by August W. Derleth
Of the four men sitting in the captain's cabin on the _S. S. Maine_,
three were listening to Captain Henderson, who was talking of storms in
general, an apt topic, since the _Maine_ had been driven head on into a
raging tropical gale, and was at the moment making very little headway.
The four of them, including the captain himself, were somewhat bored,
though none of them showed it. Wembler, the business man, had begun to
toy with his spectacles, taking them off, folding them, and putting
them back on. Allison, the tall, dark man who was ostensibly a writer,
occasionally whispered in an undertone to his companion, whose name had
been given as Talbot.
It was Wembler who broke suddenly into the captain's monologue, "Have
we stopped? Doesn't seem as if we were moving at all."
The captain shook his head. "No, we've been going very slowly on
account of the gale." Then he stopped talking abruptly. "We _have_
stopped," he said, and got up.
At the same moment, a sharp rap on the cabin door brought the other
three men to attention. The Captain shouted "Come!"
A tousled head of red hair first appeared in the small opening, and
after it a youngish face that seemed to emerge from the hair.
"What is it, Munro?" asked Captain Henderson.
"The anchor's gone out, sir--torn out of its holdings by the storm.
We can't seem to be able to draw it back. Attached to something, most
likely."
The captain pondered this a moment, then he made an abrupt gesture with
his hand. "Well, leave it until this infernal storm has passed--we
weren't making time, anyway. Give the order to shut down the engines.
Then try to find out just about where we are, and report back to me."
"Very well, sir."
The captain sat down again. "Happens once in a lifetime," he explained.
He shrugged his shoulders and tried to smile genially; his mood was not
for it. "There's nothing to be done."
His listeners nodded sympathetically. Then the four of them sat in
silence until another rap on the cabin door brought them again to
alertness.
Again Munro appeared in response to the captain's call. "I've inquired
of the first mate, sir," he said, "as to our bearings. He has no idea
where we are. He's asked the radio operator to broadcast to see what
he can get. We are somewhere about the Moluccas, he thinks, or more
probably Java. Seems to be something wrong with our compasses, sir."
The captain nodded ponderously. "Most likely the storm, or some other
magnetic influence. You may go, Munro, but if anything crops up,
report to me immediately."
Munro vanished, drawing the cabin door shut behind him. The captain
shook his head dolefully and waited to see whether one of the other men
might say something. No one ventured; so he began once more. "I didn't
think we had got as far as Java," he said. "But you can't ever tell--"
Wembler looked up suddenly and spoke. "Say, isn't this the
twenty-seventh of February?"
"No, the twenty-sixth," said the captain evenly. He looked at his clock
for verification, but found it not. "I'm sorry," he said at once, "it
_is_ the twenty-seventh. I had no idea it was after midnight."
Wembler nodded. "A year ago this morning the _Cumberland_ went down off
the coast of Java."
Captain Henderson snatched at the change of subject. "That was quite a
mystery, as I remember it. There were only a few survivors, I think."
Wembler said, "only one--the first mate. They got some ugly rumours out
about him shortly after he appeared. Said he'd blown up the ship during
the storm."
"His wife went down, too, if I'm not mistaken," said the captain, as if
questioning Wembler's suggestion.
Wembler nodded. "They said it was partly because of her that he did it.
There was another man on board, and I understand there'd been bad blood
between the mate and this man on account of his wife. Then, too, the
first mate had had a terrible time with the captain, and wanted to get
even with him. Did the thing in a moment of madness."
The captain looked at him for a moment without seeming to see him.
Talbot spoke suddenly. "All of which goes to show how oddly unfounded
rumours come up. We know that no one but that first mate survived the
disaster--and yet someone got out those rumours about him."
The captain nodded. "You speak about it as if you had seen it all," he
said, turning to Wembler.
Wembler laughed. "I knew the first mate pretty well, and I knew what
he was capable of doing when he got jealous. His wife was a most
attractive woman."
"You think he really sent the _Cumberland_ down, then?" asked the
captain.
"I know he did," said Wembler shortly.
"Nonsense!" snapped Talbot with unexpected sharpness. "Only the first
mate would know that--and unless he's told you, you couldn't know."