Ghost Stories and Mysteries (30 page)

“He fell back, as the edge of the ghostly yellow moon kissed the water’s edge, its dying rays lighting up the scene of horror, the silent men, the recumbent figure, the dark-robed kneeling priest, holding on high the crucifix; the white sand gleaming out from that great waste of water.

“Suddenly a flash of lightning, accompanied by a peal of thunder, made everyone start. The clouds had banked up in masses to the east, and were covering the face of the heavens. The party hurried off to the boats, taking the captain’s body with them, the white breakers were already leaping high, and they quickly pushed off.

“I watched them as they pulled to the passage, and saw the rollers rushing towards them. Then the darkness fell, but out of that darkness rung out cries of despair, and high above all a woman’s shriek, the death-shriek of the woman who had laughed at her dying husband. Next instant the tempest burst, and caught the doomed ship. I saw her lights coming closer; saw them, then lost them; then saw them again, and then I knew that she was in the breakers.

“They beat her with successive blows, and hurled her into the passage, a dismasted wreck; hurried her on with the rushing water as the tempest burst in the blackness and fury inconceivable, hiding all things from my view.

“I opened my eyes to a soft, balmy morning, and found myself lying in my usual place on the sand. No sign of the recent storm was visible, my clothes were dry, the sea calm, and the surf lower than usual. Bewildered, I looked around, scarcely believing my eyes. I looked again at the sea, noting how impossible it was for that to have gone down in an hour or two, and as I looked I saw a steamer.

“Instantly the uncontrollable longing to see my fellow-men seized me.

“I made my fire up with a mad haste, piled on it planks torn from my boat, and branches torn hastily from the bushes. A straight column of smoke ascended, and I was seen at once. The steamer stood in, and a boat was lowered. I rushed into the water to meet it. Fear, such as I had never felt in silent, lonely nights, overcame me.

“‘Take me from the ghosts!’ I cried, as I scrambled in the boat, and fell insensible.

* * * * * * *

“This is a hospital, and they think me mad but the wreck of the Spanish ship is there.”

THE HAUNTED STEAMER

(1901)

“Now you fellows speak of it,” said the chief engineer of the S.S.
Mainbrace
, as he sat on his bunk, with his legs dangling over the side, addressing two passengers who had already been made free of his state room, “the ship has been haunted ever since Jack Collins went overboard just twelve months ago. Naturally, we don’t talk about it, but the passengers find it out sooner or later. We are used to him, and don’t mind him.”

“He was sitting on the transom in the saloon last night,” said the passenger for China, who occupied the camp stool. “I fell asleep on deck and did not wake till everybody had turned in, and when I went below I saw him there. I thought he looked like a stranger but before I could fix him properly he was gone.”

“He was on the after hatch a night or two ago,” said the pearl-sheller, who was on the settee. “I went up, meaning to speak to him, but when I got close it was the shadow of the wind sail. They play these tricks. There was a schooner up in the Straits troubled the same way.”

“How did it happen? There’s only the two of us here, and we’re not talking men.”

“He was our second officer,” began the chief, “and a bright young fellow, too, just going up for the master’s certificate when he reached Sydney, about a month before last Christmas. He never went up, however. When he got home he found that his wife had cleared out with someone else. Who it was she went with he did not know, and nobody else seemed to know, but she was gone right enough. I think, between ourselves, that not knowing who the man was preyed on him more than anything. If he could have got hold of the pair of them, and could have taken it out of the man and told the hussy a bit of his mind, I don’t think he would have felt as bad as he did; but, as it was, he could do nothing, and the idea of going through life not knowing but at any time he might unknowingly meet him, make friends with him, and eat and drink with him—why he told me himself that it was driving him crazy. It was on Christmas Eve that it happened. I suppose the thought of his last Christmas, when he was ashore and just married, was too much for him. Anyhow, he must have gone over the side as soon as he went off watch. He gave the man who relieved him the course, chatted a bit as usual, then went down off the bridge, and nobody saw him again. It might have been an accident for it was a dark night, and there was a heavy sea running.”

“I expect he knows now who the other fellow was,” said the sheller.

“Did the other fellow know him?” asked the China passenger.

“Possibly not. Queer arrangement, eh? However, they won’t meet in this world. Poor Collins made sure of that,” said the chief. “Last trip he was often up on the bridge they told me, but this trip he seems to be sticking aft. I have not seen him looking down the skylight into the engine-room, as he used to. Keep it quiet, though: some people are nervous, and don’t like this sort of thing.”

The curtain hanging in front of the doorway was drawn on one side, and a face looked in. The three men started, but it was not the face of the man who ‘walked.’

“You look comfortable,” said the owner of the face. “Can I come in?”

“Come in,” said the chief, and the sheller shifted a little on the settee to make room for the newcomer.

It was another of the passengers—a man with a fair beard and rather large, light blue eyes. He accepted the accommodation with a nod of thanks, sat down, took out his cigar case, and offered the engineer a cigar—both the other men were smoking already. The subject of conversation changed at once. The engineer gradually glided into the inevitable yarn, and when it was finished the China passenger and the pearl-sheller said goodnight, and left the cabin. A riding light was swinging about midway between the officers’ state rooms amidships and the saloon companion-way. As they approached it, another man could be seen coming along the deck, going forward. They should have met just under the swinging lantern, but as they approach the circle of light, the figure faded out of sight.

“Collins,” said one with a gasp, and clutched the other’s arm.

“Yes,” replied the man addressed. “I suppose we shall get used to it in time,” and he gave a forced laugh.

They halted at the companion way, and looked back. A bar of light flashed for a moment across the alleyway amidships—it was the third man leaving the engineer’s cabin, he could be seen coming along the deck.

“There’s Collins again, standing by the skylight of the engine-room,” said the pearl-sheller, whose name was Reynolds.

“Looks as they he was waiting for that fellow. Do you know him?” returned the other.

“No; he’s been sea-sick, I think; only just shown up since we’ve been steady.”

The third passenger came on. They could see the burning end of his cigar, and when he came in the beam of light he stopped and tossed the stump overboard; then, as he turned, he became conscious of the figure standing at the skylight, apparently watching him. For a moment they stood, the dumb ghost and the unconscious mortal, looking at each other, then the man came on.

“Who’s that sulky begger standing by the skylight?” he said, when he reached the others. “Said good-night to him, and he wouldn’t answer me.”

“His name’s Collins; he’s a remarkably quiet man,” said the China passenger.

“Seems like it,” said the other. “Wonder if the bar is still open. Have a nightcap, you chaps?”

“Not for me,” said Reynolds.

“Nor me, either,” replied Gibson, the China passenger.

“Well, it’s a hot night, so I’ll get the steward to mix me the namesake of our friend, a ‘John Collins.’ Wonder if his name is John? I knew a Mrs Collins once,” and with a vacant chuckle he descended the few steps that led to the saloon.

“Seems a bit of an ass. What do you think?”

“I think we ought to put the ghost in irons. I shouldn’t wonder if this is the man it’s looking for. I suppose you didn’t do it?”

“Not quite. I’ve got a very good little wife of my own; but I’d rather have the ghost after me than her if I did such a thing.”

“Well, I shall turn in now. I suppose our friend has finished his drink by this time,” and they went to their respective berths.

“Steward,” said the fair-bearded passenger to the chief steward the next morning, “somebody kept disturbing me last night by looking in my cabin. If it was one of your boys, I wish you’d tell him to stop poking his head in at my door.”

The steward made a suitable reply, but watched the other as he ascended to the deck. “Somebody looking in his cabin,” he repeated. “Seems to me I have heard tales of that sort before.”

It was fine weather, of the hot variety to be expected in the tropics, and was bright and clear, and for once nobody had anything to growl about, and Christmas was approaching. The fair-bearded passenger alone seemed unsettled in mind, now overcheerful, and then despondent; his name was Vincent, and though some got on with him well enough, neither Reynolds nor Gibson liked him.

“Collins is very restless,” said the latter one day to his friend. “Kept doing sentry-go on the after deck last night. Vincent was asleep in a chair, and suddenly woke up in a fright, and staggered over to the railing. I collared hold of him, and roused him up, and he said he’d had an awful dream. Dreamt he was in the sea on a dark night, fighting for his life, and watching the lights of the steamer disappearing. I told him he was taking too much whiskey, but he went below and got another nip. Then Collins laughed.”

“Here, drop that, old man; ghosts don’t laugh, at least the ghosts that I know don’t.”

“Well, anyway there was a laugh, a very nasty laugh, somewhere about, and I had to visit the steward myself.”

The next morning the steamer anchored at Rock Harbour for a few hours.

“How are you, Mr Vincent?” said the Customs officer when he came on board. “Better for your trip?”

“Oh much, thank you; quite right now; naturally upset, you know.”

“Know that man?” asked Reynolds when the Customs official had finished his conversation with the other.

“Slightly. He was up here with his wife about six months ago, on his way to England in a B. and A. boat, and a sad thing happened. They were overheard having a rather heated argument in their cabin, and then she rushed on deck, and, it is supposed, jumped overboard. She was never seen again. He was dreadfully cut up, and at Donner’s Island changed steamers, and went back again south.”

“Where did this happen?”

“About halfway between here and Donner’s Island. I must be off. There’s the donkey engine starting, and I don’t want to be carried on. Good-bye. Remember me to all up north.”

About two o’clock the next morning those who slept below were roused by hot words. Mr. Vincent and the chief steward were nearly coming to blows in the saloon.

“I tell you the fellow came right into my cabin, and was bending over me when I woke up. It’s an infernal shame that you can’t manage your men better, and that passengers should be annoyed like that.”

“It’s all fancy. My men are much too tired at night, and want to sleep, not go monkeying about looking in people’s cabins. None of the other passengers have been annoyed.”

Vincent turned to Reynolds, who had been roused by the discussion.

“I was dreaming that confounded dream again, and I woke up in a fright, and there was somebody in my cabin bending over my berth. I assure you there was.”

The steward looked at Reynolds over Vincent’s shoulder, and made the motion of drinking with his hand, and Reynolds persuaded him to go to bed again. It was blowing hard the next morning, and an unseasonable change had taken place, a reminder of the coming monsoons. The sea was getting up, and it looked as though a stormy Christmas would set in the next day. There had been a small jollification, it being Christmas Eve, and Vincent, who had recovered his spirits, had been exceedingly light-hearted and jovial, and had turned in early rather the worse for wear. It was eleven o’clock, and the chief engineer and the two passengers were taking a walk up and down the short poop when the ship was uncomfortably restless, and they stopped, and sat down for more ease.

“Who is that coming up?” asked Reynolds.

“Somebody in pyjamas, a woman and another man. Why, it’s Vincent.” And the three men rose.

The steamer gave a heavy roll and a dive just then, and the three figures passed aft on the opposite side of the deck as the ship took a big beam sea on board. Down she went, the screw racing like mad, and the three figures could be seen right aft; but when she straightened up again they were gone. The engineer took about three steps down on to the deck and into the salon, and the other two made their way aft. They looked over at the bubbling wake illuminated by the light from the stern portholes, but if any man’s head had been in the water it would not have been seen in that seething turmoil. The alarm was given, and the usual routine gone through, as a matter of form, for there was no earthly hope of ever seeing the man again, and the steamer, after much delay, resumed her passage with the loss of a lifebuoy and a passenger. When the chief hurried into the saloon he went straight to Vincent’s cabin, and found it empty, and the steward told him that Mr Vincent had just gone on deck.