The Crew of the Lancing

Come out on deck and have a look, Darky,” shouted Jepson, rushing into the berth. “The Old Man says there’s been a submarine earthquake and the sea’s all babbling and muddy.”

Out I ran to find the everlasting blue of the sea mottled with splotches of a muddy hue, and the water disturbed by huge bubbles floating about and bursting with a hissing pop.

The skipper and the three Mates were all on the poop with their glasses, staring out at this strange phenomenon. Far away to windward something like a mass of seaweed hove up into the evening air, and fell back into the sea with a sullen splash. Then the tropical sun fell and in the afterglow things grew shadowy. The wind which had been fresh during the day was gradually dropping and the night was becoming oppressively hot.

The First Mate called to me from the poop to dip a bucket of water and bring it to him. I did, and he put the thermometer into it.

“Just as I thought,” he muttered, taking it out and showing it to the Skipper. “Ninety-nine degrees! Why, the sea’s hot enough to make tea with!”

“Hope it won’t get any hotter,” growled the Captain. “We shall be boiled alive if it does.”

I took the bucket and, after emptying it, put it back in the rack, then I went to the side while the Skipper and the Mate paced the poop together. The air grew hotter and hotter, and an hour or so passed in silence, broken only by the pop of some bursting gas bubble.

The moon rose and showed watery through a warm fog of vapour which had risen from the heated sea, enveloping the ship in a moist shroud that penetrated to the skin.

Slowly the interminable night rolled away and the sun rose dimly through the steam. From time to time we tested the temperature, but found only a slight increase in heat. No work was done. A general feeling of something impending was over the whole ship. The ship’s bell was kept going constantly, while the lookout-man peered uselessly into the wreathing mists, and the Captain and Mates kept an anxious watch.

There was evidently some difference of opinion amongst them for I heard the Second Mate say, “That’s all rot. I’ve seen things in fogs before today and they’ve always turned out to be nothing.”

The Third Mate made some reply which I couldn’t catch, and the matter dropped.

When I came on deck at eight bells after a short sleep, the steam still held us, and if anything it seemed thicker. Hansard, who had been taking the temperature at intervals while I was below, told me that it had gone up three degrees, and that the Old Man was getting into a rare old state.

About three bells I went forrard to have a look over the bows.

As I leaned on the rail Stevenson, whose lookout it was, came and stood by me.

“Rum go, this,” he grumbled.

Suddenly there appeared up out of the water a huge, black face, like a monstrous caricature of a human face.

I grasped his arm and pointed. “Look!” I whispered, “Look!”

Stevenson turned quickly and stared down. “Lord!” he said, and bent over more to see the thing. “It’s the devil,” he cried, and as he spoke the thing, whatever it was, disappeared. Blankly we both looked down into the dark water. When I glanced up at him, his face wore a puzzled, startled look.

“Better go aft and tell the Old Man,” he said, and I nodded and went.

On the poop I found the Skipper and First Mate pacing moodily. To them I told what I had seen.

“Bosh!” sneered the Captain, “You’ve been looking at your own ugly reflection in the water!” Yet in spite of his sneers, he questioned me, and finally the Mate went forrard himself to have a look, but returned in a few minutes to say that he could see nothing.

Four bells went, and we were relieved for tea. After that I went on deck again, I found the men clustered together forrard. They were talking about the thing Stevenson and I had seen. Several questioned me, and I told them all I knew.

“I suppose, Darky,” said one of the older men, “it couldn’t by any chance have been a reflection? Johnson, here, says as he heard the Old Man tell yer as how you’d been alookin’ at yer own face in the water.”

I laughed. “Ask Stevenson,” I replied, and went away.

At eight bells I made my way aft. So far nothing further had appeared.

About an hour before midnight the Mate called out for me to bring him up a match to light his pipe. He struck a light and handed me back the box, and as he did so, there rose far out in the night, a muffled screaming, and then a clamour of hoarse braying like an ass’s, only deeper, and with a horribly suggestive human note ringing through it.

“Did you hear that, Darky?” asked the Mate sharply.

“Yes, sir,” I answered. I was listening intently for a repetition of the sounds, and scarcely noticed his question. Suddenly the noise came again and other voices took it up. It sounded away on our starboard bow. The Mate’s pipe dropped with a clatter to the deck.

“Run forrard!” he shouted. “Quick now, and see if you can see anything!”

I flew forrard, and there I found the lookout man and all the watch gathered in a clump.

“Have you seen anything?” I called out as I reached the fo’cas’le head.

A frightened voice answered me. “Listen!”

The sound rose again. It seemed closer and almost ahead, though the fog confused one and made it impossible to tell for certain.

Undoubtedly the noises were nearer, and I hurried aft to the Mate. I reported that there was nothing to be seen but that the sounds seemed considerably closer and to come from more ahead. On hearing this he told the helmsman to let the ship’s head go off a couple of points.

A minute later, a shrill screaming tore its way through the mists, followed by the braying sounds again.

“It’s close on the starboard bow,” muttered the Mate, as he beckoned the helmsman to let her head go off a little more.

A minute passed and then another, yet the silence was unbroken.

Then, overpoweringly, the sounds recommenced, and so close were they that it seemed they must be right aboard of us.

I noticed a strange booming note that mingled with the asinine brays, and once or twice there came a sound which can only be described as a sort of “gug, gug, gug.” Then would come a wheezy whistling, for all the world like an asthmatic person breathing.

The moon shone dimly through the steam which seemed to me somewhat thinner. Once the Mate gripped my shoulder tightly as the noises rose and fell. The sounds were coming from right opposite us. I was staring hard into the gloom when I saw something—something long and black, which was sliding past us into the night. Out of it rose indistinct towers which gradually resolved into masses of ropes and sails. Thus I saw it, spectrally and unreal.

“A ship! It’s a ship!” I cried, excitedly. I turned to Mister Grey. He too had seen something and was staring after the thing fading away into our wake.

Then our sails gave a sudden slat and the Mate glanced aloft.

“Wind’s dropping,” he growled, savagely. “We shall never get out of this infernal place at this rate.”

Gradually the wind fell until not a breath stirred, and the steamy mists closed in thicker than ever.

Hours passed. The watch was relieved and I went below.

At seven bells we were called again. As I went along the deck to the galley, I noticed that the steam-fog was much thinner, and the air felt cooler.

At eight bells I went on deck to relieve Hansard at coiling down the ropes. From him I learned that the steam had started to clear about four bells, and the temperature of the sea had fallen ten degrees.

It must have been some half hour later that the dissolving mists gave us a glimpse of the surrounding sea. It was still mottled with darker patches but the bubbling and popping had ceased. Such of the ocean as I could see had a peculiar desolate aspect. At times a wisp of steam would float up from the nearer sea and roll undulatingly across its silent surface until it was lost in the vagueness that still held the horizon hidden. Here and there columns of steam rose up in pillars of mist which gave me the impression that the sea was hot in patches.

I crossed to the starboard side and looked over. It was the same there. The sea preserved a forlorn, deserted look that impressed me with a feeling of chilliness, though the air was quite warm and muggy.

“Get me my glasses, Darky” I heard the Mate speak up on the poop.

I ran to his berth and then up on the poop with them. He walked aft to the taffrail and took a look astern. Here the mists seemed to be gathered more thickly, though the water was much heated thereabouts.

I stayed up on the poop a minute looking in the same direction as the Mate. Presently something shadowy grew on my vision. Steadily I watched it until I distinctly saw the ghostly outline of a ship within the mists.

“See!” I cried, but even as I spoke a lifting wreath of mist had disclosed to view a great four-masted barque lying becalmed with all sail set a few hundred yards astern of us. Then the mist fell again and the strange ship lay hidden.

The Mate was all excitement, taking quick jerky strides up and down the poop, only to stop every few minutes to have another peer through his glasses. Gradually, as the mists dispersed, the vessel became more plainly seen, and it was then we got an inkling of the cause of those dreadful noises in the night.

For some time we watched her silently, the conviction growing on me that, in spite of the steam, I could distinguish some sort of movement aboard her. In a little while the doubt became a certainty; and also I could see, hazily, a continuous splashing and churning of the water round about her hull.

Suddenly the Mate dropped the glasses from his eyes. “Fetch me the speaking trumpet,” he called quickly, without looking round.

In a moment I was back with the instrument. He gave me his glasses to hold while he raised the trumpet to his mouth and sent a loud “Ship Ahoy” across the water to the stranger. We waited intently for an answer.

A moment later came a deep hollow mutter out of the mist that rose quickly into the asinine bellowing of the previous night. Higher and louder drove the horrid sounds, and then they sank and died away amongst the further mistiness.

At this unexpected answer to his hail the Mate stood amazed. Now he turned sharply and told me to call the Old Man at once.

The watch had come aft, attracted by the noise, and were now climbing into the rigging to get a view over the stern. After calling the Captain, I returned to the poop where I found the Second and Third Mates standing by the First, all engaged in trying to pierce the clouds of steam. A minute later the Skipper appeared, carrying his telescope. The Mate gave him a short account of the state of affairs and handed him the trumpet. Putting his telescope down, the Captain raised the trumpet to his mouth and hailed the shadowy craft.

We all listened breathlessly. Again came that distant mutter, and again it rose into that ass-like bellow through which rang that terrible, half human note, rising and falling in the dreadful cadence.

The Skipper lowered the trumpet, and stood for a moment with an expression of astonished horror on his face.

“Lord!” he exclaimed. “What an ungodly row!”

Suddenly the Third Mate, who had been spying through his binoculars, broke the silence.

“Look!” he exclaimed. “There’s a wind coming up astern.” At his words the Captain looked up quickly, and we all watched the ruffling water.

“That packet yonder is bringing up the wind with her,” said the Skipper. “She’ll be alongside in a few minutes if this cat’s-paw lasts.”

Some minutes passed and the bank of fog had come to within a hundred yards of our taffrail. The strange ship could be seen distinctly just within the fringe of driving wisps. Then the wind died away. A minute passed, then another, and the water became faintly ruffled astern of us. At the same time the stranger vessel neared us steadily. Quickly the seconds passed, and she was within fifty yards; then the wind reached us and blew clammily through our rigging. Our sails filled and we started to forge ahead. The strange barque came on rapidly; she had the wind before us, and consequently, had better way through the water.

Just as her bows came abreast of our quarter she yawed sharply and came up into the wind with her sails all a-flutter. I looked towards her wheel, but could see it only dimly through the mistiness. Slowly she fell off again and started to go through the water.

We, meanwhile, had gone ahead; but it was soon evident that she was the better sailer, for she came up to us hand over fist. The wind freshened and the fog began to clear quickly so that each moment the detail of her spars and cordage showed more plainly.

The Skipper and the Mates were watching her closely through their glasses when an almost simultaneous exclamation of fear broke from them.

“My God!”

Crawling about the decks now visible in the thinning mist, were the most horrible creatures I had ever seen. In spite of their unearthly strangeness I had a feeling that there was something familiar about them. They were like nothing so much as men. They had bodies the shape of seals, but of a dead unhealthy white colour. The lower part ended in a sort of double curved tail on which they had two long, snaky feelers, and at the ends a very human-like hand with talons instead of nails—fearsome parodies of humans.

Their faces, which, like their arm-tentacles, were black, were the most grotesquely human things about them, and save that the upper jaw shut into the lower—much after the manner of the jaw of an octopus—I have seen men amongst certain tribes of natives who had faces uncommonly like theirs; yet no native I have ever seen could have given me the extraordinary feeling of horror and revulsion that I experienced towards those brutal looking creatures.

“What devilish beasts!” burst out the Captain in disgust.

He turned to look at the Mates and, as he did so, the expression on their faces told me that they had all realised what the presence of those bestial looking brutes meant.

If, as was doubtless the case, these creatures had boarded this vessel and destroyed the crew, what was to prevent them from doing the same with us? We were a smaller ship and a small crew, and the more I thought about the matter the less I liked it.

Her name, Lancing, could be read easily on her bows with the naked eye, while the lifebuoys and boats had the name bracketed with Glasgow painted on them, showing that she hailed from that port. At times the derelict would yaw wildly, thus loosing so much ground that we were able to keep some distance ahead of her.

Then, as we gazed at her, we noticed that there was some disturbance aboard, and several of the creatures started to slide down her side into the water.

The Mate pointed and called out excitedly.

“See! See! They’ve spotted us. They’re coming after us!”

It was only too true. Scores of them were sliding into the sea, letting themselves down with their long arm-tentacles. On they came, slipping by scores into the water and swimming towards us in great bodies. The ship was going some three knots an hour, otherwise they would have caught us in a very few minutes. As it was they came on, gaining slowly but surely, nearer and nearer. Their long tentacle-like arms rose out of the water in hundreds, and the foremost ones were already within a score of yards of us before the Captain bethought himself to shout to the Mates to fetch up the half dozen cutlasses comprising the ship’s armoury. Then, turning to me, he bade me go below and bring him the two revolvers out of the top drawer of his cabin table, also a box of cartridges that was there.

When I returned with the weapons he handed one to the Mate, keeping the other himself. Meanwhile the pursuing creatures were getting steadily closer, and soon a half dozen of the leaders were right under our stern. Immediately the Captain leaned over the rail and discharged the weapon amongst them; but without apparently producing any effect whatever. I think he realised how puny and ineffectual all efforts against such an enemy must be, for he did not trouble to reload his pistol.

Some dozens of the brutes had reached us, and the arm-tentacle rose into the air and caught at the rail. I heard the Third Mate scream suddenly as he was dragged violently against the taffrail. Seeing his danger, I snatched one of the cutlasses and made a fierce cut at the thing that held him, severing it clean in two. A gout of blood splashed me in the face, and the Third staggered and fell to the deck. A dozen more of those grasping arms rose and wavered but they seemed to be some yards astern. A rapidly widening patch of clear water appeared between us and the foremost of the monsters and I gave a crazy shout of joy, for we were leaving them behind. The cause was soon apparent; the wind, now that it had come, was freshening rapidly and the ship was running some eight knots through the water.

Away in our wake the barque was still yawing. Presently we hauled up on the port tack and left the Lancing running away to leeward, with her devilish crew of octopus-beasts aboard her.

The Third Mate was struggling to his feet with a dazed look. Something fell from him as he rose and I stooped to pick it up. It was the severed portion of the talon-like hand that had gripped him.

***

Three weeks later we anchored off ‘Frisco’. There the Captain made a full report of the affair to the authorities with the result that a gunboat was dispatched to investigate.

Six weeks later she returned to report she had been unable to find any signs, either of the ship herself, or of the fearful creatures that had attacked her. And since then nothing as far as I know has ever been heard of the four-masted barque Lancing, last seen by us in the possession of creatures which may be rightly called the demons of the sea.

Whether she still floats occupied by her hellish crew, or whether some storm has sent her to her last resting place beneath the waves is purely a matter of conjecture. Perchance, on some dark, fogbound night, a ship in that wilderness of waters may hear cries and sounds beyond those of the wailing of the winds. Then let them look to it; for it may be that the demons of the sea are near them.