The Collected Fiction of William Hope Hodgson: The Dream Of X & Other Fantastic Visions (28 page)

“Slit him!” suddenly roared Jalbrok, with something like a pig’s squeal in the note of his voice. “Slit him!”

And therewith he rushed straight at me with the pig-sticker, and the rest of that vile crew of murdering brutes after him. But I whipped my two great pistols from behind my back, and thrust them almost into their faces; and blood-hungry though they were, like wild beasts, they gave back like dogs from a whip, and the landlord with them.

“In the name of James Naynes, whom ye destroyed in this same room,” I said quietly.

And I fired my right hand pistol at Jalbrok, and saw his face crumble, and he fell, carrying the lamp, and a man further back in the room tumbled headlong. The lamp had gone out when the landlord fell, and the room was full of a sound like the howling of frightened animals. There was a mad rush in the darkness for the great oak cupboard, and I loosed off again with my left-hand pistol into the midst of the noise; and immediately there were several screams, and a deeper pandemonium. I heard furniture thrown about madly, and some of the men seemed to have lost their bearings, for I heard the crash of broken glass as they blundered into the far window.

Then I had my lamp in my hands, and my third pistol. I opened the shutter, and shone the light upon the blundering louts; and as they got their bearings in the light there was a madder scramble than before to escape through the cupboard.

I did not shoot again, but let them escape, for I judged they had seen sufficient of me to suit their needs for that one night. And to prove that I was right, I heard them go tumbling away out of the front doorway at a run. And after that there was a great quietness throughout the inn.

I threw the light upon the men on the floor. Jalbrok and his murdering helpman appeared both to be dead, but there were three others who groaned, but were not greatly hurt, for when I called out to them to go before I shot them truly dead, they were all of them to their knees in a moment, and crept along the floor into the cupboard, and so out of my sight.

I had my feet free of the trap in less than the half of an hour, and went over to the men upon the floor, who were both as dead as they deserved to be.

Then I loaded my pistols, and, with one in each hand, I entered the cupboard, and found, as I had supposed, a ladder reared up within a big press that stands in the taproom from floor to ceiling, and the top of which is the floor of the cupboard in the bedroom. So that I was wrong when I thought, maybe, that there had been a false back to it.

I found the wench locked in a small pantry place where she slept, and when she saw me alive she first screamed, and then kissed me so heartily that I gave her a good honest guinea piece to cease; also because I was grateful to the lass for her regard for my safety.

Regarding the great machine in the bedroom, I made a close examination of this, and found that the hinged centre of the monstrously, heavy mattress was supported upon a strut which went down into the taproom through the great central beam that held the ceiling up, and was kept in place by an oak peg, which passed through the beam and the supporting strut. It was when they went to knock the peg out that the wench screamed, and the two blows I heard beneath the bed were the blows of the hammer on the peg.

And so I have discovered, as I set out to do, the way in which poor James Naynes met his death, and my hands have been chosen to deal out a portion of the lawful vengeance which his murderers had earned.

But I have not yet finished with this district—not until I have rooted out, neck and crop, the ruthless and bloodthirsty band that do their lawless work in this lonesome part of the king’s domain.

N.B.—This abominable bed was still to be seen as late as 1850 in the Old Black Crow Inn at Erskine, where it was shown to visitors as a relic of the past.

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What Happened
in the Thunderbolt

I
was not what one would term literally hard up, for I had over fifty pounds in my pocket; yet I could see no prospect of getting more, so I thought it would be better to clear out and make a start somewhere abroad.

I had served my time—afterwards passing for second mate—some years previously, but had grown so heartily sick of the life that I had thrown it up, as I hoped then, for good. Yet, when I shipped in the Thunderbolt, I was glad enough for the chance. I little thought then to what it was going to lead.

My intention had been to leave the ship as soon as we reached ’Frisco, and I should have done so had it not been for a certain reason, of which presently I shall speak.

We had a quiet enough voyage out round the Horn. Fine weather and steady winds. The grub was good, for ship’s grub, and there was nothing particular to grumble about in the treatment we received at the hands of the after crowd, though I know now that this was due chiefly to the skipper, who was a decent sort of old chap.

The second mate, for whose watch I was picked, struck me as being a fellow who would bully if he got the least encouragement. He had one of the most sensual faces I have seen. I found later that he was a fiend.

The first mate was quite a different type of man. Tall and lean, as against the second’s burliness, he was mean-looking and unobtrusive in his manners. I could not stand him. Yet there was nothing I could say against him—then.

When we reached ’Frisco I went to the old man, and told him that I wanted to leave. I asked him straight whether he intended to do the right thing by me, and pay me off in full. He inquired why I was anxious to go, and I told him that I wanted to get a job ashore. He was decent enough, and suggested that I should not be in a hurry, but take time to think the matter over. And, because of this, I stayed by the ship while she was in port.

We were nearly three months before we got our grain, and then we had to go up to Crockett to finish loading. When we got down again to ’Frisco, I was surprised to hear that we were to have a passenger home—a lady.

She came off to us next day, accompanied by an awful old hag of a chaperon.

I helped to get her things aboard, and I took her portmanteau into the saloon to the cabin she was to occupy. She and her chaperon, whose name was Mrs. Wiggins, followed me, carrying various small parcels. In the doorway leading into the saloon we met the second mate coming out. I saw him look over my shoulder at Miss Vairne—so her companion had named her—and in that moment I saw the foul soul of the man flash out in his eyes. He seemed to be unconscious that he was blocking the way, so intense was his gaze. It annoyed me beyond endurance.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said. “This portmanteau is heavy.”

At that he stepped to one side, though with a grunt that was almost a snarl. The next instant, seeming to remember himself, he swung off his cap to the ladies, but Miss Vairne walked past him as though she were unconscious that he existed.

I carried the portmanteau into the cabin, and deposited it upon the deck of the berth; then I turned to go. The second mate had not gone on deck, but was fiddling about in the saloon. It seemed to me that he was waiting until I had gone. I had nearly reached the door opening out of the saloon, when I heard a quick patter of steps behind me, and someone touched me on the arm. I turned quickly, and saw, to my astonishment, that it was Miss Vairne.

“Thank you so much for carrying in my portmanteau, Mr.—”

She hesitated.

“My name is Kenstone,” I said. “But I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake, I’m one of the deck-hands.”

She laughed outright at that, and held out her hand to me. Over by the table I knew the second mate was glaring at me savagely.

I pretended not to see him, and shook hands with Miss Vairne.

“I’m afraid, Miss Vairne,” I said, smiling, “you do not realise that I am only one of the common sailors.”

She laughed—a merry little laugh. Yet there was a sense of defiant scorn in it that I knew was intended to show the lowering second mate that she would thank whom she pleased, even though he were a common sailor.

“Might I ask you, Mr. Kenstone,” she said, “if you would mind just loosing the straps of my bag? The buckles are rather stiff.”

“Certainly,” I said; and hurried to do her request.

Yet, as I bent over it, I kept my ears open, listening intently towards where the second mate stood. I expected every instant to hear him break out, for I knew that he must be just raging at her action in shaking hands with one who was but a deck-hand, while he, the little tin god, was utterly ignored.

His anger broke bounds as I finished loosing the straps, and stood up. Miss Vairne had just given me a mischievous little smile of thanks, when he broke in:

“Here, you, Kenstone! You’d better get on deck! This ain’t your part of the ship!”

I would have answered him back pretty smartly had I been still of a mind to leave the ship, but all at once I found that this was the last thing I wished to do, and so, with a slight bow to Miss Vairne, and taking no notice of the second, I went on deck.

Later in the same day I went to the old man, and told him that I had changed my mind, and would prefer to make the passage home with him, if he cared to have me. He seemed quite pleased, and told me that he had felt sure I should change my mind, as there was nothing at which to grumble in the treatment received in his ship. I assured him that I was quite satisfied with the ship and the treatment, and so nothing more was said about my leaving. This arrangement suited him all the more in that he had not, as yet, signed on a hand in my place.

Three days later we sailed. During those three days I had seen Miss Vairne several times, yet never once to speak to. On two occasions she caught me looking at her, and replied by a bright little nod. I think that she had begun to realise that it would make trouble to treat me with the open, frank friendliness of our first meeting. Nevertheless, I was more than a little anxious to speak with her again could I but manage it without the officers being aware of the fact. Also, I was desirous that none of the men should see her speak to me, for I could not stand their remarks on certain subjects.

We had got well away from the coast before I again had speech with her. It was one day in the morning watch, about seven-thirty. Seven bells had been struck some minutes. We had been washing decks, and I was coiling down the braces on the lee side of the poop, when I heard her come up out from the companionway. I knew that it was she without looking round, though I did not show my knowledge, but just went on coiling. The second mate had gone for’ard along the main-deck to see Chips, and the next thing that I knew she was there standing beside me, watching me as I flaked the ropes down upon the deck. Still, I did not take any notice of her, but pretended to be so busy at the job that I had not seen her. At that she gave her foot a stamp, which pleased me greatly, seeing that I am a man. Yet still I paid not a bit of attention to her, just went on coiling down the main topsail brace, doing it very carefully and exactly. I guessed this would make her speak, especially as she was sure to know that the second mate would be back before long. And I was not mistaken.

“You’re being rude on purpose,” she said.

I looked up at that, but her eyes were not in my direction; instead, she was gazing away over the lee rail with an indifferent expression on her face. This made me think that someone might be looking, and I glanced towards the fellow at the wheel, but was relieved to notice that he could not see me where I stood, owing to the companionway being between.

Then I spoke.

“I beg your pardon,” I said.

At that she turned and looked at me for one short moment, and there was no anger in her eyes; nothing, it seemed to me then, save roguishness and something else that I did not then understand.

Before I could speak again, I heard the second mate coming aft from the carpenter’s shop. She, too, heard him. Yet, at the risk of being seen, she bent towards me.

“Good-morning, Mr. Common Sailor,” she said prettily, but in a low voice.

The next instant she was leaning over the lee rail, and looking innocently at the expanse of sea. I was conscious of a queer sense of happiness. Then, though not unpleasantly, I realised that I had omitted to wish her “Good-morning.” She had intended to rebuke my forgetfulness. I wondered how she knew that I was not a common sailorman, and yet I felt that I was a wretched hypocrite to pretend to wonder. I fell to picturing myself saying “Good-mornin’, Miss,” and touching my forehead to her. I believe I must have laughed out loud at the thought, for the next thing the second mate sang out to know what I was making that donkey-row up on the poop for. I made no reply, though I felt angry at his cursing me before her. I felt that he was on the look-out to do a bit of showing off. He wanted to lower me in her eyes. All the same I made no reply, but finished straightening up the ropes, and then walked down on to the main deck just as eight bells went for my watch below.

I saw Miss Vairne every day after that, but somehow, one way or another, nearly a fortnight passed before I had further word with her, and then only by sheer audacity. For, though I had not been able to exchange speech with her, something in the look on her face at times had told me that she was not quite happy, nor easy in her mind—that something was troubling her. I had seen this expression of uneasiness several times. I also noticed that she had got into the way of spending the greater portion of her time on deck, and that she deliberately avoided the first and second mates on every possible occasion. I wondered how it was that her chaperon was never visible, and I took occasion once to ask the steward, but he—an evil-looking little beast—grinned and said the old lady was keeping to her bunk, as she was unwell. Even then I began to have a smattering of suspicion, but I was soon to learn for certain, more than ever I should have guessed; for on the night of the very day on which the little, lying object of a steward had told me that the ugly old chaperon was ill in her bunk, I came across the old lady herself talking to the second mate in the shadow under the break of the poop. I saw them only by chance, and I did not give any sign to show that I had spotted them, but quietly strolled forward again as though I had seen nothing.