"Good gracious, Hiram!" I exclaimed, dropping the wood and rising to my
feet, greatly alarmed at his mysterious manner of speaking, as well as
by the change in his voice and demeanour. "What d'you mean by talking
like that?"
Instead of answering my question directly, however, he asked another.
"D'yer rec'leck, Cholly, thet air banjo belongin' to Sam Jedfoot ez I
bought when the poor darkey's traps wer' sold at auction in the
fo'c's'le the day arter he wer lost overboard?"
"Ye-es," I stammered breathlessly, as the remembrance came back to me
all at once of the strange chaunt we had heard in the air around, just
before the storm had burst over us in all its fury; our subsequent
bustling about having banished its recollection for the moment, "Wha--
wha--what about Sam's banjo, Hiram?"
"It's clean gone, skedaddled right away, b'y, that's all!" he replied,
in the same impressive way in which he had first spoken. "When I bought
the durned thin', I stowed it atop o' my chest thaar, in the fo'c's'le;
an' thaar it wer ez right ez a five-cent piece up to this very mornin',
ez I wer overhaulin' my duds, to see if I could rig up another pair o'
pants, an' seed it. But, b'y, it ain't thaar now, I reckon!"
"Perhaps some one took it out, and forgot to put it back when the gale
burst over us," I suggested, more to reassure myself than because I
believed it, for I felt horribly frightened at the thoughts that rapidly
surged up in me. "You--you remember, Hiram, we heard the sound of some
one playing it just before?"
"D'yer think, b'y, airy of the hands w'u'd hev ben foolin' round with
thet blessid banjo, an' the ship a'most took aback an' on her
beam-ends?" he retorted indignantly. "No, Cholly, thet wer no mortal
fingers ez we heerd a-playin' thet thaar banjo!"
"And you--you--think--?"
"It wer Sam Jedfoot's ghost; nary a doubt on it," he said solemnly,
finishing my uncompleted sentence; "thet air, if sperrits walk agen on
the airth an' sea, arter the folk's ownin' them is dead an' drownded!"
I shivered at his words; while, as if to further endorse Hiram's
opinion, the steward, Morris Jones, just then came forward from the
cabin to look after the captain's dinner, although he did not seem in a
hurry about it, as usual--a fortunate circumstance, as the fire in the
galley under Hiram's expert manipulation was only now at last beginning
to burn up.
"There's summut wrong 'bout this barquey," observed the Welshman,
opening the conversation in a wonderfully civil way for him, and
addressing Hiram, who did not like the man, hardly ever exchanging a
word with him if he could help it. "I larfed at that b'y Cholly for
saying he seed that nigger cook agen in the cabin arter he went
overboard, time the skipper had that row with the fool and shot him; but
sperrit or wot it was, I believe the b'y's right, for I've seed it,
too!"
"Jehosophat!" exclaimed Hiram; "this air gettin' darned streenge an'
cur'ous. Whar did ye see the sperrit, mister?"
"Not a minute or so agone," replied the steward, whose face I could see,
by the light of the ship's lantern in the galley, as well as from the
gleams of the now brightly burning fire, looked awe-stricken, as if he
had actually seen what he attested. "It was a'most dark, and I was
coming out of my pantry when I seed it. Aye, I did, all black, and
shiny, and wet, as if he were jist come out o' the water. I swear it
were the nigger cook, or I'm a Dutchman!"
The two men looked fixedly at each other, without uttering another word
for a minute or more, I staring at them both in dread expectancy of what
they would next say, fancying each instant something more wonderful
still would happen. At last, Hiram broke the silence, which had become
well-nigh unbearable from a sort of nervous tension, that made me feel
creepy and shivery all over.
"I tolled yer jest now, Cholly," said the Yankee sailor in his
`Down-East' drawl, which became all the more emphasised from his slow
and solemn mode o' speaking below his breath--"thet this air shep wer
doomed, an' I sez it now agen, since the stooard hyar hez seed the same
ez we all hev seed afore. Thaar's no denying b'ys, ez how poor Sam's
ghostess walks abroad this hyar ship, an' thet means sunthin', or it
don't! I specs thet air darkey's sperrit ain't comf'able like, an' ye
ken bet y'r bottom dollar he won't rest quiet till he feels slick; fur
ye sees ez how the poor cuss didn't come by his death rightful like, in
lawful fashion."
"Aye, and I've heard tell that folks as been murdered 'll haunt the
place where they've been put away onlawfully," chimed in Morris Jones.
"Not as I've ever believed in sperrits and ghostesses till now; but,
seein' is believin', an' I can't go agen my own eyesight. I'd take my
davy 'twere Sam Jedfoot I seed jest now; and though I'm no coward,
mates, I don't mind saying I'm mortal feared o' going nigh the cuddy
agen!"
"Never ye fear, old hoss," replied Hiram encouragingly; albeit, at any
other time he would have laughed at the steward's declaration that he
was `no coward,' when he was well known to be the most arrant one in the
ship. "It ain't ye thet the ghost air arter, ye bet. It's the skipper.
Ye remember ez how he promised us all he'd call in at the nearest port
an' hev all the circumferences overhauled, ez he sed?"
"Aye," responded the Welshman, "that he did. He took his solemn davy,
afore the second-mate, an' Tom Bullover, an' the lot o' you, on the
maindeck, that time he shot the cook. I heard him from under the break
o' the poop, where I were standin'."
"Yes, I seed ye keepin' well to looard!" said Hiram drily. "But, ez I
wer a sayin', the skipper agrees to call in at the fust port we fetches,
an' we've b'en close in to Bahia, when we near ran ashore, an' Rio an'
Buenos Ayres; an' he's never put into no port yet!"
"No, nor doesn't mean to, neither," chorussed the steward. "I hear him,
t'other day, a jokin' with that brute of a fust-mate about it; an' both
was a sniggerin': an' he says as he'll see you all to old Nick afore he
stops anywhere afore he gets to 'Frisco!"
"I reckon, then, sunthin' bad 'll come of it," said Hiram, shaking his
head gravely, "Thet nigger's sperrit don't haunt this ship fur nothin',
an' we ain't see the wuss yet, ye bet! Soon arter Cholly hyar seed
Sam's ghost, ye remembers, we hed thet fire aboard in the forepeak?"
"Aye," agreed Morris Jones; "an' the next time--"
"Wer the banjo we heered a-playin', afore we were caught in thet buster
of a gale, an' the ship wer a'most capsized on her beam-ends," continued
the American, full of his theme. "An' now, I guess--"
"What?" cried I eagerly, anxiously drinking in every word, deeply
impressed with the conversation. "What do you think will happen?"
"'Ructions, thet's all, b'y," replied Hiram, hitching up the waistband
of his overalls coolly, in the most matter-of-fact way, as if he were
only mentioning an ordinary circumstances. "Thet is, if the skipper
don't touch at Callao or Valparaiso. Fur my part, sonny, I guess this
hyar ship air doomed, ez I sed afore, an' I don't spec, for one, as ever
she'll reach 'Frisco this v'yage; an' so thinks old Chips, Tom Bullover,
thet is, too."
"Hullo!" exclaimed the carpenter at that moment, poking his head within
the galley door, and making me and the Welshman jump with fright,
thinking he was Sam's ghost again. "Who's hailing me? What's the
row?--anything up?"
"No, bo," said Hiram. "I wer only tellin' the stooard hyar an' Cholly
ez how yo agreed with me ez this wer a durned onlocky craft, an' bound
to meet with misfortun' arter all thet's come an' gone aboord."
"That's so," acquiesced Tom; though he did not look much alarmed at the
prospect. "The `old man,' though, seems turnin' round into a better
sort--treating us all to grog and sich like."
"He'd kinder ought to," growled the other, as he stirred the tea in the
coppers, which were just boiling by now; and he then proceeded to tell
Tom about the mysterious disappearance of the banjo, and the fact of
Morris Jones having seen the apparition again in the cabin aft, winding
up with the query--"An' what d'ye think o' thet now, Chips?"
"Think?" echoed Tom Bullover, laughing; "why, that you're kicking up a
dust about nothing, my hearty! Missed the banjo out of y'r chest, eh--
where are y'r eyes, bo? There it are, hanging right over y'r heads in
the galley, on the same cleat where poor Sam Jedfoot left it afore he
met his fate! Why, where are y'r peepers--old stick in the mud, hey?"
As he said this, Tom Bullover reached up his hand overhead by the door
of the galley, above the spot where he was standing, and as our eyes
followed his motions we all could see now Sam's banjo hanging on the
cleat where it always used to be when the negro cook occupied the
caboose, the instrument swinging to and fro as Tom touched it.
"Wa-all, I'm jiggered!" cried Hiram, taking up the lantern that he had
placed on the deck when he returned from the fo'c's'le and flashing it
on the suspended object, to make assurance doubly sure. "Thaar it air,
sure enuff; an' all I ken say is, I'm jiggered! It jest licks creation,
thet it dew!"
"Lor' bless you, mate! you could ha' seed it afore if you'd only used
your eyes," replied Tom to this exordium, laughing again; "but, let's
stow all such flummery now about ghostesses an' sich like, for it's all
moonshine when you looks into the matter; an' you, an' Charley, an' the
stooard here, have been all busy rigging up `duppies,' as poor Sam used
to call 'em, out o' your heads, when we poor beggars forrud are dyin'
for our tea. Ain't it ready yet?"
"Aye, bo, in a brace o' shakes," said Hiram, rousing himself and polling
up the fire. "I dessay I'm a doggoned fool to be skeart like thet, but
I'd hev taken my davy I put the durned thing in my chest a month ago--I
would so; an' then the stooard comed in with his yarn on top o' what
Cholly sed o' seein' Sam's ghost t'other day, an'--an' I'm a durned
fool; thet's all I sez!"
"You're none the worse for that, bo," observed Tom, with a grin at the
American's rather shamefaced apology foe his superstitious fears; and
Hiram presently joined in the laugh against himself, as he busied
himself in stirring the coppers and tasting the tea, to see whether it
was all right yet. I, also, began to feel more comfortable in my mind;
while a little colour crept into Morris Jones' pale face, which had
become as white as a sheet before Tom's advent on the scene, the steward
looking as if he were going to faint from fright.
It is wonderful what an effect the courage of one man has in restoring
the confidence of others under such circumstances!
Bustling about the galley, ladling out the contents of the coppers as
the men came up one by one with their pannikins for their tea, I quickly
forgot my scare of a minute or so agone. So, too, apparently, did the
steward, who commenced preparing the captain's dinner, as soon as the
fire had burnt up and he could get space enough to use his frying-pan;
while, as for Hiram, he was singing away in fine style at his work,
dishing up some lobscouse for the men's supper, in friendly rivalry of
Morris Jones, whom he could `give points to' and easily beat in the
cooking line, none of us troubling ourselves any longer with any
recollection of poor Sam Jedfoot or his ghost.
The gale continued to ease down, and the heavy, rolling sea gradually
subsided as night sped on; but, the wind veering round in the middle
watch more to the northwards of west, we had to come about on the port
tack, steering west-nor'-west, more in towards the Cape. We had plenty
of sea room to do this, though, from the good offing we had previously
made, being at least five or six degrees well to the southward of the
stormy headland at our last reckoning, before the gale came on.
All next day the men were busy getting up a couple of old topsails out
of the forepeak and patching them up to take the place of those that had
been blown away; and these when got up were close-reefed beforehand,
prior to being set, as the wind was freshening again and the weather
looked squally.
At the beginning of the second dog-watch the same afternoon, just when
we had got everything snug aloft, it came on to blow again, although not
quite so fiercely as the previous evening; and it was a case of clew up
and furl with all the lighter canvas, the ship being kept under
close-reefed topsails and storm staysails, heading out again to sea on
the starboard tack.
Thus it continued all that night, squalls of rain and hail, with snow
and sleet at intervals for variety sake, sweeping over us, and the ship
having her decks washed frequently fore and aft by the heavy Southern
Ocean rollers. The next morning, though, it lightened again, and we had
a brief spell of fine weather until noon, when we had another buster of
it. This occurred just as Captain Snaggs was getting ready to take the
sun, and sent the first-mate down in the cabin to look at the
chronometer, and `stand by' in order to note the time when he sung out
`Stop!' so as to calculate our proper longitude.
The skipper could not get his observation of the sun, however, for the
sky, which a moment before had been bright and clear, clouded over again
in an instant; and the next minute we were all on board battling again
with another specimen of "Cape Horn weather," too busy to think even
where we might be or what latitude or longitude we had fetched. We
might, indeed, have been anywhere, for the heavens were black as night,
though it was midday, and sky and sea met each other in one vast
turmoil, so that it was impossible to see half a cable's length off the
ship!
So it went on for four days, the gale blowing for short periods in angry
gusts and then easing down for the space of a watch perhaps, the squalls
alternating with spells of fine weather; until, on the fifth morning, we
sailed into a comparatively calm sea, running free, with a full sheet on
the starboard tack, before a bright, cheery nor'-westerly breeze.
At noon, when the skipper was able at last to take the sun for the first
time for six days, he found, on working out our reckoning, that we were
in latitude 58 degrees 5 minutes South, and longitude 82 degrees 10
minutes West. In other words, we were considerably to the westwards of
the Horn, and fairly on the bosom of the placid Pacific, as indeed its
smooth waters already testified.
"Hooray, b'ys; we've doubled the durned Cape at last, I guess!" shouted
out Captain Snaggs from the break of the poop, whither he had rushed up
from below as soon as he had finished his calculation on the log slate,
dancing about the deck with excitement; and, then he banged his fist
down on the brass rail with a thump that almost doubled it in two, while
his wiry billy-goat beard bristled out and wagged to and fro. "Brace up
yer yards sharp, an' keep them bowlin's taut! Lay her ez near due north
ez she'll fetch, an' we'll fix her on a bee-line fur 'Frisco. An', say,
Flinders!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"Send up y'r to'gallants an' r'yals, ez soon ez ye ken; an' let her
rip!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"An', main deck, below thaar!"
"Aye, aye, sir!" shouted back Jan Steenbock, who was on duty here, and
was already seeing about getting abaft the upper spars for spreading
more sail, having overheard his order to the first-mate--"I vas here,
sir!"
"Call all hands to liquor up, sirree. It ain't every day, I reckon, we
gits round the Horn!"
A wild cheer burst from the men, who had clustered in the waist in
response to this summons; and the good news of getting round the Cape
and having a double allowance of grog proving too much for the majority,
the rest of the day was spent in a sort of a grand jollification, the
skipper and first-mate `carrying on' in the cabin, while the crew made
themselves merry in the fo'c's'le, whither an extra bottle or two of rum
had been smuggled, having been got out of the steward by the expeditive
of a little `palm oil' and wheedling in about equal proportions.
I think I may say, without exaggeration, that, with the exception of Jan
Steenbock, the second-mate, who showed himself a regular steady fellow
all through the voyage, Tom Bullover, and lastly, though by no means
least, myself, there was not a single sober man on board the ship that
evening, all being more or less under the influence of liquor, from the
steward Morris Jones--who, mean Welshman that he was, seemed never loth
to drink at any one else's expense--up to Captain Snaggs, who, from
being `jolly' at `eight bells,' became still more excited from renewed
applications of rum by midnight; until, at length, early in the middle
watch, he rushed out on deck from the cuddy absolutely mad drunk.
He was in a state of wild delirium, and his revolver, ready cocked, was
in his hand.
"Snakes an' alligators!" he yelled out, levelling the weapon at the
mainmast, which he mistook for a figure in the half-light of morning,
which was just then beginning to break. "I've got ye at last, ye durned
nigger. Take thet, an' thet!"
Quick as lightning one report followed another, the bullets coming
whistling by the galley where I was standing.
Jan Steenbock, who was on the poop, hearing the crack of a revolver,
called out something; whereupon Captain Snaggs turned round and aimed
his next shot at him, although, fortunately, it missed the second-mate,
on account of Jan dodging behind the companion hatchway just in the nick
of time.
The captain then made a bound at the poop ladder, and rushed up the
steps swearing awfully; and, first firing at the man at the wheel, whose
arm the bullet penetrated, as soon as he gained the poop, he dived down
the companion in pursuit of Jan Steenbock, who had disappeared below the
booby hatch.
For the next five minutes or more, the ship was in a state of the
wildest confusion, the skipper chasing everyone he could see, and all
trying to get out of his way, as he dashed after them in his frenzy,
rushing, in a sort of desperate game of `catch who catch can,' from the
cabin out on to the maindeck, and then up the poop ladder and down the
companion into the cuddy again, the second-mate, the steward, and
first-mate alike being assailed in turn, and each flying for life before
the frantic madman. At last, just as the captain emerged from the cabin
for the third time, in hot haste after the steward, the other two having
succeeded in concealing themselves, Morris Jones stumbled against a coil
of rope by the mainmast bitts, and, his toe at the same time catching in
a ring bolt, he sprawled his length on the deck.
"Good Lord!" cried the unfortunate steward, panting out the words with
his failing breath. "I'm a dead man! I'm a dead man!"
"By thunder, ye air, ye durned black nigger! Ye air, ez sure ez
snakes!" screamed the skipper, in his delirious rage, mistaking the
Welshman, as he had the others as well, for poor Sam, the recollection
of whom seemed strangely to haunt him the moment the rum got possession
of his senses. "I've swan I'd shoot ye; so, hyar goes, me joker; y'r
last hour hez come, ye bet!"
With these words he pointed his revolver down at Morris Jones, as he lay
rolling on the deck at his feet, and fired.