The Weird Part 23

We heard rapid footsteps on the deck. It sounded as though a busy crowd were moving around.

'I thought so,' said Jellewyn. He laughed. 'We're gentlemen of leisure now: we have others working for us.'

The sounds had become more precise. The helm creaked; an arduous maneuver was being carried out in the head wind.

'They're unfurling the sails!'

'Of course.'

The s.h.i.+p pitched heavily, then listed to starboard.

'A starboard tack, in this wind,' Jellewyn said approvingly. 'They're monsters, brutes drunk with blood and murder, but they're sailors. The most skillful yachtsman in England, sailing a racer built last year, wouldn't dare to sail so close to the wind. And what does it prove?'

No longer understanding anything, I made a gesture of discouragement.

He answered his own question: 'It proves that we have a fixed destination, and that they want us to arrive somewhere.'

After reflecting for a moment I said, 'It also proves that they're neither demons nor ghosts, but beings like us.'

'Oh, that's saying a lot!'

'I'm expressing myself badly. What I mean is that they're material beings, with only natural forces at their command.'

'I've never doubted that,' Jellewyn said calmly.

Toward five in the morning, another maneuver was carried out, making the schooner roll heavily. Jellewyn opened a porthole. A dirty dawn was filtering through compact clouds.

We cautiously ventured up on deck. It was tidy and deserted.

The s.h.i.+p was hove to.

Two calm days went by.

The nocturnal maneuvers had not been resumed, but Jellewyn pointed out that a very swift current was taking us in what should have been a northwesterly direction.

Steevens was still breathing, but more feebly. Jellewyn had brought a portable medicine chest in his baggage, and from time to time he gave the dying man an injection. We spoke little. I think we had even stopped thinking. For my part, I was stupefied by alcohol, for I was drinking whisky by the pint.

One day, when I was drunkenly cursing the schoolmaster and promising to smash his face into a thousand pieces, I happened to mention the books he had brought on board.

Jellewyn leapt forward and shook me vigorously.

'Careful, I'm the captain,' I said gently.

'To h.e.l.l with captains like you! What did you say? Books?'

'Yes, in his cabin. There's a trunk full of them. I saw them myself. They're written in Latin; I don't know that pharmacist's jargon.'

'Well, I know it. Why didn't you tell me about those books?'

'What difference would it have made?' I muttered thickly. 'Anyway, I'm the captain....You...you ought to...respect me.'

'You d.a.m.ned drunk!' he said angrily, going off toward the schoolmaster's cabin. I heard him step inside and close the door behind him.

The inert and pitiful Steevens was my companion during the hours of drinking that followed.

'I'm the captain of this s.h.i.+p,' I mumbled, 'and I'll...I'll complain to the authorities...He called me a...a d.a.m.ned drunk...I'm the master after G.o.d on my s.h.i.+p...Isn't that right, Steevens? You're a witness...He insulted me basely...I'll put him in irons...'

Then I slept a little.

When Jellewyn came in to swallow a hasty meal of hardtack and corned beef, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were glittering.

'Mr. Ballister,' he said, 'did the schoolmaster ever tell you about a crystal object, a box, perhaps?'

'He didn't confide in me,' I grunted, still remembering his rudeness.

'Ah, if only I'd had those books before all these things began happening!'

'Have you found anything?' I asked.

'I'm getting a few glimmers...A path is opening up. It's probably senseless, but in any case it's amazing, more amazing than you can possibly imagine!'

He was terribly excited. I was unable to get anything more out of him. He hurried back to the schoolmaster's cabin, and I left him alone.

I did not see him again until the beginning of evening, and then only for a few minutes. He came in to fill a kerosene lamp and did not say a word.

I slept until late the next morning. As soon as I woke up, I went to the schoolmaster's cabin.

Jellewyn was not there.

Seized with painful anxiety, I called him. There was no answer. I ran all over the s.h.i.+p shouting his name, even forgetting prudence to the point of going up on deck. Finally I threw myself on the floor, weeping and invoking the name of G.o.d.

I was alone on board the accursed schooner, alone with the dying Steevens.

Alone, horribly alone.

It was not until noon that I went back to the schoolmaster's cabin. My attention was immediately caught by a sheet of paper pinned to the wall. I read these words in Jellewyn's handwriting: Mr. Ballister, I am going to the top of the mainmast. I must see something. Perhaps I shall never return. If so, forgive me for my death, which will leave you all alone, because Steevens is doomed, as you know. But quickly do what I tell you: Burn all these books; do it on the stern, far from the mainmast, and do not go near the edge of the s.h.i.+p. I think an effort will be made to prevent you from burning the books. Everything inclines me to believe it. But burn them, burn them quickly, even at the risk of setting fire to the s.h.i.+p. Will it save you? I dare not hope so. Perhaps Providence will give you a chance. May G.o.d have mercy on you, Mr. Ballister, and on all of us!

Duke____,1 known as Jellewyn.

When I returned to my cabin, shaken by that extraordinary farewell and cursing the shameful drunkenness that had probably prevented my valiant companion from awakening me, I no longer heard Steevens' irregular breathing. I leaned over his poor, contorted face. He, too, was gone.

I took two cans of gasoline from the little engine room, and, moved by some sort of providential instinct, I started the engine and turned it up to full speed.

I went back to the helm, piled the books on the deck, and poured gasoline on them.

A high, pale flame arose.

At that moment, there was a cry from the sea, and I heard someone call my name. Then I, too, cried out, in surprise and fear: in the wake of the Mainz Psalter, a hundred feet back, swam the schoolmaster.

The flames crackled; the books were rapidly being transformed into ashes.

The infernal swimmer shouted curses and supplications.

'Ballister! I'll make you rich, richer than all men on earth put together! I'll make you die, you imbecile, in horrible tortures that are unknown on your accursed planet! I'll make you a king, Ballister, king of a formidable kingdom! Ah, you swine, h.e.l.l would be sweeter to you than what I have in store for you!'

He swam desperately, but made little progress in overtaking the s.h.i.+p.

Suddenly the schooner made a few strange movements and was shaken by dull blows. I saw the water rising toward me: the s.h.i.+p was being pulled toward the bottom of the sea.

'Ballister, listen to me!' howled the schoolmaster.

He was quickly drawing closer. His face was horribly impa.s.sive, but his eyes were burning with unbearable brightness.

Then, in the middle of a ma.s.s of hot ashes, I saw a piece of parchment curl up and reveal a sparkling object. I remembered Jellewyn's words. The specially constructed book had been hiding the crystal box he had mentioned to me.

'The crystal box!' I exclaimed.

The schoolmaster heard me. He shrieked like a madman, and I saw an incredible sight: he stood on the water with his hands outstretched like threatening claws.

'It's knowledge, the greatest knowledge of all, that you're about to destroy, you d.a.m.ned fool!' he roared.

Shrill yodels were now coming toward me from all points of the horizon.

The first waves broke over the deck.

I leapt into the flames and smashed the crystal box with my heel.

I had a feeling of collapse, and terrible nausea. Sky and water blended in a flas.h.i.+ng chaos, an immense clamor shook the air. I began a frightful fall into darkness...

And here I am. I've told you everything now. I woke up on your s.h.i.+p. I'm going to die. Have I been dreaming? I wish I could believe it.

But I'm going to die among men, on my own earth. Ah, how happy I am!

It was Briggs, the cabin boy of the North Caper, who had first sighted Ballister. The boy had just stolen an apple from the galley and was about to eat it, huddled among some coils of cable, when he saw Ballister swimming sluggishly a few yards from the s.h.i.+p.

Briggs began shouting at the top of his lungs, for he saw that the swimmer was about to be drawn into the wash of the propeller.

Ballister was pulled out of the water. He was unconscious: his swimming movements had been automatic, as sometimes happens with very strong swimmers.

There was no s.h.i.+p in sight and no trace of wreckage on the water. But the cabin boy said that he had seen a s.h.i.+p as transparent as gla.s.s those are his own words rise up off the port beam, then sink below the surface. This earned him a slap from Captain Cormon, to teach him not to tell such wild stories.

We managed to pour a little whisky down Ballister's throat. Rose, the engineer, gave him his bunk, and we covered him warmly.

He soon pa.s.sed from unconsciousness into deep, feverish sleep. We were waiting, with curiosity, for him to awaken when a terrible incident took place.

This is now being told by John Copeland, first mate of the North Caper. It was I, who, with Seaman Jolks, saw the mystery and terror that came out of the night.

The last bearing taken during the day had located the North Caper at longitude 22 west and lat.i.tude 60 north.

I took the helm myself, having decided to spend the night on deck, because the night before we had seen long ice floes glittering in the moonlight on the northwest horizon.

Jolks hung up the running lights, and since he had a violent toothache that was made worse by the warmth of the forecastle, he came to smoke his pipe beside me. I was glad, because a lonely watch can be terribly monotonous when it lasts all night.

I must tell you that, while the North Caper is a good, st.u.r.dy s.h.i.+p, she is not a trawler of the latest model, even though she has been equipped with radio. The spirit of fifty years ago still weighs down on her, leaving her with sails that supplement the limited power of her steam engine. She does not have the tall, enclosed, ungainly cabin that is perched in the middle of the deck on most modern trawlers like a ludicrous little cottage. Her helm is still on the stern, facing the sea, the wind, and the spray.

I am giving you this description so that you will know that we witnessed the incomprehensible scene not from a gla.s.sed-in observation post, but from the deck itself. Without this explanation, my story would not seem believable to those familiar with the design of steam trawlers.

There was no moonlight because the sky was too overcast; only the diffused glow of the clouds and the phosph.o.r.escence of the wave crests made it possible to see anything.

It was somewhere around ten o'clock. The men were sunk deep in their first sleep. Jolks, absorbed in his toothache, was softly moaning and swearing. The binnacle light made his tense face stand out from the surrounding darkness.

Suddenly I saw his grimace of pain change to an expression of astonishment, then of genuine terror. His pipe fell from his open mouth. This struck me as so comical that I made a mocking remark to him. His only reply was to point to the starboard light.

My pipe joined his when I saw what he was pointing to: clutching the shrouds a few inches below the light, two wet hands were emerging from the darkness.

Suddenly the hands let go and a dark form leapt onto the deck. Jolks quickly stepped aside, and the binnacle light shone on the intruder's face. To our indescribable amazement, we saw a kind of clergyman, wearing a black tail-coat and streaming with sea water. He had a small head with eyes like glowing coals that were staring straight at us.

Jolks made a move to take out his fis.h.i.+ng knife, but he did not have time: the apparition leapt on him and knocked him down. At the same time, the binnacle light was shattered. A few moments later there was a shrill cry from the forecastle, where the cabin boy had been sitting up with Ballister: 'He's killing him! Help!'

Ever since I had had to stop some serious brawls among members of the crew, I had made it a habit to carry my revolver at night. It was a powerful weapon, and I shot well with it. I c.o.c.ked it.

The s.h.i.+p was filled with a confused clamor.

A short time after this series of events, a gust of wind ripped a gash in the clouds and a beam of moonlight followed the s.h.i.+p like a spotlight.

I could already hear the captain's swearing above Briggs's cries of alarm when to my right I heard soft footsteps and saw the clergyman leap over the side and into the water.

I saw his small head rise on the crest of a wave. I calmly aimed at it and fired. He uttered a strange howl, and the wave carried him toward the side of the s.h.i.+p.

Jolks appeared beside me. Although he was still a little dazed, he was wielding a grappling iron. The body was now floating alongside the s.h.i.+p, b.u.mping against it. The grappling iron bit into the clothes and pulled up its prey with surprising ease.

Jolks dropped a shapeless wet bundle on the deck, saying that it felt as light as a feather. Captain Cormon came out of the forecastle, holding a lighted lantern.

'Someone tried to kill our s.h.i.+pwreck victim!' he said.

'We've got the bandit,' I said. 'He came out of the sea...'

'You're crazy, Copeland!'

'Look at him, captain. I shot him and...'

We leaned over the pitiful remains, but we immediately straightened up again, shouting like madmen.