William Hope Hodgson - The Voice in the Night.pdf - William Hope Hodgson - widez2

The Voice in the Night

By William Hope Hodgson

It was a dark, starless night. We were becalmed in the northern Pacific. Our exact position I do

not know; for the sun had been hidden during the course of a weary, breathless week by a thin

haze which had seemed to float above us, about the height of our mastheads, at whiles

descending and shrouding the surrounding sea.

With there being no wind, we had steadied the tiller, and I was the only man on deck. The

crew, consisting of two men and a boy, were sleeping forward in their den, while Will—my

friend, and the master of our little craft—was aft in his bunk on the port side of the little cabin.

Suddenly, from out of the surrounding darkness, there came a hail:

“Schooner, ahoy!”

The cry was so unexpected that I gave no immediate answer, because of my surprise.

It came again—a voice curiously throaty and inhuman, calling from somewhere upon the dark

sea away on our port broadside:

“Schooner, ahoy!”

“Hullo!” I sang out, having gathered my wits somewhat. “What are you? What do you want?”

“You need not be afraid,” answered the queer voice, having probably noticed some trace of

confusion in my tone. “I am only an old—man.”

The pause sounded odd, but it was only afterward that it came back to me with any

significance.

“Why don’t you come alongside, then?” I queried somewhat snappishly, for I liked not his

hinting at my having been a trifle shaken.

“I—I—can’t. It wouldn’t be safe . I—” The voice broke off, and there was silence.

“What do you mean?” I asked, growing more and more astonished. “What’s not safe? Where

are you?”

I listened for a moment, but there came no answer. And then, a sudden indefinite suspicion, of

I knew not what, coming to me, I stepped swiftly to the binnacle and took out the lighted lamp.

At the same time, I knocked on the deck with my heel to waken Will. Then I was back at the

side, throwing the yellow funnel of light out into the silent immensity beyond our rail. As I did

so, I heard a slight muffled cry, and then the sound of a splash, as though someone had dipped

oars abruptly. Yet I cannot say with certainty that I saw anything; save, it seemed to me, that

with the first flash of the light there had been something upon the waters, where now there was

nothing.

“Hullo, there!” I called. “What foolery is this?”

But there came only the indistinct sounds of a boat being pulled away into the night.

Then I heard Will’s voice from the direction of the after scuttle:

“What’s up, George?”

“Come here, Will!” I said.

“What is it?” he asked, coming across the deck.

I told him the queer thing that had happened. He put several questions; then, after a moment’s

silence, he raised his hands to his lips and hailed:

“Boat, ahoy!”

From a long distance away there came back to us a faint reply, and my companion repeated his

call. Presently, after a short period of silence, there grew on our hearing the muffled sound of

oars, at which Will hailed again.

This time there was a reply: “Put away the light.”

“I’m damned if I will,” I muttered; but Will told me to do as the voice bade, and I shoved it

down under the bulwarks.

“Come nearer,” he said, and the oar strokes continued. Then, when apparently some half dozen

fathoms distant, they again ceased.

“Come alongside!” exclaimed Will. “There’s nothing to be frightened of aboard here.”

“Promise that you will not show the light?”

“What’s to do with you,” I burst out, “that you’re so infernally afraid of the light?”

“Because—” began the voice, and stopped short.

“Because what?” I asked quickly.

Will put his hand on my shoulder. “Shut up a minute, old man,” he said in a low voice. “Let

me tackle him.”

He leaned more over the rail. “See here, mister,” he said, “this is a pretty queer business, you

coming upon us like this, right out in the middle of the blessed Pacific. How are we to know

what sort of a hanky-panky trick you’re up to? You say there’s only one of you. How are we to

know, unless we get a squint at you—eh? What’s your objection to the light, anyway?”

As he finished, I heard the noise of the oars again, and then the voice came; but now from a

greater distance, and sounding extremely hopeless and pathetic.

“I am sorry—sorry! I would not have troubled you, only I am hungry, and—so is she.”

The voice died away, and the sound of the oars, dipping irregularly, was borne to us.

“Stop!” sang out Will. “I don’t want to drive you away. Come back! We’ll keep the light

hidden if you don’t like it.”

He turned to me. “It’s a damned queer rig, this; but I think there’s nothing to be afraid of?”

There was a question in his tone, and I replied, “No, I think the poor devil’s been wrecked

around here, and gone crazy.”

The sound of the oars drew nearer.

“Shove that lamp back in the binnacle,” said Will; then he leaned over the rail and listened. I

replaced the lamp and came back to his side. The dipping of the oars ceased some dozen yards

distant.

“Won’t you come alongside now?” asked Will in an even voice. “I have had the lamp put back

in the binnacle.”

“I—I cannot,” replied the voice. “I dare not come nearer. I dare not even pay you for the— the

provisions.”

“That’s all right,” said Will, and hesitated. “You’re welcome to as much grub as you can

take—” Again he hesitated.

“You are very good!” exclaimed the voice. “May God, who understands everything, reward

you—” It broke off huskily.

“The—the lady?” said Will abruptly. “Is she—”

“I have left her behind upon the island,” came the voice.

“What island?” I cut in.

“I know not its name,” returned the voice. “I would to God—” it began, and checked itself as

suddenly.

“Could we not send a boat for her?” asked Will at this point.

“No!” said the voice, with extraordinary emphasis. “My God! No!” There was a moment’s

pause; then it added, in a tone which seemed a merited reproach, “It was because of our want I

ventured—because her agony tortured me.”

“I am a forgetful brute!” exclaimed Will. “Just wait a minute, whoever you are, and I will bring

you up something at once.”

In a couple of minutes he was back again, and his arms were full of various edibles. He paused

at the rail.

“Can’t you come alongside for them?” he asked.

“No—I dare not,” replied the voice, and it seemed to me that in its tones I detected a note of

stifled craving, as though the owner hushed a mortal desire. It came to me then in a flash that the

poor old creature out there in the darkness was suffering for actual need for that which Will held

in his arms; and yet, because of some unintelligible dread, refraining from dashing to the side of

our schooner and receiving it. And with the lightninglike conviction there came the knowledge

that the Invisible was not mad, but sanely facing some intolerable horror.

“Damn it, Will!” I said, full of many feelings, over which predominated a vast sympathy. “Get

a box. We must float off the stuff to him in it.”

This we did, propelling it away from the vessel, out into the darkness, by means of a boat hook.

In a minute a slight cry from the Invisible came to us, and we knew that he had secured the box.

A little later he called out a farewell to us, and so heartful a blessing that I am sure we were the

better for it. Then, without more ado, we heard the ply of oars across the darkness.

“Pretty soon off,” remarked Will, with perhaps just a little sense of injury.

“Wait,” I replied. “I think somehow he’ll come back. He must have been badly needing that

food.”

“And the lady,” said Will. For a moment he was silent; then he continued, “It’s the queerest

thing ever I’ve tumbled across since I’ve been fishing.”

“Yes,” I said, and fell to pondering.

And so the time slipped away—an hour, another, and still Will stayed with me; for the queer

adventure had knocked all desire for sleep out of him.

The third hour was three parts through when we heard again the sound of oars across the silent

ocean.

“Listen!” said Will, a low note of excitement in his voice.

“He’s coming, just as I thought,” I muttered.

The dipping of the oars grew nearer, and I noted that the strokes were firmer and longer. The

food had been needed.

They came to a stop a little distance off the broadside, and the queer voice came again to us

through the darkness:

“Schooner, ahoy!”

“That you?” asked Will.

“Yes,” replied the voice. “I left you suddenly, but—but there was great need.”

“The lady?” questioned Will.

“The—lady is grateful now on earth. She will be more grateful soon in—in heaven.”

Will began to make some reply, in a puzzled voice, but became confused and broke off. I said

nothing. I was wondering at the curious pauses, and apart from my wonder, I was full of a great

sympathy.

The voice continued, “We—she and I, have talked, as we shared the result of God’s tenderness

and yours—”

Will interposed, but without coherence

“I beg of you not to—to belittle your deed of Christian charity this night,” said the voice. “Be

sure that it has not escaped His notice.”

It stopped, and there was a full minute’s silence. Then it came again. “We have spoken

together upon that which—which has befallen us. We had thought to go out, without telling

anyone of the terror which has come into our—lives. She is with me in believing that tonight’s

happenings are under a special ruling, and that it is God’s wish that we should tell to you all that

we have suffered since—since—”

“Yes?” said Will softly.

“Since the sinking of the Albatross.”

“Ah!” I exclaimed involuntarily. “She left Newcastle for ’Frisco some six months ago, and

hasn’t been heard of since.”

“Yes” answered the voice. “But some few degrees to the north of the line, she was caught in a

terrible storm and dismasted. When the calm came , it was found that she was leaking badly, and

presently, it falling to a calm, the sailors took to the boats, leaving—leaving a young lady—my

fiancée—and myself upon the wreck.

“We were below, gathering together a few of our belongings, when they left. They were

entirely callous, through fear, and when we came up upon the decks, we saw them only as small

shapes afar off upon the horizon. Yet we did not despair, but set to work and constructed a small

raft. Upon this we put such few matters as it would hold, including a quantity of water and some

ship’s biscuit. Then, the vessel being very deep in the water, we got ourselves onto the raft and

pushed off.

“It was later that I observed we seemed to be in the way of some tide or current, which bore us

from the ship at an angle, so that in the course of three hours, by my watch, her hull became

invisible to our sight, her broken masts remaining in view for a somewhat longer period. Then,

toward evening, it grew misty, and so through the night. The next day we were still encompassed

by the mist, the weather remaining quiet.

“For four days we drifted through this strange haze, until, on the evening of the fourth day,

there grew upon our ears the murmur of breakers at a distance. Gradually it became plainer, and

somewhat after midnight, it appeared to sound upon either hand at no very great space. The raft

was raised upon a swell several times, and then we were in smooth water, and the noise of the

breakers was behind.

“When the morning came, we found that we were in a sort of great lagoon, but of this we

noticed little at the time; for close before us, through the enshrouding mist, loomed the hull of a

large sailing vessel. With one accord we fell upon our knees and thanked God, for we thought

that here was an end to our perils. We had much to learn.

“The raft drew near to the ship, and we shouted on them to take us aboard; but none answered.

Presently the raft touched against the side of the vessel, and seeing a rope hanging downward, I

seized it and began to climb. Yet I had much ado to make my way up, because of a kind of gray,

lichenous fungus that had seized upon the rope and blotched the side of the ship lividly.

“I reached the rail and clambered over it, onto the deck. Here I saw that the decks were covered

in great patches with the gray masses, some of them rising into nodules several feet in height; but

at the time I thought less of this matter than of the possibility of there being people aboard the

ship. I shouted, but none answered. Then I went to the door below the poop deck. I opened it and

peered in. There was a great smell of staleness, so that I knew in a moment that nothing living

was within, and with the knowledge, I shut the door quickly, for I felt suddenly lonely.

“I went back to the side where I had scrambled up. My—my sweetheart was still sitting quietly

upon the raft. Seeing me look down, she called up to know whether there were any aboard the

ship. I replied that the vessel had the appearance of having been long deserted, but that if she

would wait a little, I would see whether there was anything in the shape of a ladder by which she

could ascend to the deck. Then we would make a search through the vessel together. A little

later, on the opposite side of the decks, I found a rope side ladder. This I carried across, and a

minute afterward she was beside me.

“Together we explored the cabins and apartments in the afterpart of the ship, but nowhere was

there any sign of life. Here and there, within the cabins themselves, we came across odd patches

of that queer fungus; but this, as my sweetheart said, could be cleansed away.

“In the end, having assured ourselves that the after portion of the vessel was empty, we picked

our ways to the bows, between the ugly gray nodules of that strange growth; and here we made a

further search, which told us that there was indeed none aboard but ourselves.

“This being now beyond any doubt, we returned to the stern of the ship and proceeded to make

ourselves as comfortable as possible. Together we cleared out and cleaned two of the cabins, and

after that I made examination whether there was anything eatable in the ship. This I soon found

was so, and thanked God for His goodness. In addition to this I discovered a fresh-water pump,

and having fixed it, I found the water drinkable, though somewhat unpleasant to the taste.

“For several days we stayed aboard the ship without attempting to get to the shore. We were

busily engaged in making the place habitable. Yet even thus early we became aware that our lot

was even less to be desired than might have been imagined; for though, as a first step, we

scraped away the odd patches of growth that studded the floors and walls of the cabins and

saloon, yet they returned almost to their original size within the space of twenty-four hours,

which not only discouraged us but gave us a feeling of vague unease.

“Still we would nor admit ourselves beaten, so set to work afresh, and not only scraped away

the fungus but soaked the places where it had been with carbolic, a canful of which I had found

in the pantry. Yet by the end of the week the growth had returned in full strength, and in addition

it had spread to other places, as though our touching it had allowed germs from it to travel

elsewhere.

“On the seventh morning, my sweetheart woke to find a small patch of it growing on her

pillow, close to her face. At that, she came to me, as soon as she could get her garments upon

her. I was in the galley at the time, lighting the fire for breakfast.

“ ‘Come here, John,’ she said, and led me aft. When I saw the thing upon her pillow I

shuddered, and then and there we agreed to go right out of the ship and see whether we could not

fare to make ourselves more comfortable ashore.

“Hurriedly we gathered together our few belongings, and even among these I found that the

fungus had been at work, for one of her shawls had a little lump of it growing near one edge. I

threw the whole thing over the side without saying anything to her.

“The raft was still alongside, but it was too clumsy to guide, and I lowered down a small boat

that hung across the stern, and in this we made our way to the shore. Yet as we drew near to it, I

became gradually aware that here the vile fungus, which had driven us from the ship, was

growing riot. In places it rose into horrible, fantastic mounds, which seemed almost to quiver, as

with a quiet life, when the wind blew across them. Here and there it took on the forms of vast

fingers, and in others it just spread out flat and smooth and treacherous. Odd places, it appeared

as grotesque stunted trees, extraordinarily kinked and gnarled—the whole quaking vilely at

times.

William Hope Hodgson - The Voice in the Night.pdf

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: