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 19th._--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 20th and 21st._--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 22nd._--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 23rd._--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 24th._--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 fore-yard 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 25th._--Made a good run all day. Feel listless and depressed.
_October 26th._--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
farfetched 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 Goring's, 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 27th, 28th._--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 after-hold 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 short-handed 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 29th, 30th._--Still bowling along with a fresh breeze. All
quiet and nothing of note to chronicle.
_October 31st._--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 7th._--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 as 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 8th, 9th._--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'c'sle-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 10th._--It is getting warmer and warmer. Some land birds came
and perched in the rigging to-day, 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 11th, 12th._--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 13th._--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'c'sle-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.