch, during all my time on deck;
but the atmosphere remained clear. Yet, I heard from one of the chaps in
the Mate's watch, that it had been hazy during part of the time he was
at the wheel.
"Comin' an' goin', like," he described it to me, when I questioned him
about it. He thought it might be heat.
But though I knew otherwise, I did not contradict him. At that time, no
one, not even Plummer, seemed to think very much of the matter. And when
I mentioned it to Tammy, and asked him whether he'd noticed it, he only
remarked that it must have been heat, or else the sun drawing up water.
I let it stay at that; for there was nothing to be gained by suggesting
that the thing had more to it.
Then, on the following day, something happened that set me wondering
more than ever, and showed me how right I had been in feeling the mist
to be something unnatural. It was in this way.
Five bells, in the eight to twelve morning watch, had gone. I was at the
wheel. The sky was perfectly clear--not a cloud to be seen, even on the
horizon. It was hot, standing at the wheel; for there was scarcely any
wind, and I was feeling drowsy. The Second Mate was down on the maindeck
with the men, seeing about some job he wanted done; so that I was on the
poop alone.
Presently, with the heat, and the sun beating right down on to me, I
grew thirsty; and, for want of something better, I pulled out a bit of
plug I had on me, and bit off a chew; though, as a rule, it is not a
habit of mine. After a little, naturally enough, I glanced round for the
spittoon; but discovered that it was not there. Probably it had been
taken forrard when the decks were washed, to give it a scrub. So, as
there was no one on the poop, I left the wheel, and stepped aft to the
taffrail. It was thus that I came to see something altogether unthought
of--a full-rigged ship, close-hauled on the port tack, a few hundred
yards on our starboard quarter. Her sails were scarcely filled by the
light breeze, and flapped as she lifted to the swell of the sea. She
appeared to have very little way through the water, certainly not more
than a knot an hour. Away aft, hanging from the gaff-end, was a string
of flags. Evidently, she was signalling to us. All this, I saw in a
flash, and I just stood and stared, astonished. I was astonished because
I had not seen her earlier. In that light breeze, I knew that she must
have been in sight for at least a couple of hours. Yet I could think of
nothing rational to satisfy my wonder. There she was--of that much, I
was certain. And yet, how had she come there without my seeing her,
before?
All at once, as I stood, staring, I heard the wheel behind me, spin
rapidly. Instinctively, I jumped to get hold of the spokes; for I did
not want the steering gear jammed. Then I turned again to have another
look at the other ship; but, to my utter bewilderment, _there was no
sign of her_--nothing but the calm ocean, spreading away to the distant
horizon. I blinked my eyelids a bit, and pushed the hair off my
forehead. Then, I stared again; but there was no vestige of her--
nothing, you know; and absolutely nothing unusual, except a faint,
tremulous quiver in the air. And the blank surface of the sea reaching
everywhere to the empty horizon.
Had she foundered? I asked myself, naturally enough; and, for the
moment, I really wondered. I searched round the sea for wreckage; but
there was nothing, not even an odd hen-coop, or a piece of deck
furniture; and so I threw away that idea, as impossible.
Then, as I stood, I got another thought, or, perhaps, an intuition and I
asked myself seriously whether this disappearing ship might not be in
some way connected with the other queer things. It occurred to me then,
that the vessel I had seen was nothing real, and, perhaps, did not exist
outside of my own brain. I considered the idea, gravely. It helped to
explain the thing, and I could think of nothing else that would. Had she
been real, I felt sure that others aboard us would have been bound to
have seen her long before I had--I got a bit muddled there, with trying
to think it out; and then, abruptly, the reality of the other ship, came
back to me--every rope and sail and spar, you know. And I remembered how
she had lifted to the heave of the sea, and how the sails had flapped in
the light breeze. And the string of flags! She had been signalling. At
that last, I found it just as impossible to believe that she had not
been real.
I had reached to this point of irresolution, and was standing with my
back, partly turned to the wheel. I was holding it steady with my left
hand, while I looked over the sea, to try to find something to help me
to understand.
All at once, as I stared, I seemed to see the ship again.
She was more on the beam now, than on the quarter; but I thought little
of that, in the astonishment of seeing her once more. It was only a
glimpse, I caught of her--dim and wavering, as though I looked at her
through the convolutions of heated air. Then she grew indistinct, and
vanished again; but I was convinced now that she was real, and had been
in sight all the time, if I could have seen her. That curious, dim,
wavering appearance had suggested something to me. I remembered the
strange, wavy look of the air, a few days previously, just before the
mist had surrounded the ship. And in my mind, I connected the two. It
was nothing about the other packet that was strange. The strangeness was
with us. It was something that was about (or invested) our ship that
prevented me--or indeed, any one else aboard from seeing that other. It
was evident that she had been able to see us, as was proved by her
signalling. In an irrelevant sort of way, I wondered what the people
aboard of her thought of our apparently intentional disregard of their
signals.
After that, I thought of the strangeness of it all. Even at that minute,
they could see us, plainly; and yet, so far as we were concerned, the
whole ocean seemed empty. It appeared to me, at that time, to be the
weirdest thing that could happen to us.
And then a fresh thought came to me. How long had we been like that? I
puzzled for a few moments. It was now that I recollected that we had
sighted several vessels on the morning of the day when the mist
appeared; and since then, we had seen nothing. This, to say the least,
should have struck me as queer; for some of the other packets were
homeward bound along with us, and steering the same course.
Consequently, with the weather being fine, and the wind next to nothing,
they should have been in sight all the time. This reasoning seemed to me
to show, unmistakably, some connection between the coming of the mist,
and our inability to _see_. So that it is possible we had been in that
extraordinary state of blindness for nearly three days.
In my mind, the last glimpse of that ship on the quarter, came back to
me. And, I remember, a curious thought got me, that I had looked at her
from out of some other dimension. For a while, you know, I really
believed the mystery of the idea, and that it might be the actual truth,
took me; instead of my realising just all that it might mean. It seemed
so exactly to express all the half-defined thoughts that had come, since
seeing that other packet on the quarter.
Suddenly, behind me, there came a rustle and rattle of the sails; and,
in the same instant, I heard the Skipper saying:
"Where the devil have you got her to, Jessop?"