The Collected Fiction of William Hope Hodgson: The Dream Of X & Other Fantastic Visions (73 page)

On one side the raft lay cradled in the weed. On the other, something like a gigantic whip, studded with bud-like excrescences, and tapering from the thickness of a man’s leg to a finger-tip, rose from the turgid depths, and searched with a blind but devilish certainty of purpose for something on the raft.

Sick from inexpressible fear, the watcher sank back with closed eyes, and simultaneously a shrill scream of agony clove the night. As if depressed by a giant hand the raft sank on the one side almost to the water’s edge; the mate opened his eyes in time to catch a brief glimpse of something being dragged overboard with a strangling, gurgling cry—and all was again still.

With incoherent cries of fear, Tasker scrambled on his knees to where the mate lay.

“Gawd! What was that?” he gasped, vainly endeavouring to repress a fit of coughing.

“I don’t know. Don’t know, I tell you! Keep quiet—it’ll come back,” exclaimed the mate in a hoarse whisper.

Bronson, crawling noiselessly, installed himself close to his companions, and presently, judging from the steady snore he emitted, was asleep again. Fearfully, the other two lay watching the edge of the raft, momentarily expecting to see the terrible feeler reappear; and presently—after an eternity of waiting—the sun rose.

It was the signal for commencing another day of Sisyphean labour. The kedge gone, nothing remained but the pole, which had augmented their efforts of the previous day, but the progress made by forcing it against the weed and pushing was heart-breaking in its results. And yet, when the mate, late that afternoon, by means of a match held at arm’s length, measured the distance from the open sea, he saw that progress had been made.

The three men refreshed themselves at intervals almost without speech. Bronson seemed to regard the position, as he did the disappearance of the boy, with stolid indifference, performing his share of the labour with the unquestioning obedience of a horse. He had but little English at his command, if any, a fact which caused neither himself nor companions many regrets.

So the work went on, with intervals of escape from the burning sun beneath the awning—and again night fell upon the raft, and for two of the occupants the dying rays of the sun were fraught with horror.

The mate lay down to rest with a small hatchet close to his hand, while Tasker, spent with coughing and labour, sought the drowsy goddess with an open clasp-knife in his fingers. Long before either of them closed their eyes, the resonant snore of the “Dutchman” boomed a deep diapason on the fœtid air.

The mate had dosed off when a light touch caused his fingers to close fiercely upon the halt of his weapon.

“Look!” hissed the voice of the wakeful Tasker in his ear, and the mate followed the direction of the outstretched, trembling finger, with difficulty repressing a cry. With a movement which reminded him dully of the fluttering of a moth, he saw a horrible tentacle, leather-hued and lithe, appear from the gloom beyond the raft, and whip-like dart hither and thither among the rude logs at the opposite end to where he and the carpenter lay. Then, as the shaking Tasker crouched against him, his livid brows streaming with terror-sweat, and vainly trying to repress his uncontrollable cough, the tentacle touched the sleeping Bronson on the ankle. It instantly whipped round his calf like a lash; with a hoarse, animal-like cry the cook awoke, stiffened, and turned half over on his face, clutching with frenzied fingers at the interstices in the planks beneath him.

At the sight something seemed to snap in the mate’s brain. He hurled his strangling shipmate from him with a yell, and with Berserker rage leaped towards the Thing, brandishing the axe. Even as he did so, like a straw, Bronson arose from the raft into the air, rigid and helpless, his right leg and thigh and his left ankle encircled in the clutch of the devil-fish.

The mate aimed a savage blow at the murderous feelers, at the same moment grasping the wretched man by the collar of his open shirt. Instantly the water was churned into foam by the rapid appearance of half-a-dozen of the horrible tentacles, which proceeded to fasten with silent ferocity upon the body of the doomed man, tearing him from the mate’s grasp with irresistible force. A tentacle slipped round the mate’s leg. He aimed at it a frenzied blow, and stood for a moment gazing stupidly upon the severed piece of leather-like flesh at his feet. Then, as the body of the cook disappeared into the sea in a swirl of foam, he pitched forward on his forehead in a dead faint.

The sun was high in the heavens when he again opened his eyes. He found his companion in misfortune capering about like a madman, signalling to something on the horizon by means of the shirt he had taken off.

There was no sign of the dreadful octopus, save that planks at the end of the raft were covered with slime and gore. The mate’s head ached intolerably, and, putting his hand to his forehead, he discovered, a tremendous bruise—a discovery which brought the events of the previous night crowding back.

“A ship!” screamed Tasker, in an ecstasy. “They’re putting about—they see us—” waving the shirt frantically. Painfully, the mate rose to his feet, and saw, perhaps two miles off, a ship, evidently a small barque, almost becalmed.

Anxiously they watched the tiny ship grow slowly larger, while the blazing sun reached its meridian and began to sink lower in the heavens. At times the barque was quite motionless. At others, it seemed to the castaways that she contemplated turning back upon them and leaving them to their fate. Their frantic signals had apparently no effect upon the men who were bearing down upon the weed which imprisoned them.

The afternoon passed, and night was rapidly falling upon the scene when a boat put off from the barque, whose sails flapped idly in the catspaw breezes which disturbed the awful calm. The rescuing boat touched the weed nearly half a mile from where the raft lay. Frantically the two men, who had watched every movement with starting eyes, noted the halt, and frantically waved signals of direction to the boat.

Again the four rowers bent to their oars, driving their craft rapidly through the water to the entrance of the tiny creek. Again they paused doubtfully, and a moment later those on the raft could no longer see, even dimly, what was happening. A deep voice came booming over the weed. “Lay to, mates! We’ll fetch you off at daylight. Cheero!” The carpenter and the mate replied with a volley of frantic, incoherent cries, but when, exhausted and hopeless, they lapsed into silence, the dull thump of oar upon rowlock told them that the boat was on its way back to the barque. As they stared into the darkness a light sprang into being on the distant ship, and its steady effulgence smote like a pang of despair into the hearts of the men on the raft.

The mate was the first to rouse himself to action. He threw back the lid of the larder and began to tumble provisions and water-beaker out upon the rude deck. The carpenter watched him with a hard, curious gaze.

Mentally each man measured the capacity of the locker. Then their eyes met.

“There’s only room for one of us,” said the mate in a low tone, “and the devil-fish gets the other!” The carpenter nodded, and began to cough.

Far across the impenetrable waste a bright eye blinked a message of hope—for one man!

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R.M.S. “Empress of Australia”

THE EARTHQUAKE

I
do not intend writing an account to cover the whole scene of the appalling disaster which completely destroyed the whole City of Yokohama, the greater part of Tokio, the base of the Japanese Navy at Yokoseeka (Yokosuka), Kamura, and also doing much damage in the districts to the east of Fugiyama. This is to give an account, partly in the form of a Log, of some of my own experiences and the part played by the Empress of Australia during her stay in Yokohama from August 31st to September 7, 1923.

AUGUST 31st.

We arrived in Yokohama, homeward bound, and berthed, starboard side to, alongside the Custom’s Wharf. This wharf was under construction, the parts built of wood were being rebuilt of re-inforced concrete. It was to have accommodated four of the largest vessels at a time, two on each side of the wharf. It had two large freight sheds built of wood, with upper stories in the form of semi-open cafes, which are popular places for people to gather to see the ships depart.

SEPTEMBER 1st.

We were all ready for sailing at noon. The weather was fine and clear, with a light, southerly breeze. At one and one-half minutes to noon, we felt the ship vibrating, and wondered what was wrong, as the engines had not yet moved. After a few seconds the vibration became terrible; the whole ship seemed to jump and bend. In the engine room the engineers reported that the steam pipes were working at the expansion joints as much as a foot.

From the bridge I saw the wharf from end to end rolling like a wave. The usual large crowds were gathered to see the ship go out. Down on the wharf there was terrible confusion; people were being thrown down in all directions. Then, with a rending crash, the whole wharf opened up. Down with the wreckage went all the crowds of struggling people, with numbers of horses, vans and motor cars. We threw over numbers of linen and rope ladders to those who were left on the narrow strip of wharf which remained standing. But at that time we were unable to render very much assistance, as the wind had suddenly increased to gale force, and the ship was being thrown away from the wharf as much as twenty feet, then back towards it again, by the extraordinary upheaval of the water. Several of our moving lines had carried away, it being impossible to slack them away in time. The atmosphere was rapidly becoming dark with dust from the fallen masonry on shore. I have a hazy recollection of seeing the buildings along the Bund collapsing, and the noise was terrible. No description can give any idea of the inferno. It seemed that this was the end of everything. The panic-stricken people on the wharf were trying to make their way to the shore over pieces of wreckage which still showed above water. Our Shanghai pilot (Kent) was about the first to go through the wharf. I saw him in the water with a motor car sliding in on top of him, and that was the last I saw of him until he appeared over the ship’s side, hauled up on a rope.

The two tugs that were standing by to tend the ship had both cleared off in a hurry. Astern of us was an American freighter, Steel Navigator, and on our port side, moored to a buoy, was another steamer that had dragged her moorings and struck us on the quarter, smashing in the rail round the poop, and damaging some of the light plates on the counter, which was not serious. With the ship astern, we were able to get away. The Japanese pilot boat (a motor sampan) came off to us after a time and, after great efforts, succeeded in carrying out a 9” Manila to the buoy. This line parted, however, as we attempted to heave the ship out. We had just to hold on where we were.

12:15 p.m. Fires could be seen through the smoke to be breaking out all over the city.

12:30 p.m. We asked the ship astern to move out so that we could get away to an anchorage—that sportsman wouldn’t move, although the wind had eased off considerably, and the sea was back to normal.

1:30 p.m. The whole of the wrecked city was now one enormous fire. The wind was blowing strong towards the harbour, driving the flames towards us. The heat and smoke were now getting terrible, and clouds of ashes were flying over us. All hands now, together with several volunteers from the passengers, were working at the fire service. We had thirty fire hoses in operation, throwing water over the whole of the outside of the ship. A number of cargo lighters in the harbour had already taken fire, and having burned through their moorings, were drifting about the harbour with the tide, igniting the other lighters as they came together. The freight sheds on the wharf, although they had collapsed, were still above water, and it was now only a matter of time before they took fire. We again made an unheeded appeal to the Steel Navigator to get away and let us out of the danger. They had let go an anchor which was leading close under our stern. Instead of heaving up and clearing out, they slacked away, still holding on to the wharf.

2:00 p.m. The freight shed right off our starboard bow took fire and went up like matchwood. Things were looking very serious now. All hoses were directed towards the fore part of the ship and on to the wharf. We hauled astern until we were close up to the Navigator’s bows. They could see the imminent danger we were in, of taking fire, and they refused to move for us! The burning lighters were now moving round us, several having worked their way in between us and the wharf.

When the Germans built this boat, they did not design her for speed, but they certainly gave us a good fire gear. Nothing less could have saved the ship.

Towards 3 o’clock the fire on the wharf began to burn itself out, and for the present the worst of the fire was over, and no part of the ship had taken fire. The Municipal Building was still standing. All the windows were spouting flames, and from the two high towers the fire was leaping as from a huge blast furnace.

We were now able to get the boats away and pull in shore to bring off refugees who, to escape from the fire, had crowded down to the water, many having waded out up to their necks. We continued backwards and forwards between the ship and the shore, bringing off great numbers, many of whom were in a very bad state, and had to be carried down on improvised stretchers. All these cases were being treated on board. Under the supervision of the ship’s doctor, one part of the ship was being set aside for a hospital. The stewardesses and lady passengers and a number of the men were doing great work among the injured. Towards night the ship was becoming very crowded. Being impossible to take everyone, we had to limit our numbers to Europeans and Chinese, all injured cases and women with children. (Europeans meaning all white people and British subjects.) Out of all the ships in the harbour, most of which were Japanese, we only saw boats put off from two of them: The Dongola (P & O), the only other British ship in port, and the Andre Lebon, (French Mail).