THE DWELLER IN THE SUNKEN SHIP.
After a moment of horror Brandon walked away for a short distance, and
then turning he looked fixedly at the wreck for a long time.
Could this be indeed _the_ ship--_the Vishnu_? By what marvelous
coincidence had he thus fallen upon it? It was in 1828 that the _Vishnu_
sailed from Calcutta for Manilla. Was it possible for this vessel to be
preserved so long? And if so, how did it get here?
Yet why not? As to its preservation that was no matter in itself for
wonder. East Indian vessels are sometimes built of mahogany, or other
woods which last for immense periods. Any wood might endure for eighteen
years if covered up by sand. Besides, this vessel he recollected had
been laden with staves and box shooks, with other wooden materials which
would keep it afloat. It might have drifted about these seas till the
currents bore it here. After all it was not so wonderful that this
should be the _Vishnu_ of Colonel Despard.
The true marvel was that he himself should have been cast ashore here on
the same place where this ship was.
He stood for a long time not caring to enter. His strength had been
worn down by the privations of his island life; his nerves, usually like
steel, were becoming unstrung; his mind had fallen into a morbid state,
and was a prey to a thousand strange fancies. The closed doors of
the cabin stood there before him, and he began to imagine that some
frightful spectacle was concealed within.
Perhaps he would find some traces of that tragedy of which he had heard.
Since the ship had come here, and he had been cast ashore to meet it,
there was nothing which he might not anticipate.
A strange horror came over him as he looked at the cabin. But he was not
the man to yield to idle fancies. Taking a long breath he walked
across the island, and then back again. By that time he had completely
recovered, and the only feeling now remaining was one of intense
curiosity.
This time he went up without hesitation, and climbed on board the
vessel. The sand was heaped up astern, the masts gone, and the hatchways
torn off, as has been said. The wind which had blown the sand away had
swept the decks as clean as though they had been holy-stoned. Not a rope
or a spar or any movable of any kind could be seen.
He walked aft. He tried the cabin door; it was wedged fast as though
part of the front. Finding it immovable he stepped back and kicked at it
vigorously. A few sturdy kicks started the panel. It gradually yielded
and sank in. Then the other panel followed. He could now look in and
see that the sand lay inside to the depth of a foot. As yet, however, he
could not enter. There was nothing else to do except to kick at it
till it was all knocked away, and this after some patient labor was
accomplished.
He entered. The cabin was about twelve feet square, lighted by
dead-lights in the deck above. On each side were two state-rooms
probably intended for the ship’s officers. The doors were all open. The
sand had drifted in here and covered the floor and the berths. The floor
of the cabin was covered with sand to the depth of a foot. There was
no large opening through which it could enter: but it had probably
penetrated through the cracks of the doorway in a fine, impalpable dust,
and had covered every available surface within.
In the centre of the cabin was a table, secured to the floor, as ships’
tables always are; and immediately over it hung the barometer which was
now all corroded and covered with mould and rust. A half dozen stools
were around, some lying on their sides, some upside down, and one
standing upright. The door by which he had entered was at one side, on
the other side was another, and between the two stood a sofa, the shape
of which was plainly discernible under the sand. Over this was a clock,
which had ticked its last tick.
On some racks over the closet there were a few guns and swords,
intended, perhaps, for the defensive armament of the brig, but all in
the last stage of rust and of decay. Brandon took one or two down, but
they broke with their own weight.
The sand seemed to have drifted more deeply into the state-rooms, for
while its depth in the cabin was only a foot, in these the depth was
nearly two feet. Some of the bedding projected from the berths, but it
was a mass of mould and crumbled at the touch.
Brandon went into each of these rooms in succession, and brushed out
the heavy, wet sand from the berths. The rotten quilts and blankets fell
with the sand in matted masses to the floor. In each room was a seaman’s
chest. Two of these were covered deeply; the other two but lightly:
the latter were unlocked, and he opened the lids. Only some old clothes
appeared, however, and these in the same stage of decay as every thing
else. In one of them was a book, or rather what had once been a book,
but now the leaves were all stuck together, and formed one lump of slime
and mould. In spite of his most careful search he had thus far found
nothing whatever which could be of the slightest benefit to him in his
solitude and necessity.
There were still two rooms which he had not yet examined. These were at
the end of the cabin, at the stern of the ship, each taking up one half
of the width. The sand had drifted in here to about the same depth as in
the side-rooms. He entered first the one nearest him, which was on the
right side of the ship. This room was about ten feet long, extending
from the middle of the ship to the side, and about six feet wide. A
telescope was the first thing which attracted his attention. It lay in a
rack near the doorway. He took it down, but it fell apart at once, being
completely corroded. In the middle of the room there was a compass,
which hung from the ceiling. But the iron pivot had rusted, and the
plate had fallen down. Some more guns and swords were here, but all
rusted like the others. There was a table at the wall by the stern,
covered with sand. An arm-chair stood close by it, and opposite this
was a couch. At the end of this room was a berth which had the same
appearance as the other berths in the other rooms. The quilts and
mattresses as he felt them beneath the damp sand were equally decayed.
Too long had the ship been exposed to the ravages of time, and Brandon
saw that to seek for any thing here which could be of the slightest
service to himself was in the highest degree useless.
This last room seemed to him as though it might have been the captain’s.
That captain was Cigole, the very man who had flung him overboard. He
had unconsciously by so doing sent him to the scene of his early crime.
Was this visit to be all in vain? Thus far it seemed so. But might there
not yet be something beneath this sand which might satisfy him in his
search?
There still remained another room. Might there not be something there?
Brandon went back into the cabin and stood looking at the open doorway
of that other room.
He hesitated. Why? Perhaps it was the thought that here was his last
chance, that here his exploration must end, and if nothing came of it
then all this adventure would be in vain. Then the fantastic hopes and
fears which by turns had agitated him would prove to have been absurd,
and he, instead of being sent by Fate as the minister of vengeance,
would be only the commonplace victim of an everyday accident.
Perhaps it was some instinct within him that made known to his mind what
awaited him there. For now as he stood that old horror came upon him
full and strong. Weakness and excitement made his heart beat and his
ears ring. Now his fancy became wild, and he recalled with painful
vividness his father’s words:
“In the crisis of your fate I will be near.”
The horrors of the past night recurred. The air of the cabin was close
and suffocating. There seemed in that dark room before him some dread
Presence, he knew not what; some Being, who had uncovered this his abode
and enticed him here.
He found himself rapidly falling into that state in which he would not
have been able either to advance or retreat. One overmastering horror
seized him. Twice his spirit sought to overcome the faintness and
weakness of the flesh. Twice he stepped resolutely forward; but each
time he faltered and recoiled.
Here was no place for him to summon up his strength. He could bear it
no longer. He turned abruptly and rushed out from the damp, gloomy place
into the warm, bright sunshine and the free air of heaven.
The air was bright, the wind blew fresh. He drank in great draughts of
that delicious breeze, and the salt sea seemed to be inhaled at each
breath.
The sun shone brilliantly. The sea rolled afar and all around, and
sparkled before him under the sun’s rays with that infinite laughter,
that [Greek: anaerithmon gelasma] of which Aeschylus spoke in his deep
love of the salt sea. Speaking parenthetically, it may be said that
the only ones from among articulate speaking men who have found fitting
epithets for the sea are the old Greek, the Scandinavian, and the
Englishman.
Brandon drew in new strength and life with every breath, till at last he
began to think once more of returning.
But even yet he feared that when he entered that cabin the spell would
be on him. The thought of attempting it was intolerable. Yet what was
to be done? To remain unsatisfied was equally intolerable. To go back to
his rock was not to be thought of.
But an effort must be made to get rid of this womanly fear; why should
he yield to this? Surely there were other thoughts which he might call
to his mind. There came over him the memory of that villain who had cast
him here, who now was exulting in his fancied success and bearing back
to his master the news. There came to him the thought of his father,
and his wrongs, and his woe. There came to his memory his father’s dying
words summoning him to vengeance. There came to him the thought of those
who yet lived and suffered in England, at the mercy of a pitiless enemy.
Should he falter at a superstitious fancy, he--who, if he lived, had so
great a purpose?
All superstitious fancy faded away. The thirst for revenge, the sense of
intolerable wrong arose. Fear and horror died out utterly, destroyed by
Vengeance.
“The Presence, then, is my ally,” he murmured. “I will go and face It.”
And he walked resolutely, with a firm step, back into the cabin.
Yet even then it needed all the new-born resolution which he had
summoned up, and all the thought of his wrong, to sustain him as he
entered that inner room. Even then a sharp thrill passed through him,
and bodily weakness could only be sustained by the strong, resolute,
stubborn soul.
[Illustration: “THERE SEEMED A GHASTLY COMICALITY IN SUCH A THING AS
THIS,” ETC.]
The room was about the size of the captain’s. There was a table against
the side, which looked like a leaf which could hang down in case of
necessity. A trunk stood opposite the door, with the open lid projecting
upward out of a mass of sand. Upon the wall there hung the collar of a
coat and part of the shoulders, the rest having apparently fallen away
from decay. The color of the coat could still be distinguished; it was
red, and the epaulets showed that it had belonged to a British officer.
Brandon on entering took in all these details at a glance, and then his
eyes were drawn to the berth at the end of the room, where that Thing
lay whose presence he had felt and feared, and which he knew by an
internal conviction must be here.
There It awaited him, on the berth. Sand had covered it, like a
coverlet, up to the neck, while beyond that protruded the head. It was
turned toward him: a bony, skeleton head, whose hollow cavities seemed
not altogether vacancy but rather dark eyes which looked gloomily at
him--dark eyes fixed, motionless; which had been thus fixed through the
long years, watching wistfully for him, expecting his entrance through
that doorway. And this was the Being who had assisted him to the shore,
and who had thrown off the covering of sand with which he had concealed
himself, so as to bring him here before him. Brandon stood motionless,
mute. The face was turned toward him--that face which is at once human
and yet most frightful since it is the face of Death--the face of a
skeleton. The jaws had fallen apart, and that fearful grin which is
fixed on the fleshless face here seemed like an effort at a smile of
welcome.
The hair still clung to that head, and hung down over the fleshless
forehead, giving it more the appearance of Death in life, and lending a
new horror to that which already pervaded this Dweller in the Ship.
“The nightmare Life-in-Death was he,
That thicks men’s blood with cold.”
Brandon stood while his blood ran chill, and his breath came fast.
If that Form had suddenly thrown off its sandy coverlet and risen to
his feet, and advanced with extended hand to meet him, he would not have
been surprised, nor would he have been one whit more horror-stricken.
Brandon stood fixed. He could not move. He was like one in a nightmare.
His limbs seemed rigid. A spell was upon him. His eyes seemed to fasten
themselves on the hollow cavities of the Form before him. But under that
tremendous pressure he did not altogether sink. Slowly his spirit rose;
a thought of flight came, but it was instantly rejected. The next moment
he drew a long breath. “I’m an infernal fool and coward,” he muttered.
He took three steps forward, and stood beside the Figure. He laid his
hand firmly upon the head; the hair fell off at his touch. “Poor devil,”
said he, “I’ll bury your bones at any rate.” The spell was broken, and
Brandon was himself again.
Once more Brandon walked out into the open air, but this time there was
not a vestige of horror left. He had encountered what he dreaded, and
it was now in his eyes only a mass of bones. Yet there was much to think
of, and the struggle which had raged within him had exhausted him.
The sea-breeze played about him and soon restored his strength. What
next to do was the question, and after some deliberation he decided at
once to remove the skeleton and bury it.
A flat board which had served as a shelf supplied him with an easy way
of turning up the sand. Occupation was pleasant, and in an hour or two
he had scooped out a place large enough for the purpose which he had in
view. He then went back into the inner cabin.
Taking his board he removed carefully the sand which had covered the
skeleton. The clothes came away with it. As he moved his board along it
struck something hard. He could not see in that dim light what it was,
so he reached down his hand and grasped it.
It was something which the fingers of the skeleton also encircled, for
his own hand as he grasped it touched those fingers. Drawing it forth he
perceived that it was a common junk bottle tightly corked.
There seemed a ghastly comicality in such a thing as this, that this
lately dreaded Being should be nothing more than a common skeleton, and
that he should be discovered in this bed of horror doing nothing more
dignified than clutching a junk bottle like a sleeping drunkard. Brandon
smiled faintly at the idea; and then thinking that, if the liquor were
good, it at least would be welcome to him in his present situation. He
walked out upon the deck, intending to open it and test its contents.
So he sat down, and, taking his knife, he pushed the cork in. Then he
smelled the supposed liquor to see what it might be. There was only a
musty odor. He looked in. The bottle appeared to be filled with paper.
Then the whole truth flashed upon his mind. He struck the bottle upon
the deck. It broke to atoms, and there lay a scroll of paper covered
with writing.
He seized it eagerly, and was about opening it to read what was written
when he noticed something else that also had fallen from the bottle.
It was a cord about two yards in length, made of the entrail of some
animal, and still as strong and as flexible as when it was first made.
He took it up carefully, wondering why such a thing as this should have
been so carefully sealed up and preserved when so many other things had
been neglected.
The cord, on a close examination, presented nothing very remarkable
except the fact that, though very thin, it appeared to have been not
twisted but plaited in a very peculiar manner out of many fine strands.
The intention had evidently been to give to it the utmost possible
strength together with the smallest size. Brandon had heard of cords
used by Malays and Hindus for assassination, and this seemed like the
description which he had read of them.
At one end of the cord was a piece of bronze about the size of a common
marble, to which the cord was attached by a most peculiar knot. The
bronze itself was intended to represent the head of some Hindu idol, the
grotesque ferocity of its features, and the hideous grimace of the mouth
being exactly like what one may see in the images of Mother Kali or
Bowhani.
At once the cord associated itself in his mind with the horrors which he
had heard of as having been perpetrated in the names of these frightful
deities, and it seemed now to be more than a common one. He carefully
wound it up, placed it in his pocket, and prepared to examine the
manuscript.
The sun was high in the heavens, the sea-breeze still blew freshly,
while Brandon, opening the manuscript, began to read.