There was absolutely no wind, and even the
everlasting creak, creak of the gear seemed to ease off at times. At the wheel there was nothing whatever to do. I might just as well have
been forrard, smoking in the fo'cas'le. Down on the main-deck, I could
see the loom of the lanterns that had been lashed up to the sherpoles in
the fore and main rigging. Yet they showed less than they might, owing
to the fact that they had been shaded on their after sides, so as not to
blind the officer of the watch more than need be. The night had come down strangely dark, and yet of the dark and the
stillness and the lanterns, I was only conscious in occasional flashes
of comprehension. For, now that my mind was working, I was thinking
chiefly of that queer, vast phantom of mist, I had seen rise from the
sea, and take shape. I kept staring into the night, towards the West, and then all round me;
for, naturally, the memory predominated that she had been coming towards
us when the darkness came, and it was a pretty disquieting sort of thing
to think about. I had such a horrible feeling that something beastly was
going to happen any minute. Yet, two bells came and went, and still all was quiet--strangely quiet,
it seemed to me. And, of course, besides the queer, misty vessel I had
seen in the West I was all the time remembering the four shadowy craft
lying down in the sea, under our port side. Every time I remembered
them, I felt thankful for the lanterns round the maindeck, and I
wondered why none had been put in the mizzen rigging. I wished to
goodness that they had, and made up my mind I would speak to the Second
Mate about it, next time he came aft. At the time, he was leaning over
the rail across the break of the poop. He was not smoking, as I could
tell; for had he been, I should have seen the glow of his pipe, now and
then. It was plain to me that he was uneasy. Three times already he had
been down on to the maindeck, prowling about. I guessed that he had been
to look down into the sea, for any signs of those four grim craft. I
wondered whether they would be visible at night. Suddenly, the time-keeper struck three bells, and the deeper notes of
the bell forrard, answered them. I gave a start. It seemed to me that
they had been struck close to my elbow. There was something
unaccountably strange in the air that night. Then, even as the Second
Mate answered the look-out's "All's well," there came the sharp whir and
rattle of running gear, on the port side of the mainmast. Simultaneously, there was the shrieking of a parrel, up the main; and I
knew that someone, or something, had let go the main-topsail haul-yards. From aloft there came the sound of something parting; then the crash of
the yard as it ceased falling. The Second Mate shouted out something unintelligible, and jumped for the
ladder. From the maindeck there came the sound of running feet, and the
voices of the watch, shouting. Then I caught the Skipper's voice; he
must have run out on deck, through the Saloon doorway. "Get some more lamps! Get some more lamps!" he was singing out. Then he
swore. He sung out something further. I caught the last two words. "...carried away," they sounded like. "No, Sir," shouted the Second Mate. "I don't think so." A minute of some confusion followed; and then came the click of pawls. I
could tell that they had taken the haulyards to the after capstan. Odd
words floated up to me. "...all this water?" I heard in the Old Man's voice. He appeared to be
asking a question. "Can't say, Sir," came the Second Mate's. There was a period of time, filled only by the clicking of the pawls and
the sounds of the creaking parrel and the running gear. Then the Second
Mate's voice came again. "Seems all right, Sir," I heard him say. I never heard the Old Man's reply; for in the same moment, there came to
me a chill of cold breath at my back. I turned sharply, and saw
something peering over the taffrail. It had eyes that reflected the
binnacle light, weirdly, with a frightful, tigerish gleam; but beyond
that, I could see nothing with any distinctness. For the moment, I just
stared. I seemed frozen. It was so close. Then movement came to me, and
I jumped to the binnacle and snatched out the lamp. I twitched round,
and shone the light towards it. The thing, whatever it was, had come
more forward over the rail; but now, before the light, it recoiled with
a queer, horrible litheness. It slid back, and down, and so out of
sight. I have only a confused notion of a wet glistening Something, and
two vile eyes. Then I was running, crazy, towards the break of the poop. I sprang down the ladder, and missed my footing, and landed on my stern,
at the bottom. In my left hand I held the still burning binnacle lamp. The men were putting away the capstan-bars; but at my abrupt appearance,
and the yell I gave out at falling, one or two of them fairly ran
backwards a short distance, in sheer funk, before they realised what it
was. From somewhere further forrard, the Old Man and the Second Mate came
running aft. "What the devil's up now?" sung out the Second, stopping and bending to
stare at me. "What's to do, that you're away from the wheel?" I stood up and tried to answer him; but I was so shaken that I could
only stammer. "I--I--there--" I stuttered. "Damnation!" shouted the Second Mate, angrily. "Get back to the wheel!" I hesitated, and tried to explain. "Do you damned well hear me?" he sung out. "Yes, Sir; but--" I began. "Get up on to the poop, Jessop!" he said. I went. I meant to explain, when he came up. At the top of the ladder, I
stopped. I was not going back alone to that wheel. Down below, I heard
the Old Man speaking. "What on earth is it now, Mr. Tulipson?" he was saying. The Second Mate made no immediate reply; but turned to the men, who were
evidently crowding near. "That will do, men!" he said, somewhat sharply. I heard the watch start to go forrard. There came a mutter of talk from
them. Then the Second Mate answered the Old Man. He could not have known
that I was near enough to overhear him. "It's Jessop, Sir. He must have seen something; but we mustn't frighten
the crowd more than need be." "No," said the Skipper's voice. They turned and came up the ladder, and I ran back a few steps, as far
as the skylight. I heard the Old Man speak as they came up. "How is it there are no lamps, Mr. Tulipson?" he said, in a surprised
tone. "I thought there would be no need up here, Sir," the Second Mate
replied. Then he added something about saving oil. "Better have them, I think," I heard the Skipper say. "Very good, Sir," answered the Second, and sung out to the time-keeper
to bring up a couple of lamps. Then the two of them walked aft, to where I stood by the skylight. "What are you doing, away from the wheel?" asked the Old Man, in a stern
voice. I had collected my wits somewhat by now. "I won't go, Sir, till there's a light," I said. The Skipper stamped his foot, angrily; but the Second Mate stepped
forward. "Come!