candlestick, elaborately engraved, which appeared to be as old as the
box itself. Its rich yellow tone and artistic shape suggested that it
was an object of value. For the rest there was nothing more weighty or
valuable than dust in the old striped treasure-chest.
"Well, I'm blessed!" cried Allardyce, staring blankly into it. "Where
does the weight come in, then?"
"Look at the thickness of the sides and look at the lid. Why, it's five
inches through. And see that great metal spring across it."
"That's for holding the lid up," said the mate. "You see, it won't lean
back. What's that German printing on the inside?"
"It means that it was made by Johann Rothstein of Augsburg, in 1606."
"And a solid bit of work, too. But it doesn't throw much light on what
has passed, does it, Captain Barclay? That candlestick looks like gold.
We shall have something for our trouble after all."
He leant forward to grasp it, and from that moment I have never doubted
as to the reality of inspiration, for on the instant I caught him by the
collar and pulled him straight again. It may have been some story of the
Middle Ages which had come back to my mind, or it may have been that my
eye had caught some red which was not that of rust upon the upper part
of the lock, but to him and to me it will always seem an inspiration, so
prompt and sudden was my action.
"There's devilry here," said I. "Give me the crooked stick from the
corner."
It was an ordinary walking-cane with a hooked top. I passed it over the
candlestick and gave it a pull. With a flash a row of polished steel
fangs shot out from below the upper lip, and the great striped chest
snapped at us like a wild animal. Clang came the huge lid into its
place, and the glasses on the swinging rack sang and tinkled with the
shock. The mate sat down on the edge of the table, and shivered like a
frightened horse.
"You've saved my life, Captain Barclay!" said he.
So this was the secret of the striped treasure-chest of old Don Ramirez
di Leyra, and this was how he preserved his ill-gotten gains from the
Terra Firma and the Province of Veraquas. Be the thief ever so cunning
he could not tell that golden candlestick from the other articles of
value, and the instant that he laid hand upon it the terrible spring was
unloosed and the murderous steel spikes were driven into his brain,
while the shock of the blow sent the victim backwards and enabled the
chest to automatically close itself. How many, I wondered, had fallen
victims to the ingenuity of the Mechanic of Augsburg. And as I thought
of the possible history of that grim striped chest my resolution was
very quickly taken.
"Carpenter, bring three men and carry this on deck."
"Going to throw it overboard, sir?"
"Yes, Mr. Allardyce. I'm not superstitious as a rule, but there are some
things which are more than a sailor can be called upon to stand."
"No wonder that brig made heavy weather, Captain Barclay, with such a
thing on board. The glass is dropping fast, sir, and we are only just in
time."
So we did not even wait for the three sailors, but we carried it out,
the mate, the carpenter, and I, and we pushed it with our own hands over
the bulwarks. There was a white spout of water, and it was gone. There
it lies, the striped chest, a thousand fathoms deep, and if, as they
say, the sea will some day be dry land, I grieve for the man who finds
that old box and tries to penetrate into its secret.
VIII
THE CAPTAIN OF THE "POLESTAR"
(BEING AN EXTRACT FROM THE SINGULAR JOURNAL OF JOHN M'ALISTER RAY,
STUDENT OF MEDICINE.)
_September 11th._--Lat. 81 deg. 40' N.; long. 2 deg. E. Still lying-to amid
enormous ice fields. The one which stretches away to the north of us,
and to which our ice-anchor is attached, cannot be smaller than an
English county. To the right and left unbroken sheets extend to the
horizon. This morning the mate reported that there were signs of pack
ice to the southward. Should this form of sufficient thickness to bar
our return, we shall be in a position of danger, as the food, I hear, is
already running somewhat short. It is late in the season, and the nights
are beginning to reappear. This morning I saw a star twinkling just over
the fore-yard, the first since the beginning of May. There is
considerable discontent among the crew, many of whom are anxious to get
back home to be in time for the herring season, when labour always
commands a high price upon the Scotch coast. As yet their displeasure is
only signified by sullen countenances and black looks, but I heard from
the second mate this afternoon that they contemplated sending a
deputation to the Captain to explain their grievance. I much doubt how
he will receive it, as he is a man of fierce temper, and very sensitive
about anything approaching to an infringement of his rights. I shall
venture after dinner to say a few words to him upon the subject. I have
always found that he will tolerate from me what he would resent from any
other member of the crew. Amsterdam Island, at the north-west corner of
Spitzbergen, is visible upon our starboard quarter--a rugged line of
volcanic rocks, intersected by white seams, which represent glaciers. It
is curious to think that at the present moment there is probably no
human being nearer to us than the Danish settlements in the south of
Greenland--a good nine hundred miles as the crow flies. A captain takes
a great responsibility upon himself when he risks his vessel under such
circumstances. No whaler has ever remained in these latitudes till so
advanced a period of the year.
9 P.M.--I have spoken to Captain Craigie, and though the result has been
hardly satisfactory, I am bound to say that he listened to what I had to
say very quietly and even deferentially. When I had finished he put on
that air of iron determination which I have frequently observed upon his
face, and paced rapidly backwards and forwards across the narrow cabin
for some minutes. At first I feared that I had seriously offended him,
but he dispelled the idea by sitting down again, and putting his hand
upon my arm with a gesture which almost amounted to a caress. There was
a depth of tenderness too in his wild dark eyes which surprised me
considerably. "Look here, Doctor," he said, "I'm sorry I ever took
you--I am indeed--and I would give fifty pounds this minute to see you
standing safe upon the Dundee quay. It's hit or miss with me this time.
There are fish to the north of us. How dare you shake your head, sir,
when I tell you I saw them blowing from the mast-head?"--this in a
sudden burst of fury, though I was not conscious of having shown any
signs of doubt. "Two-and-twenty fish in as many minutes as I am a
living man, and not one under ten foot.[1] Now, doctor, do you think I
can leave the country when there is only one infernal strip of ice
between me and my fortune? If it came on to blow from the north
to-morrow we could fill the ship and be away before the frost could
catch us. If it came on to blow from the south--well, I suppose the men
are paid for risking their lives, and as for myself it matters but
little to me, for I have more to bind me to the other world than to this
one. I confess that I am sorry for _you_, though. I wish I had old Angus
Tait who was with me last voyage, for he was a man that would never be
missed, and you--you said once that you were engaged, did you not?"
[Footnote 1: A whale is measured among whalers not by the length of its
body, but by the length of its whalebone.]
"Yes," I answered, snapping the spring of the locket which hung from my
watch-chain, and holding up the little vignette of Flora.
"Curse you!" he yelled, springing out of his seat, with his very beard
bristling with passion. "What is your happiness to me? What have I to do
with her that you must dangle her photograph before my eyes?" I almost
thought that he was about to strike me in the frenzy of his rage, but
with another imprecation he dashed open the door of the cabin and rushed
out upon deck, leaving me considerably astonished at his extraordinary
violence. It is the first time that he has ever shown me anything but
courtesy and kindness. I can hear him pacing excitedly up and down
overhead as I write these lines.
I should like to give a sketch of the character of this man, but it
seems presumptuous to attempt such a thing upon paper, when the idea in
my own mind is at best a vague and uncertain one. Several times I have
thought that I grasped the clue which might explain it, but only to be
disappointed by his presenting himself in some new light which would
upset all my conclusions. It may be that no human eye but my own shall
ever rest upon these lines, yet as a psychological study I shall attempt
to leave some record of Captain Nicholas Craigie.
A man's outer case generally gives some indication of the soul within.
The Captain is tall and well-formed, with dark, handsome face, and a
curious way of twitching his limbs, which may arise from nervousness, or
be simply an outcome of his excessive energy. His jaw and whole cast of
countenance is manly and resolute, but the eyes are the distinctive
feature of his face. They are of the very darkest hazel, bright and
eager, with a singular mixture of recklessness in their expression, and
of something else which I have sometimes thought was more allied with
horror than any other emotion. Generally the former predominated, but on
occasions, and more particularly when he was thoughtfully inclined, the
look of fear would spread and deepen until it imparted a new character
to his whole countenance. It is at these times that he is most subject
to tempestuous fits of anger, and he seems to be aware of it, for I have
known him lock himself up so that no one might approach him until his
dark hour was passed. He sleeps badly, and I have heard him shouting
during the night, but his cabin is some little distance from mine, and I
could never distinguish the words which he said.
This is one phase of his character, and the most disagreeable one. It is
only through my close association with him, thrown together as we are
day after day, that I have observed it. Otherwise he is an agreeable
companion, well-read and entertaining, and as gallant a seaman as ever
trod a deck. I shall not easily forget the way in which he handled the
ship when we were caught by a gale among the loose ice at the beginning
of April. I have never seen him so cheerful, and even hilarious, as he
was that night, as he paced backwards and forwards upon the bridge amid
the flashing of the lightning and the howling of the wind. He has told
me several times that the thought of death was a pleasant one to him,
which is a sad thing for a young man to say; he cannot be much more than
thirty, though his hair and moustache are already slightly grizzled.
Some great sorrow must have overtaken him and blighted his whole life.
Perhaps I should be the same if I lost my Flora--God knows! I think if
it were not for her that I should care very little whether the wind blew
from the north or the south to-morrow. There, I hear him come down the
companion, and he has locked himself up in his room, which shows that he
is still in an unamiable mood. And so to bed, as old Pepys would say,
for the candle is burning down (we have to use them now since the nights
are closing in), and the steward has turned in, so there are no hopes of
another one.
_September 12th._--Calm, clear day, and still lying in the same
position. What wind there is comes from the south-east, but it is very
slight. Captain is in a better humour, and apologised to me at
breakfast for his rudeness. He still looks somewhat distrait, however,
and retains that wild look in his eyes which in a Highlander would mean
that he was "fey"--at least so our chief engineer remarked to me, and he
has some reputation among the Celtic portion of our crew as a seer and
expounder of omens.
It is strange that superstition should have obtained such mastery over
this hard-headed and practical race. I could not have believed to what
an extent it is carried had I not observed it for myself. We have had a
perfect epidemic of it this voyage, until I have felt inclined to serve
out rations of sedatives and nerve-tonics with the Saturday allowance of
grog. The first symptom of it was that shortly after leaving Shetland
the men at the wheel used to complain that they heard plaintive cries
and screams in the wake of the ship, as if something were following it
and were unable to overtake it. This fiction has been kept up during the
whole voyage, and on dark nights at the beginning of the seal-fishing it
was only with great difficulty that men could be induced to do their
spell. No doubt what they heard was either the creaking of the
rudder-chains, or the cry of some passing sea-bird. I have been fetched
out of bed several times to listen to it, but I need hardly say that I
was never able to distinguish anything unnatural. The men, however, are
so absurdly positive upon the subject that it is hopeless to argue with
them. I mentioned the matter to the Captain once, but to my surprise he
took it very gravely, and indeed appeared to be considerably disturbed
by what I told him. I should have thought that he at least would have
been above such vulgar delusions.
All this disquisition upon superstition leads me up to the fact that
Mr. Manson, our second mate, saw a ghost last night--or, at least, says
that he did, which of course is the same thing. It is quite refreshing
to have some new topic of conversation after the eternal routine of
bears and whales which has served us for so many months. Manson swears
the ship is haunted, and that he would not stay in her a day if he had
any other place to go to. Indeed the fellow is honestly frightened, and
I had to give him some chloral and bromide of potassium this morning to
steady him down. He seemed quite indignant when I suggested that he had
been having an extra glass the night before, and I was obliged to pacify
him by keeping as grave a countenance as possible during his story,
which he certainly narrated in a very straightforward and matter-of-fact
way.
"I was on the bridge," he said, "about four bells in the middle watch,
just when the night was at its darkest. There was a bit of a moon, but
the clouds were blowing across it so that you couldn't see far from the
ship. John M'Leod, the harpooner, came aft from the fo'c'sle-head and
reported a strange noise on the starboard bow. I went forrard and we
both heard it, sometimes like a bairn crying and sometimes like a wench
in pain. I've been seventeen years to the country and I never heard
seal, old or young, make a sound like that. As we were standing there on
the fo'c'sle-head the moon came out from behind a cloud, and we both saw
a sort of white figure moving across the ice field in the same direction
that we had heard the cries. We lost sight of it for a while, but it
came back on the port bow, and we could just make it out like a shadow
on the ice. I sent a hand aft for the rifles, and M'Leod and I went
down on to the pack, thinking that maybe it might be a bear. When we
got on the ice I lost sight of M'Leod, but I pushed on in the direction
where I could still hear the cries. I followed them for a mile or maybe
more, and then running round a hummock I came right on to the top of it
standing and waiting for me seemingly. I don't know what it was. It
wasn't a bear, anyway. It was tall and white and straight, and if it
wasn't a man nor a woman, I'll stake my davy it was something worse. I
made for the ship as hard as I could run, and precious glad I was to
find myself aboard. I signed articles to do my duty by the ship, and on
the ship I'll stay, but you don't catch me on the ice again after
sundown."
That is his story, given as far as I can in his own words. I fancy what
he saw must, in spite of his denial, have been a young bear erect upon
its hind legs, an attitude which they often assume when alarmed. In the
uncertain light this would bear a resemblance to a human figure,
especially to a man whose nerves were already somewhat shaken. Whatever
it may have been, the occurrence is unfortunate, for it has produced a
most unpleasant effect upon the crew. Their looks are more sullen than
before, and their discontent more open. The double grievance of being
debarred from the herring fishing and of being detained in what they
choose to call a haunted vessel, may lead them to do something rash.
Even the harpooners, who are the oldest and steadiest among them, are
joining in the general agitation.
Apart from this absurd outbreak of superstition, things are looking
rather more cheerful. The pack which was forming to the south of us has
partly cleared away, and the water is so warm as to lead me to believe
that we are lying in one of those branches of the gulf-stream which run
up between Greenland and Spitzbergen. There are numerous small Medusae
and sealemons about the ship, with abundance of shrimps, so that there
is every possibility of "fish" being sighted. Indeed one was seen
blowing about dinner-time, but in such a position that it was impossible
for the boats to follow it.
_September 13th._--Had an interesting conversation with the chief mate,
Mr. Milne, upon the bridge. It seems that our captain is as great an
enigma to the seamen, and even to the owners of the vessel, as he has
been to me. Mr. Milne tells me that when the ship is paid off, upon
returning from a voyage, Captain Craigie disappears, and is not seen
again until the approach of another season, when he walks quietly into
the office of the company, and asks whether his services will be
required. He has no friend in Dundee, nor does any one pretend to be
acquainted with his early history. His position depends entirely upon
his skill as a seaman, and the name for courage and coolness which he
had earned in the capacity of mate, before being entrusted with a
separate command. The unanimous opinion seems to be that he is not a
Scotchman, and that his name is an assumed one. Mr. Milne thinks that he
has devoted himself to whaling simply for the reason that it is the most
dangerous occupation which he could select, and that he courts death in
every possible manner. He mentioned several instances of this, one of
which is rather curious, if true. It seems that on one occasion he did
not put in an appearance at the office, and a substitute had to be
selected in his place. That was at the time of the last Russian and
Turkish War. When he turned up again next spring he had a puckered wound
in the side of his neck which he used to endeavor to conceal with his
cravat. Whether the mate's inference that he had been engaged in the war
is true or not I cannot say. It was certainly a strange coincidence.
The wind is veering round in an easterly direction, but is still very
slight. I think the ice is lying closer than it did yesterday. As far as
the eye can reach on every side there is one wide expanse of spotless
white, only broken by an occasional rift or the dark shadow of a
hummock. To the south there is the narrow lane of blue water which is
our sole means of escape, and which is closing up every day. The Captain
is taking a heavy responsibility upon himself. I hear that the tank of
potatoes has been finished, and even the biscuits are running short, but
he preserves the same impassable countenance, and spends the greater
part of the day at the crow's nest, sweeping the horizon with his glass.
His manner is very variable, and he seems to avoid my society, but there
has been no repetition of the violence which he showed the other night.
7.30 P.M.--My deliberate opinion is that we are commanded by a madman.
Nothing else can account for the extraordinary vagaries of Captain
Craigie. It is fortunate that I have kept this journal of our voyage, as
it will serve to justify us in case we have to put him under any sort of
restraint, a step which I should only consent to as a last resource.
Curiously enough it was he himself who suggested lunacy and not mere
eccentricity as the secret of his strange conduct. He was standing upon
the bridge about an hour ago, peering as usual through his glass, while
I was walking up and down the quarter-deck. The majority of the men were
below at their tea, for the watches have not been regularly kept of
late. Tired of walking, I leaned against the bulwarks, and admired the
mellow glow cast by the sinking sun upon the great ice fields which
surround us. I was suddenly aroused from the reverie into which I had
fallen by a hoarse voice at my elbow, and starting round I found that
the Captain had descended and was standing by my side. He was staring
out over the ice with an expression in which horror, surprise, and
something approaching to joy were contending for the mastery. In spite
of the cold, great drops of perspiration were coursing down his
forehead, and he was evidently fearfully excited. His limbs twitched
like those of a man upon the verge of an epileptic fit, and the lines
about his mouth were drawn and hard.
"Look!" he gasped, seizing me by the wrist, but still keeping his eyes
upon the distant ice, and moving his head slowly in a horizontal
direction, as if following some object which was moving across the field
of vision. "Look! There, man, there! Between the hummocks! Now coming
out from behind the far one! You see her--you _must_ see her! There
still! Flying from me, by God, flying from me--and gone!"
He uttered the last two words in a whisper of concentrated agony which
shall never fade from my remembrance. Clinging to the ratlines he
endeavoured to climb up upon the top of the bulwarks as if in the hope
of obtaining a last glance at the departing object. His strength was
not equal to the attempt, however, and he staggered back against the
saloon skylights, where he leaned panting and exhausted. His face was so
livid that I expected him to become unconscious, so lost no time in
leading him down the companion, and stretching him upon one of the sofas
in the cabin. I then poured him out some brandy, which I held to his
lips, and which had a wonderful effect upon him, bringing the blood back
into his white face and steadying his poor shaking limbs. He raised
himself up upon his elbow, and looking round to see that we were alone,
he beckoned to me to come and sit beside him.
"You saw it, didn't you?" he asked, still in the same subdued awesome
tone so foreign to the nature of the man.
"No, I saw nothing."
His head sank back again upon the cushions. "No, he wouldn't without the
glass," he murmured. "He couldn't. It was the glass that showed her to
me, and then the eyes of love--the eyes of love. I say, Doc, don't let
the steward in! He'll think I'm mad. Just bolt the door, will you!"
I rose and did what he commanded.
He lay quiet for a while, lost in thought apparently, and then raised
himself up upon his elbow again, and asked for some more brandy.
"You don't think I am, do you Doc?" he asked, as I was putting the
bottle back into the after-locker. "Tell me now, as man to man, do you
think that I am mad?"
"I think you have something on your mind," I answered, "which is
exciting you and doing you a good deal of harm."
"Right there, lad!" he cried, his eyes sparkling from the effects of the
brandy. "Plenty on my mind--plenty! But I can work out the latitude and
the longitude, and I can handle my sextant and manage my logarithms. You
couldn't prove me mad in a court of law, could you, now?" It was curious
to hear the man lying back and coolly arguing out the question of his
own sanity.
"Perhaps not," I said; "but still I think you would be wise to get home
as soon as you can, and settle down to a quiet life for a while."
"Get home, eh?" he muttered, with a sneer upon his face. "One word for
me and two for yourself, lad. Settle down with Flora--pretty little
Flora. Are bad dreams signs of madness?"
"Sometimes," I answered.
"What else? What would be the first symptoms?"
"Pains in the head, noises in the ears, flashes before the eyes,
delusions----"
"Ah! what about them?" he interrupted. "What would you call a delusion?"
"Seeing a thing which is not there is a delusion."