If any one cares to buy the yawl _Siren_, he may have her for
200 pounds, or a trifle less than the worth of her ballast, as lead goes
nowadays. For sufficient reasons--to be disclosed in the course of this
narrative--I am unable to give her builder's name, and for reasons quite
as sufficient I must admit the figures of her registered tonnage
(29.56), cut on the beam of her forecastle, to be a fraud. I will be
perfectly frank; there is a mystery about the yacht. But I gave
400 pounds for her in the early summer of 1890, and thought her dirt
cheap. She was built under the old "Thames rule," that is, somewhere
between 1875 and 1880, and was therefore long and narrow to begin with.
She has been lengthened since. Nevertheless, though nobody could call
her a dry boat, she will behave herself in any ordinary sea, and come
about quicker than most of her type. She is fast, has sound timbers and
sheathing that fits her like a skin, and her mainmast and bowsprit are
particularly fine spars of Oregon pine; her mizzen doesn't count for
much. Let me mention the newest of patent capstans--I put this into her
myself--cabins panelled in teak and pitch-pine and cushioned with red
morocco, two suits of sails, besides a big spinnaker that does not
belong to her present rig, a serviceable dinghy--well, you can see for
yourselves without my saying more, that, even to break up, she is worth
quite double the money.
In what follows I shall take leave here and there to alter a name or
suppress it. With these exceptions you shall hear precisely how the
_Siren_ came into my hands.
Early in 1890 I determined, for the sake of my health, to take a longer
holiday than usual, and spend the months of July, August, and September
in a cruise about the Channel. My notion was to cross over to the
French coast, sail down as far as Cherbourg, recross to Salcombe, and
thence idle westward to Scilly, and finish up, perhaps, with a run over
to Ireland. This, I say, was my notion: you could not call it a plan,
for it left me free to anchor in any port I chose, and to stay there
just as long as it amused me. One fixed intention I had, and one only--
to avoid the big regattas. Money had to be considered, and I thought at
first of hiring. I wanted something between twenty-five and forty tons,
small enough to be worked by myself and a crew of three or at most three
men and a boy, and large enough to keep us occupied while at sea.
Of course, I studied the advertisement columns, and for some time found
nothing that seemed even likely to suit. But at last in _The Field_,
and in the left-hand bottom corner--where it had been squeezed by the
lists of the usual well-known agencies--I came on the following:--
"YAWL, 35 tons. For immediate SALE, that fast and comfortable
cruiser _Siren_. Lately refitted and now in perfect condition
throughout. Rigging, etc., as good as new. Cabin appointments of
unusual richness and taste. 400 pounds. Apply, Messrs. Dewy and
Moss, Agents and Surveyors, Portside Street, F--."
On reading this I took Lloyd's _Yacht Register_ from its shelf, and
hunted for further details. _Sirens_ crowd pretty thickly in the
Register; only a little less thickly than _Undines_. Including
_Sirenes_ and _Sirenas_, I found some fourteen--and not a yawl amongst
them, nor anything of her tonnage. There were two more in Lloyd's _List
of American Yachts_--one a centre-board schooner, the other a
centre-board sloop; and, in a further list, I came upon a _Siren_ that
had changed her name to _Mirage_--a screw-schooner of one hundred and
ninety tons, owned by no less a person than the Marquis of Ormonde.
On the whole it seemed pretty clear that Lloyd knew not of the existence
of this "fast and comfortable cruiser" of thirty-five tons.
However, if half the promises of the advertisement were genuine, the
chance ought not to be lost for lack of further inquiry. So I sat down
there and then and wrote a letter to the poetically-named Dewy and Moss,
asking some questions in detail about the boat, and, in particular,
where she was to be seen.
The answer came by return of post. The boat had been laid up since the
autumn in a sheltered creek of the F-- River, about three-quarters of a
mile up from the harbour side, where Messrs. Dewy and Moss transacted
business. The keys lay at their office, and she could be inspected at
any time. Her sails, gear, and movable furniture were stored in a roomy
loft at the back of Messrs, Dewy and Moss's own premises. Their client
was a lady who wished to keep her name concealed--at any rate during the
preliminaries; but they had full power to conduct the sale. The yacht
was a bargain. The lady wished to be rid of it at once; but they might
mention that she would not take a penny less than the quoted price of
400 pounds. They would be happy to deal with me in that or any other
line of business; and they enclosed their card.
The card bore witness to the extraordinary versatility of Messrs. Dewy
and Moss, if to nothing else. Here is the digest of it:--
"Auctioneers; Practical Valuers; House and Estate Agents; Business
Brokers; Ship Brokers; Accountants and Commission Merchants; Servants'
Registry Office; Fire, Life, Accident, and Plate Glass Insurance
Effected; Fire Claims prepared and adjusted; Live Stock Insured; Agents
for Gibson's Non-Slipping Cycles; Agents for Packington's Manures, the
best and cheapest for all crops; Valuations for Probate; Emigration
Agents; Private Arrangements negotiated with Creditors; Old Violins
cleaned and repaired; Vice-Consulate for Norway and Sweden."
I cannot say this card produced quite the impression which its composers
no doubt desired. It seemed to me that Messrs. Dewy and Moss had
altogether too many strings to their bow. And the railway journey to
F-- was a long one. So I hesitated for two days; and on the late
afternoon of the third found myself some three hundred miles from home,
standing in a windy street full of the blown odours of shipping, and
pulling at a bell which sounded with terrifying alacrity just on the
other side of the door. A window was thrown up, right above me, and a
head appeared (of Dewy, as it turned out), and invited me to come
upstairs.
Mr. Dewy met me on the landing, introduced himself, and led me into his
office, where a fat young woman sat awkwardly upon a wooden chair
several inches too high for her. Hastily reviewing the many
professional capacities in which Mr. Dewy could serve her, I decided
that she must be a cook in search of a place. The agent gave me the
only other chair in the room--it was clear that in their various feats
of commercial dexterity the firm depended very little upon furniture--
and balanced himself on the edge of his knee-hole table. He was a
little, round man, and his feet dangled three inches from the floor.
He looked honest enough, and spoke straightforwardly.
"You have come about the yacht, sir. You would wish to inspect her at
once? This is most unfortunate! Your letter only reached us this
afternoon. The fact is, my partner, Mr. Moss, has gone off for the day
to N-- to attend a meeting of the Amateur Bee-keepers' Association--my
partner is an enthusiast upon bee-culture."
The versatility of Moss began to grow bewildering. "--and will not be
back until late to-night. As for me," he consulted his watch,
"I am due in half an hour's time to conduct the rehearsal of a service
of song at the Lady Huntingdon's Chapel, down the street, where I play
the harmonium."
The diversity of Dewy dazed me.
"You are staying the night at F--?" he said.
"Why, yes. I sleep at the Ship Inn, but hoped to leave early
to-morrow."
"Of course you could inspect the sails and gear at once; they are in the
loft behind." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
"So I understand, but it would be better to see the boat first."
"Naturally, naturally. I hope you see how I am placed? You would not
desire me, I feel sure, to disappoint the chapel members who will be
waiting presently for their rehearsal. Stay . . . perhaps you would not
greatly object to rowing up and inspecting the yacht by yourself?
Here are the keys, and my boat is at your disposal; or, if you prefer
it, a waterman--"
"Nothing would suit me better, if you don't mind my using the boat."
"It will be a favour, sir, your using her, I assure you. This way, if
you please."
He jumped down from the table and led the way downstairs, and through
some very rickety back premises to the quay door, where his boat lay
moored to a frape. As I climbed down and cast off, Mr. Dewy pulled out
his watch again.
"The evenings are lengthening, and you will have plenty of time.
Half an hour to high water; you will have the tide with you each way.
The keys will open everything on board. By the way, you can't miss
her--black, with a tarnished gilt line, moored beside a large white
schooner, just three-quarters of a mile up. You can tie up the boat to
the frape on your return; to-morrow will do for the keys; at your
service any time after nine a.m. Good evening, sir!"
Mr. Dewy turned and hurried back to his client, whose presence during
our interview he had completely ignored.
The sun had dropped behind the tall hills that line the western shore of
the beautiful F-- River; but a soft yellow light, too generously spread
to dazzle, suffused the whole sky, and was reflected on the tide that
stole up with scarcely a ripple. A sharp bend of the stream brought me
in sight of the two yachts, not fifty yards away--their inverted
reflections motionless as themselves; I rested on my oars and drifted up
towards them, conning the black yawl carefully.
She struck me as too big for a 35-tonner, fore-shortened though she
lay--a wall-sided narrow boat, but a very pretty specimen of her type.
Her dismantled masts were painted white, and her upper boards had been
removed, of course.
Hullo!
There was a man standing on her deck.
She lay with her nose pointing up the river and her stern towards me.
The man stood by her wheel (for some idiotic reason, best known to
himself, her builder had given her a wheel instead of a tiller), which
was covered up with tarpaulin. He stood with a hand on this tarpaulin
case, and looked back over his shoulder towards me--a tall fellow with a
reddish beard and a clean-shaven upper lip. I was drifting close by
this time--he looking curiously at me--and I must have been studying his
features for half a minute before I hailed him.
"Yacht ahoy!" I called out. "Is that the _Siren?_"
Getting no answer, I pulled the boat close under the yacht's side, made
her fast, and climbed on board by way of the channels.
"This is the _Siren_, eh?" I said, looking down her deck towards the
wheel.
There was no man to be seen.
I stared around for a minute or so; ran to the opposite side and looked
over; ran aft and leaned over her taffrail; ran forward and peered over
her bows. Her counter was too short to conceal a man, and her stem had
absolutely no overhang at all; yet no man was to be seen, nor boat nor
sign of a man. I tried the companion: it was covered and padlocked.
The sail-hatch and fore-hatch were also fastened and padlocked, and the
skylights covered with tarpaulin and screwed firmly down. A mouse could
not have found its way below, except perhaps by the stove-pipe or the
pipe leading down to the chain-locker.
I was no believer in ghosts, but I had to hit on some theory there and
then. My nerves had been out of order for a month or two, and the long
railway journey must have played havoc with them. The whole thing was a
hallucination. So I told myself while pulling the coverings off the
skylights, but somehow got mighty little comfort out of it; and I will
not deny that I fumbled a bit with the padlock on the main hatchway, or
that I looked down a second time before setting foot on the companion
ladder.
She was a sweet ship; and the air below, though stuffy, had no taste of
bilge in it. I explored main cabin, sleeping cabins, forecastle.
The movable furniture had been taken ashore, as I had been told; but the
fixtures were in good order, the decorations in good taste. Not a panel
had shrunk or warped, nor could I find any leakage. At the same time I
could find no evidence that she had been visited lately by man or ghost.
The only thing that seemed queer was the inscription "29.56" on the beam
in the forecastle. It certainly struck me that the surveyor must have
under-registered her, but for the moment I thought little about it.
Passing back through the main cabin I paused to examine one or two of
the fittings--particularly a neat glass-fronted bookcase, with a small
sideboard below it, containing three drawers and a cellaret.
The bookcase was empty and clean swept; so also were the drawers.
At the bottom of the cellaret I found a couple of flags stowed--a
tattered yellow quarantine-signal tightly rolled into a bundle, and a
red ensign neatly folded. As I lifted out the latter, there dropped
from its folds and fell upon the cabin floor--a book.
I picked it up--a thin quarto bound in black morocco, and rather the
worse for wear. On its top side it bore the following inscription in
dingy gilt letters:--