Текст книги "A Smuggler Tale of the Romney Marsh"

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Chapter 19

The Captain’s Nightmare

Presently the captain yawned and Doctor Syn rose and summoned Mrs. Waggetts. The captain yawned again and rubbed his eyes. Was he awake or dreaming? The last thing he remembered was drinking the hot rum punch and listening to a long story that he thought the Doctor would never finish. What a soothing effect that punch seemed to have on his faculties, for after that he was rather vague. He dreamt he was lifted up sleeping, lifted up by two men who had followed Mrs. Waggetts from the bar when Doctor Syn had called her. Was one of those men that insolent Sexton Mipps? He vaguely thought it was,

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though he wouldn’t be sure. No, he wouldn’t be sure of anything! He thought he had been carried up to bed, but that was too silly, for who would carry him up to bed? Was it Doctor Syn who had said to Mipps on the stairs that he wasn’t going riding to-night for a thousand guineas, and that they must do without him for once? Then Mipps answered:

“That yellow beast ain’t alookin’ out for Clegg’s carpenter, is he? Well, I’ll go, it don’t want us both to-night.”

Then the dream got more confused than ever. There was a lonely reef in the coral seas, and on it was a weird figure calling. The captain seemed to be on a ship that was standing away from the reef, and all the time the figure kept calling. There was a full ship’s crew collected on the deck who were threatening two men. One was a familiar figure, a figure he had not seen often out of his dreams, and so was his little companion, and still the voice kept calling. The crew pushed forward a spokesman: he was a Chinaman—they

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called him by a nickname—Pete. Pete sheepishly advanced and stammered out to the familiar figure, whom he addressed as “Captain,” to put the ship about, and take up again the lonely form calling from the reef. Pete’s argument was evidently useless, for as he turned to join his fellows, the tallest of the familiar figures stretched out his hand and caught the yellow man—he was clad in the scanty garb of a cook—and broke his naked back with a marlin-spike that the little companion of the familiar figure had handed to him. Then the crew were commanded to throw the body overboard or they would be served the same. This they did, and the sharks surrounded the ship, clacking their teeth. Then the breeze seemed to blow off the reef, and the familiar figure ordered the men aloft to unfurl the sails. They obeyed sullenly, and still the voice, getting fainter and fainter, called from the reef, and the breeze increased, and the captain and his mate ordered the men the quicker aloft.

“Get up aloft there, you dogs! Get up! Get up! Get up!”

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The familiar figure then caught sight of the dreamer (though he wasn’t sure that he was dreaming even yet), and striding up to him ordered him aloft, and when he refused he dragged him up by the arm. The dreamer felt dizzy, for the sails were blowing in his face, and he thought he would let go, it was so like his first experience aloft; and he begged the familiar figure to let him go down, but the voice went on crying: “Up! Get up! Get up!”

Then the sail was pulled from his face, the wind blew through his hair, and he started up, catching hold of a stay (which turned out to be the bedpost), and letting the sail fall below upon the deck, which in reality was the bedclothes slipping to the floor, and still the voice cried: “Get up! Get up!” And he recognized there the familiar face of Doctor Syn, and by him his companion, Sexton Mipps.

“Get up! Get up!” the parson was crying. “What a fellow to sleep you are! Like waking the dead! Upon my soul, it is, Mr. Mipps.”

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The captain rubbed his eyes again.

The sun was streaming through the window, which was open, and a good stiff breeze was blowing in from the sea.

“What the devil!” said the captain. “Oh, it’s Doctor Syn, is it? What’s the time?”

“Just on ten o’clock,” said the cleric.

“Ten o’ what?” bellowed the captain, leaping out of bed.

“Clock,” repeated Mr. Mipps.

“I’ve overslept. Thing I’ve never done in my life. Been dreaming, too. Nightmares—horrible! But what do you want? Is anything the matter?”

“I think there is,” said the Doctor quietly.

“And so do I,” said Mr. Mipps.

“What? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

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“I don’t quite know yet, it may be nothing at all, but I don’t like the look of it.”

“The look of what?” shouted the captain.

“The vicarage,” replied the vicar. “Put on your clothes quickly, Captain, and come and see. I think there’s something wrong.”

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Chapter 20

A Terrible Investigation

The captain was not long in tumbling into his clothes. Meantime, the sexton sat upon the bed, which neither of the other two seemed to think extraordinary or even familiar. The captain now and then addressed a sharp question to the Doctor, which the Doctor did not answer, nor indeed did the captain seem to expect an answer. The Doctor was standing by the window, his gray hair blowing in the stiff sea breeze that filled the room. Suddenly they heard a little shaking noise upon the bed, and, turning, perceived the little sexton, with tears rolling down his cheeks, given up to the most ungovernable

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laughter, and yet it was not laughter, for the sexton made no noise. He just let his body quiver and heave and the tears roll on over his thin cheeks. Yes, he was lost in a fit of unmanageable giggles.

“What the thunder’s amusing you?” roared the captain; and he hurled the bolster at the sexton’s head.

Mipps was himself again upon the instant.

“Blessed if I knows,” he gasped, “but thank you kindly for that bolster whack, for if something hadn’t happened I believe I should have bust.”

“But what is it? There must have been something to make you laugh like that.”

“If there was, I’m blessed if I knows wot,” returned the sexton, “for I gives you my word that I never felt solemner than I does now, no, not never in my life.”

Doctor Syn took no notice of this extraordinary occurrence.

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When the captain was dressed they all three set out for the vicarage.

“Well, now, what is wrong with it?” said the captain, surveying the little house that looked so pretty in the morning sun.

“That’s just what we want to know,” answered Doctor Syn. “In the first place, short of forcing the door, I don’t see how we’re going to get in. The place is all locked up, and, though we have battered and hammered on the doors and windows for a good hour, we can get no answer from the sailors inside.”

“And my men in the barn, where are they?” said the captain, looking across at the building in question.

“I’m afraid, Captain, that you are too liberal to your men, for their rum barrel is empty and the whole lot of them are still asleep.”

The captain swore and walked to the back door, raised his foot, and with one kick sent the door in, splintered and cracked from the bolt sockets.

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“Neatly done!” remarked Doctor Syn, “though who’s to pay for a new door?”

But the captain did not heed him, nor care a brass farthing for the door, he was bent on investigating the house, which he did, followed by Mipps and the Doctor and Jerry Jerk, who had appeared from somewhere, nobody quite knew where.

The kitchen was empty, so the captain opened the door of the sitting-room; it was very dark because of the closed shutters.

The captain strode across to the broken window, threw it open, and unbolted the shutters, which, swinging back, let in the light of day. In the corner of the room opposite the window lay the two sailors who had been left to watch with the bo’sun. Both were bound and gagged, and one of them was moving. The captain loosed the bonds with a clasp knife, and the fellow seemed to recover his senses.

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“What does this mean, my man?” said the captain.

The sailor turned and pointed to the body of his friend. It lay half propped up against the wall, and above it was a large splintered tear in the whitewashed plaster. And then the captain saw and understood, for the neck of the propped-up body had been cruelly pierced, although there was no sign of a weapon; but some weapon had transfixed that body to the wall and then been plucked out, so that the body had collapsed amid a mesa of broken plaster.

“It’s Bill Spiker, sir,” said the sailor. “He’s dead! He was a good gunner, sir, too. We wanted Spiker, sir, to fight the French—and he’s dead!” And the sailor broke off blubbering.

Just then they all became aware of a moaning overhead.

“What’s that?” said Mipps, beginning to giggle.

Indeed the uncanny atmosphere of the vicarage that morning had upset them all.

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“I’m sure I don’t know,” said the captain, “for I’ve had my fill of horrors. I don’t mind blood and I don’t mind fighting, but these mysteries are horrible. What the devil is that moaning?”

“That’ll be Job Mallet, captain’s bo’sun,” said the sailor.

“Or Rash, the sick schoolmaster,” said Doctor Syn.

But Mipps said nothing; he had left the room and was now out in the passage, suffering from another attack of giggles.

“Damn that sexton’s body and soul!” ejaculated the captain; “his giggling gives one the creeps. What’s tickling him now?”

“Unstrung,” muttered the vicar, as he followed the captain up the dark stairs to the bedroom.

There in the bed, last night occupied by Mr. Rash, lay the fat bo’sun on his back, with his face gagged up and covered with a nightcap. Dreadful moans he was making as he lay there.

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The captain pulled the bedclothes off, and discovered that the faithful fellow was tied to the bed. Grateful he looked, though troubled, when the captain cut his bonds and pulled him up; and he owned in a shamefaced manner that he never had endured such a horrible night in his life, and that Parson Syn (saving his presence) must be the foul fiend himself to be able to sleep in such a devil-haunted house.

Doctor Syn went downstairs and fetched the brandy bottle, and administered a good dose to the bo’sun, and also to the other seamen who had followed them upstairs.

“And where’s the schoolmaster got to?” said the captain.

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?” they all repeated together.

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“Aye, sir, gone! And if ever a man has gone body and soul, I declares he has; for I solemnly and soberly declares that I seed him hoisted up and removed downstairs by a couple of horrible light-faces.”

“Light-faces?” roared the captain.

“Yes, sir, coves with faces all a-shine. Why, I wouldn’t settle down and live within a hundred miles of Romney Marsh for a thousand guineas a year pension, I wouldn’t; for talk about devils, the place stinks of them!”

“Now, look here, my man,” said the captain, “just pull yourself in a brace or two and tell me what happened.”

“Why, so I will,” said the bo’sun, “for queer, most queer it be.”

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Chapter 21

The Bo’sun’s Story

Nothing happened, sir, for some hour or so after you left, and then things made up for lost time, as ’twere, and came fast and quick. I was sitting outside this here room with the door on the jar—outside I was, ’cos I couldn’t bear the sight of that schoolmaster’s face. I think you’ll own yourself, sir, that it wasn’t just exactly wot you might call ‘a pleasant evening face’ especially, a-battered about as it was. Poor Bill Spiker and Morgan Walters here was asleep downstairs, for we’d agreed that I should stand first watch.

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“Well, the boys had brought us over our allowance of rum from the barn, and we’d all had a drop, though I kept most of mine to the end of my watch, thinking to use it for a nightcap, as ’twere, but the little drop I did get was making me feel very drowsy, and I began to think the next hour would never go, when I could wake up Bill Spiker. Presently I hears a noise of galloping horses. I goes to the window on the stairs there, and looks out. Right along the road I could see those same riders with lit-up faces wot I’d seed the night before last. I know it was them, ’cos I could see their faces, you understand, when quite sudden I was seized from behind and pulled over backwards down the stairs. I fought the best I could, but there was a sort of overpowering smell upon a ’kerchief wot had been pulled over my mouth, and I was lifted up on four men’s shoulders, as it seemed. I couldn’t see anything of their faces, but as I went up the stairway on their shoulders I just remember a-seein’ that schoolmaster acomin’ down in the same fashion as I was a-goin’ up, only that he only required making me feel very drowsy, and I began to think the next hour would never go, when I could wake up Bill Spiker. Presently I hears a noise of galloping horses. I goes to the window on the stairs there, and looks out. Right along the road I could see those same riders with lit-up faces wot I’d seed the night before last. I know it was them, ’cos I could see their faces, you understand, when quite sudden I was seized from behind and pulled over backwards down the stairs. I fought the best I could, but there was a sort of overpowering smell upon a ’kerchief wot had been pulled over my mouth, and I was lifted up on four men’s shoulders, as it seemed. I couldn’t see anything of their faces, but as I went up the stairway on their shoulders I just remember a-seein’ that schoolmaster acomin’ down in the same fashion as I was a-goin’ up, only that he only required

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two to hold him. Now, whether this was because I was heavier, I don’t know, or whether ’cos he was only a-comin’ down while I was a-goin’ up, or whether the things wot had got hold of me was real or sham, as ’twere, but certain am I the two things wot had the schoolmaster—and things I must call ’em, though they was a bit like men—had got the same shiny faces all alight, just like wot them demon riders had; and then I don’t remember nothing else till I was woke up by hearin’ a sort of horrible shriek downstairs which I thought was just a dream, but now suppose was poor Bill a-voicin’ his last opinion in this world, as ’twere. After that I went to sleep again; then I was waked up again by a sort of groanin’, which I finds was myself, and then in comes you after a long time and lets me go, as ’twere, and that’s all I knows, so help me God, sir; but quite enough for one night, as I thinks you’ll agree.”

Morgan Walters then gave his version of what happened in the night, which bore out certain points of the bo’sun’s story.

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He had soon fallen into a deep sleep, but was awakened with a feeling that something was wrong. He tried to move but couldn’t; indeed, he could scarcely breathe. The only things that he could see were two dark forms moving about the room, but their faces were lit up by a curious light. These two things passed out of the room, and then for what seemed in interminable time Morgan Walters worked away at his bonds, and presently became aware that his companion was doing likewise. They couldn’t talk, for they found that, just as soon as they tried to, the breath that they took in through the anćsthetic overpowered their senses. Presently Morgan Walters thought that he could hear the sound of horses. It sounded like a regiment of packponies trotting on the highroad—“tlip tlop” they went, a slow “tlip tlop,” and a lot of them, too. These were his very words. Then he heard a sigh of satisfaction from his companion, and saw him stand up, for he had partially unbound himself. Whether to let in the refreshing sea air, or whether he had also heard the horses

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and wanted to locate them, Morgan Walters couldn’t say, but Bill Spiker had got to the broken window and unbolted the shutters. He felt the cold air come into the room with a great gasp, and then he seemed to have dozed off again, but the next thing he heard was a great scream of agony, and turning over he beheld Bill Spiker embracing the wall, and the wall held him up, for there was a weapon transfixed to it through his companion’s neck. The very horror and sudden surprise of the thing caused Morgan Walters to make a superb effort, and he somehow stood upon his feet. Then came a curious thing: He saw between himself and the now repulsive form of his fellow a man—a yellow-faced man—the mulatto seaman. With one hand the creature plucked the weapon from the wall and drew it back through the bleeding neck that held it. This was strangely vivid to Morgan Walters, and he could recall his thought of wonder that the blood in no way stained the yellow hand that drew the reeking steel from the flesh. The body of Bill Spiker fell from the wall and collapsed in

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a heap, and a hand seemed to strike Morgan Walters at the same time, for he lost consciousness again and remembered little else.

“Did the mulatto touch you?” asked the captain, speaking suddenly and rather loud, so that all in the room gave a perceptible start. “Think well, my man.”

“I am quite certain of that, sir. I know he did not!”

“And yet you were knocked down!”

“So it seems, sir, but it may have been just losing consciousness again. I’ve never fainted before, so perhaps it was that, or the effects of the smelly stuff on the ’kerchief.”

“And you remember nothing else?”

“One thing, though whether I dreamt that or not I couldn’t swear to, but it seemed that when I come to something like myself the dawn was breaking, for the room was filled with a gray light, when suddenly something came into the

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room and closed those shutters. Then I fell off into another sort of sleep and dreamt that people were trying to wake me up by banging on the shutters, and then at last—hours after it, it seemed—you came, sir, and freed me.”

“One moment,” said the captain; “this something that closed the shutters—a man?”

“Yes, like a man.”

“Like what man?”

“Well, sir, it was like one of them devils that I’d seen leaving the room that night. It also reminded me—yes, it reminded me of that gentleman there, a-standing at that door—that sexton; in fact, now I comes to think of it and look at him, I remembers dreaming a lot about him in the night.”

“Thank you kindly,” said Mr. Mipps, who was indeed listening to the narrative from the door, “but don’t trouble to drag me into it, mate. I gives you my word that we were all as merry as crickets till you King’s men come nigh

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the place, and as for talks of demons and such like, well, there’s always gossip of such, of course, but since you fellows come aboard, the talk’s been of nothing else; and murders, too. Why, we’d never heard of murders, except, of course, in church we’d heard as how there was such things. We was as happy and contented a pleasant-going little village as you could have wished, we was; but now, so help me God! you fellows have turned jour little spot into a regular witches’ kitchen, that you have. Two days you’ve been here, and two murders we’ve had—one a day—and if you stays here for a year, as you can calculate for yourself, we’ll have three hundred and sixty-five, at the present rate. Of course it’s good for my trade, so I says nothing. Go on murdering to your hearts’ content, for I can knock up one a day all night, but I ain’t a-goin’ to take any blame about it, and, wot’s more, I object to being dreamt about; so another night kindly leave me out of your adventures, ’cos I don’t like bein’ mixed up with such traffic.” we’ve had—one a day—and if you stays here for a year, as you can calculate for yourself, we’ll have three hundred and sixty-five, at the present rate. Of course it’s good for my trade, so I says nothing. Go on murdering to your hearts’ content, for I can knock up one a day all night, but I ain’t a-goin’ to take any blame about it, and, wot’s more, I object to being dreamt about; so another night kindly leave me out of your adventures, ’cos I don’t like bein’ mixed up with such traffic.”

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Saying which Mipps stepped across the corpse of Bill Spiker, and, producing his footrule, measured him up, and entered the same in a dirty notebook.

The captain then proceeded to the barn and soundly rated his still drowsy men; and putting the bo’sun in charge of the corpse, he asked Doctor Syn to join him for breakfast at the Ship. And as there was no schoolmaster, and consequently no school, Jerry Jerk had the extreme pleasure of waiting upon them.

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