In the Sargasso Sea by Thomas A. Janvier (smart books to read .TXT) đź“–
- Author: Thomas A. Janvier
- Performer: -
Book online «In the Sargasso Sea by Thomas A. Janvier (smart books to read .TXT) 📖». Author Thomas A. Janvier
with all those unhidden others wasting away slowly in the open light
of day. I got so sick as these horrid thoughts pressed upon me that I
turned to the table and poured out for myself a stiff drink of
gin-and-water—being careful first to rinse the glass well—and I was
glad that I thought of it, for it did me good.
My movement about the cabin roused up the dying fellow and he hailed
me to give him some more gin. His voice was so thick that I knew that
the drink already had fuddled him; and after he had swiped off what I
gave him he began to talk again. But the liquor had taken such hold
upon him that he called me “Jack,” not recognizing me, and evidently
fancying that I was his mate—the man whom he had killed.
At first he rambled on about the storm that had wrecked them; and then
about their chance of falling in with a passing vessel; and then about
some woman named Hannah who would be worrying about him because he did
not come home. As well as I could make out he went over in this
fashion most of what had happened—and it was little enough, in one
way—from the time that the two found themselves alone upon the hulk
until they began to get among the weed, and realized pretty well
what that meant for them.
“It ain’t no use now, Jack,” he rambled on. “It ain’t no use now
thinkin’ about gettin’ home, an’ Hannah may as well stop lookin’ fur
me. This is th’ Dead Man’s Sea we’re gettin’ into; an’ I knows it
well, an’ you knows it well, both on us havin’ heerd it talked about
by sailormen ever sence we come afloat as boys. Down in th’ middle of
it is all th’ old dead wrecks that ever was sence ships begun sailin’;
and all th’ old dead sailormen is there too. It’s a orful place,
Jack, that me an’ you’s goin’ to—more damn orful, I reckon, than we
can hev any idee. Gin’s all thet’s lef’ to us, and it’s good luck we
hev such swashins of it aboard. Here’s at you, Jack an’ gimme some
more out o’ the kag, you damn starin’ owl.”
There was an angry tone in his voice as he spoke these last words; and
the tone was sharper a moment later when he went on: “Can’t you keep
your owl eyes shet, you beast? Don’t look at me like that, or I’ll
stick a knife into you. No, I’m not starin’ at you; it’s you who’s
starin’ at me, damn you. Stop it! Stop it, I say, you—” and he broke
out with a volley of foul names and curses; and partly raised himself,
as though he thought that a fight was coming on. And then the pain
which this movement caused him made him fall back again with a groan.
Without his asking for it I gave him another drink, which quieted
him a little; and then put fresh strength into him, so that he burst
out again with his curses and abuse. “Cut the heart out of me, will
you—you scum of rottenness? I’d have you to know that cuttin’ hearts
out is a game two can play at. Take that, damn you! An’ that! An’
that! Them’s fur your starin’—you damn fat-faced blinkin’ owl. And I
mean now t’ keep on till I stop you. No more of your owl-starin’ fur
me! Take it agen, you stinkin’ starin’ owl. So! An’ so! An’ so!”
He fairly raised himself up in the berth as he rushed out his words,
and at the same time thrust savagely with his right hand as though he
had a knife in it. For a minute or more he kept his position, cursing
with a strong voice and thrusting all the time. Suddenly he gave a
yell of pain and fell on his back again, crying brokenly: “Hell! It’s
you who’ve finished me!” And then he gave two or three short sharp
gasps, and after that there was a little gurgling in his throat, and
then he was still—lying there as dead as any man could be.
This quick ending of him came so suddenly that it staggered me; but I
must say that my first feeling, when I fairly realized what had
happened, was thankfulness that his life was gone—for I had had
enough of him to know that having much more of him would drive me mad.
In the telling of it, of course, most of what made all this horrible
slips away from me, and it don’t seem much to strain a man, after all.
But it really was pretty bad: what with the shadowy light in the
stateroom, for even with the port uncovered it still was dusky; and
the horrid smell there; and the vividness with which the fellow
somehow managed to make me feel those days and weeks of his half-crazy
half-drunken life, while he and the other man stared at each other
until neither of them could bear it any longer—and so took to
fighting from sheer heart-breaking horror of loneliness and killed
each other out of hand. And back of all that I had the feeling that I
was caught in the same fate that had shut in upon them; and was even
worse off than they had been, since I had no one to fight my life away
with but must take it myself when I found my solitude in that rotten
desolation more than I could stand.
Even the gin-and-water, though I took another big drink of it, could
not hearten me; but it did give me the courage to rid myself of the
two dead brutes by casting them overboard; and, indeed, getting rid of
them was a necessity, for their presence seemed to me so befouling
that I found it hard to breathe.
With the man on deck—except that touching him was hateful to me—I
did not have much trouble. I just made fast to him a couple of heavy
iron bars that I found down in the engine-room—pokers, they seemed to
be, for serving the boiler fires—and then dragged him along the deck
to a place where the bulwarks were gone and there shot him overboard.
And luckily the weed was thinnish there, and he went down like a stone
into it and through it and so disappeared.
But with the man in the cabin I had a harder job. In his horridly cut
condition I could not bring myself to touch him, and the best that I
could do was to make a sort of bundle of him and the mattress and the
bedclothes all together—with a bit of light line whipped around and
around the whole mass until it was snug and firm. When it was finished
I worked it out of the stateroom, and rolled it fairly easily along
the floor of the cabin to the companionway—and there it stuck fast.
Budge it I could not; for it was too long to roll up the stair, and
too heavy for me to haul it up after me or to push it up before me,
though I tried both ways and tried hard. But in the end I managed to
get it up by means of a purchase that I rigged from a ringbolt in the
deck just outside the companionway door; and once having it on deck I
could manage it again easily, for there I could roll it along.
Yet I did not at once cast it overboard; for I had no more iron bars
with which to weight it, and I knew that such a bunch of stuff would
not sink through the weed—and that I should have it still
loathsomely with me, lying only partly hidden in the weed right
alongside. In the end I got up a big iron cinder-bucket that I filled
with coal—making sure that the coal would stay in it by lashing a
piece of canvas over the top—and this I made fast to the bundle by a
rope three or four fathoms long. Then I cast the bucket overboard
through the break in the bulwarks, and as it shot downward I rolled
the bundle after it—and I had the comfort of seeing the whole go down
through the weed and away from my sight forever into the hidden
water below.
And then I sat down on the deck and rested; for what little cheering
and strength I had got from the gin-and-water had left me and I was
utterly miserable and tired as a dog. But I was well quit of both my
dead men, and that was a good job well done.
XVIIHOW I WALKED MYSELF INTO A MAZE
Sitting there with the splotches of fresh blood on the deck all around
me was more than I could stomach for very long. The sight of them
brought back to me with a horrid distinctness everything that I had
seen since I came aboard the hulk: the dead man lying on the deck, the
other man with his frightful wounds and his wild talk and his death in
the midst of his passionate ravings, and the disgusting work that I
had been forced to do before I could hide their two bodies from my
sight in the sea-depths beneath the tangled weed. And so, presently, I
scrambled to my feet, thinking to get back to the Hurst Castle
again—where there was no taint of blood to bring up haunting visions
and where, though it seemed a long while past to me, I had been in the
company of honest and kindly men.
But when I turned toward this poor escape from my misery—which at
best was but a change from a foul prison to a clean one—I saw that I
could not easily compass it; for in the time that had passed since I
had made my jump in the morning—noon being by then upon me—the
Hurst Castle had swung around a little, being caught I suppose upon
some bit of sunken wreckage, so that where the two ships were nearest
to each other there was an open reach of twenty feet or more
across the weed.
This was too great a distance for a jump, seeing that it must be made
from rail to rail without a run to give me a send-off; and yet it was
so short that my not being able to cross it never even entered my
mind. Had there been a mast standing on the hulk, with a yard fast to
it, I could have rigged a rope from the yard-arm and swung myself
across in a moment; but the decks being sea-swept, with nothing left
standing on them, that way was not open to me; nor could I find a
light spar—even the flag-staff at the stern being snapt away—that I
could stretch across from one rail to the other and make a bridge of.
The only other thing that occurred to me was to tear off some of the
doors in the cabin and to make of them a little raft that I could pass
by, though I saw well enough that pushing a raft through so dense a
tangle even for that short distance would be a hard job. And then I
had the thought that perhaps on the sailing-ship lying beside me I
might find a sound boat, which would better answer my purpose since it
could be the more easily moved through the weed. In point of fact I
could not have moved a boat a single foot through that thicket without
cutting a passage for it, and I might have thrown overboard three or
four doors
Comments (0)