In the month of December in the year 1873, the British ship Dei Gratia
steered into Gibraltar, having in tow the derelict brigantine Marie
Celeste, which had been picked up in latitude 38 degrees 40', longitude 17
degrees 15' W. There were several circumstances in connection with the
condition and appearance of this abandoned vessel which excited
considerable comment at the time, and aroused a curiosity which has never
been satisfied. What these circumstances were was summed up in an able
article which appeared in the Gibraltar Gazette. The curious can find it
in the issue for January 4, 1874, unless my memory deceives me. For the
benefit of those, however, who may be unable to refer to the paper in
question, I shall subjoin a few extracts which touch upon the leading
features of the case.
"We have ourselves," says the anonymous writer in the Gazette, "been over
the derelict Marie Celeste, and have closel questioned the officers of the
Dei Gratia on every point which might throw light on the affair. They are
of opinion that she had been abandoned several days, or perhaps weeks,
before being picked up. The official log, which was found in the cabin,
states that the vessel sailed from Boston to Lisbon, starting upon October
16. It is, however, most imperfectly kept, and affords little information.
There is no reference to rough weather, and, indeed, the state of the
vessel's paint and rigging excludes the idea that she was abandoned for
any such reason. She is perfectly watertight. No signs of a struggle or of
violence are to be detected, and there is absolutely nothing to account
for the disappearance of the crew. There are several indications that a
lady was present on board, a sewing-machine being found in the cabin and
some articles of female attire. These probably belonged to the captain's
wife, who is mentioned in the log as having accompanied her husband. As an
instance of the mildness of the weather, it may be remarked that a bobbin
of silk was found standing upon the sewing-machine, though the least roll
of the vessel would have precipitated it to the floor. The boats were
intact and slung upon the davits; and the cargo, consisting of tallow and
American clocks, was untouched. An old-fashioned sword of curious
workmanship was discovered among some lumber in the forecastle, and this
weapon is said to exhibit a longitudinal striation on the steel, as if it
had been recently wiped. It has been placed in the hands of the police,
and submitted to Dr. Monaghan, the analyst, for inspection. The result of
his examination has not yet been published. We may remark, in conclusion,
that Captain Dalton, of the Dei Gratia, an able and intelligent seaman, is
of opinion that the Marie Celeste may have been abandoned a considerable
distance from the spot at which she was picked up, since a powerful
current runs up in that latitude from the African coast. He confesses his
inability, however, to advance any hypothesis which can reconcile all the
facts of the case. In the utter absence of a clue or grain of evidence, it
is to be feared that the fate of the crew of the Marie Celeste will be
added to those numerous mysteries of the deep which will never be solved
until the great day when the sea shall give up its dead. If crime has been
committed, as is much to be suspected, there is little hope of bringing
the perpetrators to justice."
I shall supplement this extract from the Gibraltar Gazette by quoting a
telegram from Boston, which went the round of the English papers, and
represented the total amount of information which had been collected about
the Marie Celeste. "She was," it said, "a brigantine of 170 tons burden,
and belonged to White, Russell & White, wine importers, of this city.
Captain J. W. Tibbs was an old servant of the firm, and was a man of known
ability and tried probity. He was accompanied by his wife, aged
thirty-one, and their youngest child, five years old. The crew consisted
of seven hands, including two coloured seamen, and a boy. There were three
passengers, one of whom was the well-known Brooklyn specialist on
consumption, Dr. Habakuk Jephson, who was a distinguished advocate for
Abolition in the early days of the movement, and whose pamphlet, entitled
"Where is thy Brother?" exercised a strong influence on public opinion
before the war. The other passengers were Mr. J. Harton, a writer in the
employ of the firm, and Mr. Septimius Goring, a half-caste gentleman, from
New Orleans. All investigations have failed to throw any light upon the
fate of these fourteen human beings. The loss of Dr. Jephson will be felt
both in political and scientific circles."
I have here epitomised, for the benefit of the public, all that has been
hitherto known concerning the Marie Celeste and her crew, for the past ten
years have not in any way helped to elucidate the mystery. I have now
taken up my pen with the intention of telling all that I know of the
ill-fated voyage. I consider that it is a duty which I owe to society, for
symptoms which I am familiar with in others lead me to believe that before
many months my tongue and hand may be alike incapable of conveying
information. Let me remark, as a preface to my narrative, that I am Joseph
Habakuk Jephson, Doctor of Medicine of the University of Harvard, and
ex-Consulting Physician of the Samaritan Hospital of Brooklyn.
Many will doubtless wonder why I have not proclaimed myself before, and
why I have suffered so many conjectures and surmises to pass unchallenged.
Could the ends of justice have been served in any way by my revealing the
facts in my possession I should unhesitatingly have done so. It seemed to
me, however, that there was no possibility of such a result; and when I
attempted, after the occurrence, to state my case to an English official,
I was met with such offensive incredulity that I determined never again to
expose myself to the chance of such an indignity. I can excuse the
discourtesy of the Liverpool magistrate, however, when I reflect upon the
treatment which I received at the hands of my own relatives, who, though
they knew my unimpeachable character, listened to my statement with an
indulgent smile as if humouring the delusion of a monomaniac. This slur
upon my veracity led to a quarrel between myself and John Vanburger, the
brother of my wife, and confirmed me in my resolution to let the matter
sink into oblivion—a determination which I have only altered through
my son's solicitations. In order to make my narrative intelligible, I must
run lightly over one or two incidents in my former life which throw light
upon subsequent events.
My father, William K. Jephson, was a preacher of the sect called Plymouth
Brethren, and was one of the most respected citizens of Lowell. Like most
of the other Puritans of New England, he was a determined opponent to
slavery, and it was from his lips that I received those lessons which
tinged every action of my life. While I was studying medicine at Harvard
University, I had already made a mark as an advanced Abolitionist; and
when, after taking my degree, I bought a third share of the practice of
Dr. Willis, of Brooklyn, I managed, in spite of my professional duties, to
devote a considerable time to the cause which I had at heart, my pamphlet,
"Where is thy Brother?" (Swarburgh, Lister & Co., 1859) attracting
considerable attention.
When the war broke out I left Brooklyn and accompanied the 113th New York
Regiment through the campaign. I was present at the second battle of
Bull's Run and at the battle of Gettysburg. Finally, I was severely
wounded at Antietam, and would probably have perished on the field had it
not been for the kindness of a gentleman named Murray, who had me carried
to his house and provided me with every comfort. Thanks to his charity,
and to the nursing which I received from his black domestics, I was soon
able to get about the plantation with the help of a stick. It was during
this period of convalescence that an incident occurred which is closely
connected with my story.
Among the most assiduous of the negresses who had watched my couch during
my illness there was one old crone who appeared to exert considerable
authority over the others. She was exceedingly attentive to me, and I
gathered from the few words that passed between us that she had heard of
me, and that she was grateful to me for championing her oppressed race.
One day as I was sitting alone in the verandah, basking in the sun, and
debating whether I should rejoin Grant's army, I was surprised to see this
old creature hobbling towards me. After looking cautiously around to see
that we were alone, she fumbled in the front of her dress and produced a
small chamois leather bag which was hung round her neck by a white cord.
"Massa," she said, bending down and croaking the words into my ear, "me
die soon. Me very old woman. Not stay long on Massa Murray's plantation."
"You may live a long time yet, Martha," I answered. "You know I am a
doctor. If you feel ill let me know about it, and I will try to cure you."
"No wish to live—wish to die. I'm gwine to join the heavenly host."
Here she relapsed into one of those half-heathenish rhapsodies in which
negroes indulge. "But, massa, me have one thing must leave behind me when
I go. No able to take it with me across the Jordan. That one thing very
precious, more precious and more holy than all thing else in the world.
Me, a poor old black woman, have this because my people, very great
people, 'spose they was back in the old country. But you cannot understand
this same as black folk could. My fader give it me, and his fader give it
him, but now who shall I give it to? Poor Martha hab no child, no
relation, nobody. All round I see black man very bad man. Black woman very
stupid woman. Nobody worthy of the stone. And so I say, Here is Massa
Jephson who write books and fight for coloured folk—he must be good
man, and he shall have it though he is white man, and nebber can know what
it mean or where it came from." Here the old woman fumbled in the chamois
leather bag and pulled out a flattish black stone with a hole through the
middle of it. "Here, take it," she said, pressing it into my hand; "take
it. No harm nebber come from anything good. Keep it safe—nebber lose
it!" and with a warning gesture the old crone hobbled away in the same
cautious way as she had come, looking from side to side to see if we had
been observed.
I was more amused than impressed by the old woman's earnestness, and was
only prevented from laughing during her oration by the fear of hurting her
feelings. When she was gone I took a good look at the stone which she had
given me. It was intensely black, of extreme hardness, and oval in shape—just
such a flat stone as one would pick up on the seashore if one wished to
throw a long way. It was about three inches long, and an inch and a half
broad at the middle, but rounded off at the extremities. The most curious
part about it were several well-marked ridges which ran in semicircles
over its surface, and gave it exactly the appearance of a human ear.
Altogether I was rather interested in my new possession, and determined to
submit it, as a geological specimen, to my friend Professor Shroeder of
the New York Institute, upon the earliest opportunity. In the meantime I
thrust it into my pocket, and rising from my chair started off for a short
stroll in the shrubbery, dismissing the incident from my mind.
As my wound had nearly healed by this time, I took my leave of Mr. Murray
shortly afterwards. The Union armies were everywhere victorious and
converging on Richmond, so that my assistance seemed unnecessary, and I
returned to Brooklyn. There I resumed my practice, and married the second
daughter of Josiah Vanburger, the well-known wood engraver. In the course
of a few years I built up a good connection and acquired considerable
reputation in the treatment of pulmonary complaints. I still kept the old
black stone in my pocket, and frequently told the story of the dramatic
way in which I had become possessed of it. I also kept my resolution of
showing it to Professor Shroeder, who was much interested both by the
anecdote and the specimen. He pronounced it to be a piece of meteoric
stone, and drew my attention to the fact that its resemblance to an ear
was not accidental, but that it was most carefully worked into that shape.
A dozen little anatomical points showed that the worker had been as
accurate as he was skilful. "I should not wonder," said the Professor, "if
it were broken off from some larger statue, though how such hard material
could be so perfectly worked is more than I can understand. If there is a
statue to correspond I should like to see it!" So I thought at the time,
but I have changed my opinion since.
The next seven or eight years of my life were quiet and uneventful.
Summer followed spring, and spring followed winter, without any variation
in my duties. As the practice increased I admitted J. S. Jackson as
partner, he to have one-fourth of the profits. The continued strain had
told upon my constitution, however, and I became at last so unwell that my
wife insisted upon my consulting Dr. Kavanagh Smith, who was my colleague
at the Samaritan Hospital.
That gentleman examined me, and pronounced the apex of my left lung to be
in a state of consolidation, recommending me at the same time to go
through a course of medical treatment and to take a long sea-voyage.
My own disposition, which is naturally restless, predisposed me strongly
in favour of the latter piece of advice, and the matter was clinched by my
meeting young Russell, of the firm of White, Russell & White, who
offered me a passage in one of his father's ships, the Marie Celeste,
which was just starting from Boston. "She is a snug little ship," he said,
"and Tibbs, the captain, is an excellent fellow. There is nothing like a
sailing ship for an invalid." I was very much of the same opinion myself,
so I closed with the offer on the spot.
My original plan was that my wife should accompany me on my travels. She
has always been a very poor sailor, however, and there were strong family
reasons against her exposing herself to any risk at the time, so we
determined that she should remain at home. I am not a religious or an
effusive man; but oh, thank God for that! As to leaving my practice, I was
easily reconciled to it, as Jackson, my partner, was a reliable and
hard-working man.
I arrived in Boston on October 12, 1873, and proceeded immediately to the
office of the firm in order to thank them for their courtesy. As I was
sitting in the counting-house waiting until they should be at liberty to
see me, the words Marie Celeste suddenly attracted my attention. I looked
round and saw a very tall, gaunt man, who was leaning across the polished
mahogany counter asking some questions of the clerk at the other side. His
face was turned half towards me, and I could see that he had a strong dash
of negro blood in him, being probably a quadroon or even nearer akin to
the black. His curved aquiline nose and straight lank hair showed the
white strain; but the dark restless eye, sensuous mouth, and gleaming
teeth all told of his African origin. His complexion was of a sickly,
unhealthy yellow, and as his face was deeply pitted with small-pox, the
general impression was so unfavourable as to be almost revolting. When he
spoke, however, it was in a soft, melodious voice, and in well-chosen
words, and he was evidently a man of some education.
"I wished to ask a few questions about the Marie Celeste," he repeated,
leaning across to the clerk. "She sails the day after to-morrow, does she not?"
"Yes, sir," said the young clerk, awed into unusual politeness by the
glimmer of a large diamond in the stranger's shirt front.
"Where is she bound for?"
"Lisbon."
"How many of a crew?"
"Seven, sir."
"Passengers?"
"Yes, two. One of our young gentlemen, and a doctor from New York."
"No gentleman from the South?" asked the stranger eagerly.
"No, none, sir."
"Is there room for another passenger?"
"Accommodation for three more," answered the clerk.
"I'll go," said the quadroon decisively; "I'll go, I'll engage my passage
at once. Put it down, will you—Mr. Septimius Goring, of New Orleans."
The clerk filled up a form and handed it over to the stranger, pointing to
a blank space at the bottom. As Mr. Goring stooped over to sign it I was
horrified to observe that the fingers of his right hand had been lopped
off, and that he was holding the pen between his thumb and the palm. I
have seen thousands slain in battle, and assisted at every conceivable
surgical operation, but I cannot recall any sight which gave me such a
thrill of disgust as that great brown sponge-like hand with the single
member protruding from it. He used it skilfully enough, however, for,
dashing off his signature, he nodded to the clerk and strolled out of the
office just as Mr. White sent out word that he was ready to receive me.
I went down to the Marie Celeste that evening, and looked over my berth,
which was extremely comfortable considering the small size of the vessel.
Mr. Goring, whom I had seen in the morning, was to have the one next mine.
Opposite was the captain's cabin and a small berth for Mr. John Harton, a
gentleman who was going out in the interests of the firm. These little
rooms were arranged on each side of the passage which led from the
main-deck to the saloon. The latter was a comfortable room, the panelling
tastefully done in oak and mahogany, with a rich Brussels carpet and
luxurious settees. I was very much pleased with the accommodation, and
also with Tibbs the captain, a bluff, sailor-like fellow, with a loud
voice and hearty manner, who welcomed me to the ship with effusion, and
insisted upon our splitting a bottle of wine in his cabin. He told me that
he intended to take his wife and youngest child with him on the voyage,
and that he hoped with good luck to make Lisbon in three weeks. We had a
pleasant chat and parted the best of friends, he warning me to make the
last of my preparations next morning, as he intended to make a start by
the midday tide, having now shipped all his cargo. I went back to my
hotel, where I found a letter from my wife awaiting me, and, after a
refreshing night's sleep, returned to the boat in the morning. From this
point I am able to quote from the journal which I kept in order to vary
the monotony of the long sea-voyage. If it is somewhat bald in places I
can at least rely upon its accuracy in details, as it was written
conscientiously from day to day.
October 16.—Cast off our warps at half-past two and were towed out
into the bay, where the tug left us, and with all sail set we bowled along
at about nine knots an hour. I stood upon the poop watching the low land
of America sinking gradually upon the horizon until the evening haze hid
it from my sight. A single red light, however, continued to blaze
balefully behind us, throwing a long track like a trail of blood upon the
water, and it is still visible as I write, though reduced to a mere speck.
The Captain is in a bad humour, for two of his hands disappointed him at
the last moment, and he was compelled to ship a couple of negroes who
happened to be on the quay. The missing men were steady, reliable fellows,
who had been with him several voyages, and their non-appearance puzzled as
well as irritated him. Where a crew of seven men have to work a fair-sized
ship the loss of two experienced seamen is a serious one, for though the
negroes may take a spell at the wheel or swab the decks, they are of
little or no use in rough weather. Our cook is also a black man, and Mr.
Septimius Goring has a little darkie servant, so that we are rather a
piebald community. The accountant, John Harton, promises to be an
acquisition, for he is a cheery, amusing young fellow. Strange how little
wealth has to do with happiness! He has all the world before him and is
seeking his fortune in a far land, yet he is as transparently happy as a
man can be. Goring is rich, if I am not mistaken, and so am I; but I know
that I have a lung, and Goring has some deeper trouble still, to judge by
his features. How poorly do we both contrast with the careless, penniless clerk!
October 17.—Mrs. Tibbs appeared upon deck for the first time this
morning—a cheerful, energetic woman, with a dear little child just
able to walk and prattle. Young Harton pounced on it at once, and carried
it away to his cabin, where no doubt he will lay the seeds of future
dyspepsia in the child's stomach. Thus medicine doth make cynics of us
all! The weather is still all that could be desired, with a fine fresh
breeze from the west-sou'-west. The vessel goes so steadily that you would
hardly know that she was moving were it not for the creaking of the
cordage, the bellying of the sails, and the long white furrow in our wake.
Walked the quarter-deck all morning with the Captain, and I think the keen
fresh air has already done my breathing good, for the exercise did not
fatigue me in any way. Tibbs is a remarkably intelligent man, and we had
an interesting argument about Maury's observations on ocean currents,
which we terminated by going down into his cabin to consult the original
work. There we found Goring, rather to the Captain's surprise, as it is
not usual for passengers to enter that sanctum unless specially invited.
He apologised for his intrusion, however, pleading his ignorance of the
usages of ship life; and the good-natured sailor simply laughed at the
incident, begging him to remain and favour us with his company. Goring
pointed to the chronometers, the case of which he had opened, and remarked
that he had been admiring them. He has evidently some practical knowledge
of mathematical instruments, as he told at a glance which was the most
trustworthy of the three, and also named their price within a few dollars.
He had a discussion with the Captain too upon the variation of the
compass, and when we came back to the ocean currents he showed a thorough
grasp of the subject. Altogether he rather improves upon acquaintance, and
is a man of decided culture and refinement. His voice harmonises with his
conversation, and both are the very antithesis of his face and figure.
The noonday observation shows that we have run two hundred and twenty
miles. Towards evening the breeze freshened up, and the first mate ordered
reefs to be taken in the topsails and top-gallant sails in expectation of
a windy night. I observe that the barometer has fallen to twenty-nine. I
trust our voyage will not be a rough one, as I am a poor sailor, and my
health would probably derive more harm than good from a stormy trip,
though I have the greatest confidence in the Captain's seamanship and in
the soundness of the vessel. Played cribbage with Mrs. Tibbs after supper,
and Harton gave us a couple of tunes on the violin.
October 18.—The gloomy prognostications of last night were not
fulfilled, as the wind died away again, and we are lying now in a long
greasy swell, ruffled here and there by a fleeting catspaw which is
insufficient to fill the sails. The air is colder than it was yesterday,
and I have put on one of the thick woollen jerseys which my wife knitted
for me. Harton came into my cabin in the morning, and we had a cigar
together. He says that he remembers having seen Goring in Cleveland, Ohio,
in '69. He was, it appears, a mystery then as now, wandering about without
any visible employment, and extremely reticent on his own affairs. The man
interests me as a psychological study. At breakfast this morning I
suddenly had that vague feeling of uneasiness which comes over some people
when closely stared at, and, looking quickly up, I met his eyes bent upon
me with an intensity which amounted to ferocity, though their expression
instantly softened as he made some conventional remark upon the weather.
Curiously enough, Harton says that he had a very similar experience
yesterday upon deck. I observe that Goring frequently talks to the
coloured seamen as he strolls about—a trait which I rather admire,
as it is common to find half-breeds ignore their dark strain and treat
their black kinsfolk with greater intolerance than a white man would do.
His little page is devoted to him, apparently, which speaks well for his
treatment of him. Altogether, the man is a curious mixture of incongruous
qualities, and unless I am deceived in him will give me food for
observation during the voyage.
The Captain is grumbling about his chronometers, which do not register
exactly the same time. He says it is the first time that they have ever
disagreed. We were unable to get a noonday observation on account of the
haze. By dead reckoning, we have done about a hundred and seventy miles in
the twenty-four hours. The dark seamen have proved, as the skipper
prophesied, to be very inferior hands, but as they can both manage the
wheel well they are kept steering, and so leave the more experienced men
to work the ship. These details are trivial enough, but a small thing
serves as food for gossip aboard ship. The appearance of a whale in the
evening caused quite a flutter among us. From its sharp back and forked
tail, I should pronounce it to have been a rorqual, or "finner," as they
are called by the fishermen.
October 19.—Wind was cold, so I prudently remained in my cabin all
day, only creeping out for dinner. Lying in my bunk I can, without moving,
reach my books, pipes, or anything else I may want, which is one advantage
of a small apartment. My old wound began to ache a little to-day, probably
from the cold. Read "Montaigne's Essays" and nursed myself. Harton came in
in the afternoon with Doddy, the Captain's child, and the skipper himself
followed, so that I held quite a reception.
October 20 and 21.—Still cold, with a continual drizzle of rain, and
I have not been able to leave the cabin. This confinement makes me feel
weak and depressed. Goring came in to see me, but his company did not tend
to cheer me up much, as he hardly uttered a word, but contented himself
with staring at me in a peculiar and rather irritating manner. He then got
up and stole out of the cabin without saying anything. I am beginning to
suspect that the man is a lunatic. I think I mentioned that his cabin is
next to mine. The two are simply divided by a thin wooden partition which
is cracked in many places, some of the cracks being so large that I can
hardly avoid, as I lie in my bunk, observing his motions in the adjoining
room. Without any wish to play the spy, I see him continually stooping
over what appears to be a chart and working with a pencil and compasses. I
have remarked the interest he displays in matters connected with
navigation, but I am surprised that he should take the trouble to work out
the course of the ship. However, it is a harmless amusement enough, and no
doubt he verifies his results by those of the Captain.
I wish the man did not run in my thoughts so much. I had a nightmare on
the night of the 20th, in which I thought my bunk was a coffin, that I was
laid out in it, and that Goring was endeavouring to nail up the lid, which
I was frantically pushing away. Even when I woke up, I could hardly
persuade myself that I was not in a coffin. As a medical man, I know that
a nightmare is simply a vascular derangement of the cerebral hemispheres,
and yet in my weak state I cannot shake off the morbid impression which it
produces.
October 22.—A fine day, with hardly a cloud in the sky, and a fresh
breeze from the sou'-west which wafts us gaily on our way. There has
evidently been some heavy weather near us, as there is a tremendous swell
on, and the ship lurches until the end of the fore-yard nearly touches the
water. Had a refreshing walk up and down the quarter-deck, though I have
hardly found my sea-legs yet. Several small birds—chaffinches, I
think—perched in the rigging.
4.40 P.M.—While I was on deck this morning I heard a sudden
explosion from the direction of my cabin, and, hurrying down, found that I
had very nearly met with a serious accident. Goring was cleaning a
revolver, it seems, in his cabin, when one of the barrels which he thought
was unloaded went off. The ball passed through the side partition and
imbedded itself in the bulwarks in the exact place where my head usually
rests. I have been under fire too often to magnify trifles, but there is
no doubt that if I had been in the bunk it must have killed me. Goring,
poor fellow, did not know that I had gone on deck that day, and must
therefore have felt terribly frightened. I never saw such emotion in a
man's face as when, on rushing out of his cabin with the smoking pistol in
his hand, he met me face to face as I came down from deck. Of course, he
was profuse in his apologies, though I simply laughed at the incident.
11 P.M.—A misfortune has occurred so unexpected and so horrible that
my little escape of the morning dwindles into insignificance. Mrs. Tibbs
and her child have disappeared—utterly and entirely disappeared. I
can hardly compose myself to write the sad details.
About half-past eight Tibbs rushed into my cabin with a very white face
and asked me if I had seen his wife. I answered that I had not. He then
ran wildly into the saloon and began groping about for any trace of her,
while I followed him, endeavouring vainly to persuade him that his fears
were ridiculous. We hunted over the ship for an hour and a half without
coming on any sign of the missing woman or child. Poor Tibbs lost his
voice completely from calling her name. Even the sailors, who are
generally stolid enough, were deeply affected by the sight of him as he
roamed bareheaded and dishevelled about the deck, searching with feverish
anxiety the most impossible places, and returning to them again and again
with a piteous pertinacity. The last time she was seen was about seven
o'clock, when she took Doddy on to the poop to give him a breath of fresh
air before putting him to bed. There was no one there at the time except
the black seaman at the wheel, who denies having seen her at all. The
whole affair is wrapped in mystery. My own theory is that while Mrs. Tibbs
was holding the child and standing near the bulwarks it gave a spring and
fell overboard, and that in her convulsive attempt to catch or save it,
she followed it. I cannot account for the double disappearance in any
other way. It is quite feasible that such a tragedy should be enacted
without the knowledge of the man at the wheel, since it was dark at the
time, and the peaked skylights of the saloon screen the greater part of
the quarter-deck. Whatever the truth may be it is a terrible catastrophe,
and has cast the darkest gloom upon our voyage. The mate has put the ship
about, but of course there is not the slightest hope of picking them up.
The Captain is lying in a state of stupor in his cabin. I gave him a
powerful dose of opium in his coffee that for a few hours at least his
anguish may be deadened.
October 23.—Woke with a vague feeling of heaviness and misfortune,
but it was not until a few moments' reflection that I was able to recall
our loss of the night before. When I came on deck I saw the poor skipper
standing gazing back at the waste of waters behind us which contains
everything dear to him upon earth. I attempted to speak to him, but he
turned brusquely away, and began pacing the deck with his head sunk upon
his breast. Even now, when the truth is so clear, he cannot pass a boat or
an unbent sail without peering under it. He looks ten years older than he
did yesterday morning. Harton is terribly cut up, for he was fond of
little Doddy, and Goring seems sorry too. At least he has shut himself up
in his cabin all day, and when I got a casual glance at him his head was
resting on his two hands as if in a melancholy reverie. I fear we are
about as dismal a crew as ever sailed. How shocked my wife will be to hear
of our disaster! The swell has gone down now, and we are doing about eight
knots with all sail set and a nice little breeze. Hyson is practically in
command of the ship, as Tibbs, though he does his best to bear up and keep
a brave front, is incapable of applying himself to serious work.
October 24.—Is the ship accursed? Was there ever a voyage which
began so fairly and which changed so disastrously? Tibbs shot himself
through the head during the night. I was awakened about three o'clock in
the morning by an explosion, and immediately sprang out of bed and rushed
into the Captain's cabin to find out the cause, though with a terrible
presentiment in my heart. Quickly as I went, Goring went more quickly
still, for he was already in the cabin stooping over the dead body of the
Captain. It was a hideous sight, for the whole front of his face was blown
in, and the little room was swimming in blood. The pistol was lying beside
him on the floor, just as it had dropped from his hand. He had evidently
put it to his mouth before pulling the trigger. Goring and I picked him
reverently up and laid him on his bed. The crew had all clustered into his
cabin, and the six white men were deeply grieved, for they were old hands
who had sailed with him many years. There were dark looks and murmurs
among them too, and one of them openly declared that the ship was haunted.
Harton helped to lay the poor skipper out, and we did him up in canvas
between us. At twelve o'clock the foreyard was hauled aback, and we
committed his body to the deep, Goring reading the Church of England
burial service. The breeze has freshened up, and we have done ten knots
all day and sometimes twelve. The sooner we reach Lisbon and get away from
this accursed ship the better pleased shall I be. I feel as though we were
in a floating coffin.
Little wonder that the poor sailors are superstitious when I, an educated
man, feel it so strongly.
October 25.—Made a good run all day. Feel listless and depressed.
October 26.—Goring, Harton, and I had a chat together on deck in the
morning. Harton tried to draw Goring out as to his profession, and his
object in going to Europe, but the quadroon parried all his questions and
gave us no information. Indeed, he seemed to be slightly offended by
Harton's pertinacity, and went down into his cabin. I wonder why we should
both take such an interest in this man! I suppose it is his striking
appearance, coupled with his apparent wealth, which piques our curiosity.
Harton has a theory that he is really a detective, that he is after some
criminal who has got away to Portugal, and that he chooses this peculiar
way of travelling that he may arrive unnoticed and pounce upon his quarry
unawares. I think the supposition is rather a far-fetched one, but Harton
bases it upon a book which Goring left on deck, and which he picked up and
glanced over. It was a sort of scrap-book it seems, and contained a large
number of newspaper cuttings. All these cuttings related to murders which
had been committed at various times in the States during the last twenty
years or so. The curious thing which Harton observed about them, however,
was that they were invariably murders the authors of which had never been
brought to justice. They varied in every detail, he says, as to the manner
of execution and the social status of the victim, but they uniformly wound
up with the same formula that the murderer was still at large, though, of
course, the police had every reason to expect his speedy capture.
Certainly the incident seems to support Harton's theory, though it may be
a mere whim of Gorings, or, as I suggested to Harton, he may be collecting
materials for a book which shall outvie De Quincey. In any case it is no
business of ours.
October 27, 28.—Wind still fair, and we are making good progress.
Strange how easily a human unit may drop out of its place and be
forgotten! Tibbs is hardly ever mentioned now; Hyson has taken possession
of his cabin, and all goes on as before. Were it not for Mrs. Tibbs's
sewing-machine upon a side-table we might forget that the unfortunate
family had ever existed. Another accident occurred on board to-day, though
fortunately not a very serious one. One of our white hands had gone down
the afterhold to fetch up a spare coil of rope, when one of the hatches
which he had removed came crashing down on the top of him. He saved his
life by springing out of the way, but one of his feet was terribly
crushed, and he will be of little use for the remainder of the voyage. He
attributes the accident to the carelessness of his negro companion, who
had helped him to shift the hatches. The latter, however, puts it down to
the roll of the ship. Whatever be the cause, it reduces our shorthanded
crew still further. This run of ill-luck seems to be depressing Harton,
for he has lost his usual good spirits and joviality. Goring is the only
one who preserves his cheerfulness. I see him still working at his chart
in his own cabin. His nautical knowledge would be useful should anything
happen to Hyson—which God forbid!
October 29, 30.—Still bowling along with a fresh breeze. All quiet
and nothing of note to chronicle.
October 31.—My weak lungs, combined with the exciting episodes of
the voyage, have shaken my nervous system so much that the most trivial
incident affects me. I can hardly believe that I am the same man who tied
the external iliac artery, an operation requiring the nicest precision,
under a heavy rifle fire at Antietam. I am as nervous as a child. I was
lying half dozing last night about four bells in the middle watch trying
in vain to drop into a refreshing sleep. There was no light inside my
cabin, but a single ray of moonlight streamed in through the port hole,
throwing a silvery flickering circle upon the door. As I lay I kept my
drowsy eyes upon this circle, and was conscious that it was gradually
becoming less well-defined as my senses left me, when I was suddenly
recalled to full wakefulness by the appearance of a small dark object in
the very centre of the luminous disc. I lay quietly and breathlessly
watching it. Gradually it grew larger and plainer, and then I perceived
that it was a human hand which had been cautiously inserted through the
chink of the half-closed door—a hand which, as I observed with a
thrill of horror, was not provided with fingers. The door swung cautiously
backwards, and Goring's head followed his hand. It appeared in the centre
of the moonlight, and was framed as it were in a ghastly uncertain halo,
against which his features showed out plainly. It seemed to me that I had
never seen such an utterly fiendish and merciless expression upon a human
face. His eyes were dilated and glaring, his lips drawn back so as to show
his white fangs, and his straight black hair appeared to bristle over his
low forehead like the hood of a cobra. The sudden and noiseless apparition
had such an effect upon me that I sprang up in bed trembling in every
limb, and held out my hand towards my revolver. I was heartily ashamed of
my hastiness when he explained the object of his intrusion, as he
immediately did in the most courteous language. He had been suffering from
toothache, poor fellow! and had come in to beg some laudanum, knowing that
I possessed a medicine chest. As to a sinister expression he is never a
beauty, and what with my state of nervous tension and the effect of the
shifting moonlight it was easy to conjure up something horrible. I gave
him twenty drops, and he went off again with many expressions of
gratitude. I can hardly say how much this trivial incident affected me. I
have felt unstrung all day.
A week's record of our voyage is here omitted, as nothing eventful
occurred during the time, and my log consists merely of a few pages of
unimportant gossip.
November 7.—Harton and I sat on the poop all the morning, for the
weather is becoming very warm as we come into southern latitudes. We
reckon that we have done two-thirds of our voyage. How glad we shall be to
see the green banks of the Tagus, and leave this unlucky ship for ever! I
was endeavouring to amuse Harton to-day and to while away the time by
telling him some of the experiences of my past life. Among others I
related to him how I came into the possession of my black stone, and as a
finale I rummaged in the side pocket of my old shooting coat and produced
the identical object in question. He and I were bending over it together,
I pointing out to him the curious ridges upon its surface, when we were
conscious of a shadow falling between us and the sun, and looking round
saw Goring standing behind us glaring over our shoulders at the stone. For
some reason or other he appeared to be powerfully excited, though he was
evidently trying to control himself and to conceal his emotion. He pointed
once or twice at my relic with his stubby thumb before he could recover
himself sufficiently to ask what it was and how I obtained it—a
question put in such a brusque manner that I should have been offended had
I not known the man to be an eccentric. I told him the story very much as
I had told it to Harton. He listened with the deepest interest, and then
asked me if I had any idea what the stone was. I said I had not, beyond
that it was meteoric. He asked me if I had ever tried its effect upon a
negro. I said I had not. "Come," said he, "we'll see what our black friend
at the wheel thinks of it." He took the stone in his hand and went across
to the sailor, and the two examined it carefully. I could see the man
gesticulating and nodding his head excitedly as if making some assertion,
while his face betrayed the utmost astonishment, mixed I think with some
reverence. Goring came across the deck to us presently, still holding the
stone in his hand. "He says it is a worthless, useless thing," he said,
"and fit only to be chucked overboard," with which he raised his hand and
would most certainly have made an end of my relic, had the black sailor
behind him not rushed forward and seized him by the wrist. Finding himself
secured Goring dropped the stone and turned away with a very bad grace to
avoid my angry remonstrances at his breach of faith. The black picked up
the stone and handed it to me with a low bow and every sign of profound
respect. The whole affair is inexplicable. I am rapidly coming to the
conclusion that Goring is a maniac or something very near one. When I
compare the effect produced by the stone upon the sailor, however, with
the respect shown to Martha on the plantation, and the surprise of Goring
on its first production, I cannot but come to the conclusion that I have
really got hold of some powerful talisman which appeals to the whole dark
race. I must not trust it in Goring's hands again.
November 8, 9.—What splendid weather we are having! Beyond one
little blow, we have had nothing but fresh breezes the whole voyage. These
two days we have made better runs than any hitherto.
It is a pretty thing to watch the spray fly up from our prow as it cuts
through the waves. The sun shines through it and breaks it up into a
number of miniature rainbows—"sun-dogs," the sailors call them. I
stood on the fo'csle-head for several hours to-day watching the effect,
and surrounded by a halo of prismatic colours.
The steersman has evidently told the other blacks about my wonderful
stone, for I am treated by them all with the greatest respect. Talking
about optical phenomena, we had a curious one yesterday evening which was
pointed out to me by Hyson. This was the appearance of a triangular
well-defined object high up in the heavens to the north of us. He
explained that it was exactly like the Peak of Teneriffe as seen from a
great distance—the peak was, however, at that moment at least five
hundred miles to the south. It may have been a cloud, or it may have been
one of those strange reflections of which one reads. The weather is very
warm. The mate says that he never knew it so warm in these latitudes.
Played chess with Harton in the evening.
November 10.—It is getting warmer and warmer. Some land birds came
and perched in the rigging today, though we are still a considerable way
from our destination. The heat is so great that we are too lazy to do
anything but lounge about the decks and smoke. Goring came over to me
to-day and asked me some more questions about my stone; but I answered him
rather shortly, for I have not quite forgiven him yet for the cool way in
which he attempted to deprive me of it.
November 11, 12.—Still making good progress. I had no idea Portugal
was ever as hot as this, but no doubt it is cooler on land. Hyson himself
seemed surprised at it, and so do the men.
November 13.—A most extraordinary event has happened, so
extraordinary as to be almost inexplicable. Either Hyson has blundered
wonderfully, or some magnetic influence has disturbed our instruments.
Just about daybreak the watch on the fo'csle-head shouted out that he
heard the sound of surf ahead, and Hyson thought he saw the loom of land.
The ship was put about, and, though no lights were seen, none of us
doubted that we had struck the Portuguese coast a little sooner than we
had expected. What was our surprise to see the scene which was revealed to
us at break of day! As far as we could look on either side was one long
line of surf, great, green billows rolling in and breaking into a cloud of
foam. But behind the surf what was there! Not the green banks nor the high
cliffs of the shores of Portugal, but a great sandy waste which stretched
away and away until it blended with the skyline. To right and left, look
where you would, there was nothing but yellow sand, heaped in some places
into fantastic mounds, some of them several hundred feet high, while in
other parts were long stretches as level apparently as a billiard board.
Harton and I, who had come on deck together, looked at each other in
astonishment, and Harton burst out laughing. Hyson is exceedingly
mortified at the occurrence, and protests that the instruments have been
tampered with. There is no doubt that this is the mainland of Africa, and
that it was really the Peak of Teneriffe which we saw some days ago upon
the northern horizon. At the time when we saw the land birds we must have
been passing some of the Canary Islands. If we continued on the same
course, we are now to the north of Cape Blanco, near the unexplored
country which skirts the great Sahara. All we can do is to rectify our
instruments as far as possible and start afresh for our destination.
8.30 P.M.—Have been lying in a calm all day. The coast is now about
a mile and a half from us. Hyson has examined the instruments, but cannot
find any reason for their extraordinary deviation.
This is the end of my private journal, and I must make the remainder of my
statement from memory. There is little chance of my being mistaken about
facts which have seared themselves into my recollection. That very night
the storm which had been brewing so long burst over us, and I came to
learn whither all those little incidents were tending which I had recorded
so aimlessly. Blind fool that I was not to have seen it sooner! I shall
tell what occurred as precisely as I can.
I had gone into my cabin about half-past eleven, and was preparing to go
to bed, when a tap came at my door. On opening it I saw Goring's little
black page, who told me that his master would like to have a word with me
on deck. I was rather surprised that he should want me at such a late
hour, but I went up without hesitation. I had hardly put my foot on the
quarter-deck before I was seized from behind, dragged down upon my back,
and a handkerchief slipped round my mouth. I struggled as hard as I could,
but a coil of rope was rapidly and firmly wound round me, and I found
myself lashed to the davit of one of the boats, utterly powerless to do or
say anything, while the point of a knife pressed to my throat warned me to
cease my struggles. The night was so dark that I had been unable hitherto
to recognise my assailants, but as my eyes became accustomed to the gloom,
and the moon broke out through the clouds that obscured it, I made out
that I was surrounded by the two negro sailors, the black cook, and my
fellow-passenger Goring. Another man was crouching on the deck at my feet,
but he was in the shadow and I could not recognise him.
All this occurred so rapidly that a minute could hardly have elapsed from
the time I mounted the companion until I found myself gagged and
powerless. It was so sudden that I could scarce bring myself to realise
it, or to comprehend what it all meant. I heard the gang round me speaking
in short, fierce whispers to each other, and some instinct told me that my
life was the question at issue. Goring spoke authoritatively and angrily—the
others doggedly and all together, as if disputing his commands. Then they
moved away in a body to the opposite side of the deck, where I could still
hear them whispering, though they were concealed from my view by the
saloon skylights.
All this time the voices of the watch on deck chatting and laughing at the
other end of the ship were distinctly audible, and I could see them
gathered in a group, little dreaming of the dark doings which were going
on within thirty yards of them. Oh! that I could have given them one word
of warning, even though I had lost my life in doing it I but it was
impossible. The moon was shining fitfully through the scattered clouds,
and I could see the silvery gleam of the surge, and beyond it the vast
weird desert with its fantastic sand-hills. Glancing down, I saw that the
man who had been crouching on the deck was still lying there, and as I
gazed at him, a flickering ray of moonlight fell full upon his upturned
face. Great Heaven! even now, when more than twelve years have elapsed, my
hand trembles as I write that, in spite of distorted features and
projecting eyes, I recognised the face of Harton, the cheery young clerk
who had been my companion during the voyage. It needed no medical eye to
see that he was quite dead, while the twisted handkerchief round the neck,
and the gag in his mouth, showed the silent way in which the hell-hounds
had done their work. The clue which explained every event of our voyage
came upon me like a flash of light as I gazed on poor Harton's corpse.
Much was dark and unexplained, but I felt a great dim perception of the truth.
I heard the striking of a match at the other side of the skylights, and
then I saw the tall, gaunt figure of Goring standing up on the bulwarks
and holding in his hands what appeared to be a dark lantern. He lowered
this for a moment over the side of the ship, and, to my inexpressible
astonishment, I saw it answered instantaneously by a flash among the
sand-hills on shore, which came and went so rapidly, that unless I had
been following the direction of Goring's gaze, I should never have
detected it. Again he lowered the lantern, and again it was answered from
the shore. He then stepped down from the bulwarks, and in doing so
slipped, making such a noise, that for a moment my heart bounded with the
thought that the attention of the watch would be directed to his
proceedings. It was a vain hope. The night was calm and the ship
motionless, so that no idea of duty kept them vigilant. Hyson, who after
the death of Tibbs was in command of both watches, had gone below to
snatch a few hours' sleep, and the boatswain who was left in charge was
standing with the other two men at the foot of the foremast. Powerless,
speechless, with the cords cutting into my flesh and the murdered man at
my feet, I awaited the next act in the tragedy.
The four ruffians were standing up now at the other side of the deck. The
cook was armed with some sort of a cleaver, the others had knives, and
Goring had a revolver. They were all leaning against the rail and looking
out over the water as if watching for something. I saw one of them grasp
another's arm and point as if at some object, and following the direction
I made out the loom of a large moving mass making towards the ship. As it
emerged from the gloom I saw that it was a great canoe crammed with men
and propelled by at least a score of paddles. As it shot under our stern
the watch caught sight of it also, and raising a cry hurried aft. They
were too late, however. A swarm of gigantic negroes clambered over the
quarter, and led by Goring swept down the deck in an irresistible torrent.
All opposition was overpowered in a moment, the unarmed watch were knocked
over and bound, and the sleepers dragged out of their bunks and secured in
the same manner.
Hyson made an attempt to defend the narrow passage leading to his cabin,
and I heard a scuffle, and his voice shouting for assistance. There was
none to assist, however, and he was brought on to the poop with the blood
streaming from a deep cut in his forehead. He was gagged like the others,
and a council was held upon our fate by the negroes. I saw our black
seamen pointing towards me and making some statement, which was received
with murmurs of astonishment and incredulity by the savages. One of them
then came over to me, and plunging his hand into my pocket took out my
black stone and held it up. He then handed it to a man who appeared to be
a chief, who examined it as minutely as the light would permit, and
muttering a few words passed it on to the warrior beside him, who also
scrutinised it and passed it on until it had gone from hand to hand round
the whole circle. The chief then said a few words to Goring in the native
tongue, on which the quadroon addressed me in English. At this moment I
seem to see the scene. The tall masts of the ship with the moonlight
streaming down, silvering the yards and bringing the network of cordage
into hard relief; the group of dusky warriors leaning on their spears; the
dead man at my feet; the line of white-faced prisoners, and in front of me
the loathsome half-breed, looking in his white linen and elegant clothes a
strange contrast to his associates.
"You will bear me witness," he said in his softest accents, "that I am no
party to sparing your life. If it rested with me you would die as these
other men are about to do. I have no personal grudge against either you or
them, but I have devoted my life to the destruction of the white race, and
you are the first that has ever been in my power and has escaped me. You
may thank that stone of yours for your life. These poor fellows reverence
it, and indeed if it really be what they think it is they have cause.
Should it prove when we get ashore that they are mistaken, and that its
shape and material is a mere chance, nothing can save your life. In the
meantime we wish to treat you well, so if there are any of your
possessions which you would like to take with you, you are at liberty to
get them." As he finished he gave a sign, and a couple of the negroes
unbound me, though without removing the gag. I was led down into the
cabin, where I put a few valuables into my pockets, together with a
pocket-compass and my journal of the voyage. They then pushed me over the
side into a small canoe, which was lying beside the large one, and my
guards followed me, and shoving off began paddling for the shore. We had
got about a hundred yards or so from the ship when our steersman held up
his hand, and the paddlers paused for a moment and listened. Then on the
silence of the night I heard a sort of dull, moaning sound, followed by a
succession of splashes in the water. That is all I know of the fate of my
poor shipmates. Almost immediately afterwards the large canoe followed us,
and the deserted ship was left drifting about—a dreary, spectre-like
hulk. Nothing was taken from her by the savages. The whole fiendish
transaction was carried through as decorously and temperately as though it
were a religious rite.
The first grey of daylight was visible in the east as we passed through
the surge and reached the shore. Leaving half-a-dozen men with the canoes,
the rest of the negroes set off through the sand-hills, leading me with
them, but treating me very gently and respectfully. It was difficult
walking, as we sank over our ankles into the loose, shifting sand at every
step, and I was nearly dead beat by the time we reached the native
village, or town rather, for it was a place of considerable dimensions.
The houses were conical structures not unlike bee-hives, and were made of
compressed seaweed cemented over with a rude form of mortar, there being
neither stick nor stone upon the coast nor anywhere within many hundreds
of miles. As we entered the town an enormous crowd of both sexes came
swarming out to meet us, beating tom-toms and howling and screaming. On
seeing me they redoubled their yells and assumed a threatening attitude,
which was instantly quelled by a few words shouted by my escort. A buzz of
wonder succeeded the war-cries and yells of the moment before, and the
whole dense mass proceeded down the broad central street of the town,
having my escort and myself in the centre.
My statement hitherto may seem so strange as to excite doubt in the minds
of those who do not know me, but it was the fact which I am now about to
relate which caused my own brother-in-law to insult me by disbelief. I can
but relate the occurrence in the simplest words, and trust to chance and
time to prove their truth. In the centre of this main street there was a
large building, formed in the same primitive way as the others, but
towering high above them; a stockade of beautifully polished ebony rails
was planted all round it, the framework of the door was formed by two
magnificent elephant's tusks sunk in the ground on each side and meeting
at the top, and the aperture was closed by a screen of native cloth richly
embroidered with gold. We made our way to this imposing-looking structure,
but, on reaching the opening in the stockade, the multitude stopped and
squatted down upon their hams, while I was led through into the enclosure
by a few of the chiefs and elders of the tribe, Goring accompanying us,
and in fact directing the proceedings. On reaching the screen which closed
the temple—for such it evidently was—my hat and my shoes were
removed, and I was then led in, a venerable old negro leading the way
carrying in his hand my stone, which had been taken from my pocket. The
building was only lit up by a few long slits in the roof, through which
the tropical sun poured, throwing broad golden bars upon the clay floor,
alternating with intervals of darkness.
The interior was even larger than one would have imagined from the outside
appearance. The walls were hung with native mats, shells, and other
ornaments, but the remainder of the great space was quite empty, with the
exception of a single object in the centre. This was the figure of a
colossal negro, which I at first thought to be some real king or high
priest of titanic size, but as I approached it I saw by the way in which
the light was reflected from it that it was a statue admirably cut in
jet-black stone. I was led up to this idol, for such it seemed to be, and
looking at it closer I saw that though it was perfect in every other
respect, one of its ears had been broken short off. The grey-haired negro
who held my relic mounted upon a small stool, and stretching up his arm
fitted Martha's black stone on to the jagged surface on the side of the
statue's head. There could not be a doubt that the one had been broken off
from the other. The parts dovetailed together so accurately that when the
old man removed his hand the ear stuck in its place for a few seconds
before dropping into his open palm. The group round me prostrated
themselves upon the ground at the sight with a cry of reverence, while the
crowd outside, to whom the result was communicated, set up a wild whooping and cheering.
In a moment I found myself converted from a prisoner into a demi-god. I
was escorted back through the town in triumph, the people pressing forward
to touch my clothing and to gather up the dust on which my foot had trod.
One of the largest huts was put at my disposal, and a banquet of every
native delicacy was served me. I still felt, however, that I was not a
free man, as several spearmen were placed as a guard at the entrance of my
hut. All day my mind was occupied with plans of escape, but none seemed in
any way feasible. On the one side was the great arid desert stretching
away to Timbuctoo, on the other was a sea untraversed by vessels. The more
I pondered over the problem the more hopeless did it seem.
I little dreamed how near I was to its solution.
Night had fallen, and the clamour of the negroes had died gradually away.
I was stretched on the couch of skins which had been provided for me, and
was still meditating over my future, when Goring walked stealthily into
the hut. My first idea was that he had come to complete his murderous
holocaust by making away with me, the last survivor, and I sprang up upon
my feet, determined to defend myself to the last. He smiled when he saw
the action, and motioned me down again while he seated himself upon the
other end of the couch.
"What do you think of me?" was the astonishing question with which he
commenced our conversation.
"Think of you!" I almost yelled. "I think you the vilest, most unnatural
renegade that ever polluted the earth. If we were away from these black
devils of yours I would strangle you with my hands!"
"Don't speak so loud," he said, without the slightest appearance of
irritation. "I don't want our chat to be cut short. So you would strangle
me, would you!" he went on, with an amused smile. "I suppose I am
returning good for evil, for I have come to help you to escape."
"You!" I gasped incredulously.
"Yes, I," he continued.
"Oh, there is no credit to me in the matter. I am quite consistent. There
is no reason why I should not be perfectly candid with you. I wish to be
king over these fellows—not a very high ambition, certainly, but you
know what Caesar said about being first in a village in Gaul. Well, this
unlucky stone of yours has not only saved your life, but has turned all
their heads so that they think you are come down from heaven, and my
influence will be gone until you are out of the way. That is why I am
going to help you to escape, since I cannot kill you"—this in the
most natural and dulcet voice, as if the desire to do so were a matter of course.
"You would give the world to ask me a few questions," he went on, after a
pause; "but you are too proud to do it. Never mind, I'll tell you one or
two things, because I want your fellow white men to know them when you go
back—if you are lucky enough to get back. About that cursed stone of
yours, for instance. These negroes, or at least so the legend goes, were
Mahometans originally. While Mahomet himself was still alive, there was a
schism among his followers, and the smaller party moved away from Arabia,
and eventually crossed Africa. They took away with them, in their exile, a
valuable relic of their old faith in the shape of a large piece of the
black stone of Mecca. The stone was a meteoric one, as you may have heard,
and in its fall upon the earth it broke into two pieces. One of these
pieces is still at Mecca. The larger piece was carried away to Barbary,
where a skilful worker modelled it into the fashion which you saw to-day.
These men are the descendants of the original seceders from Mahomet, and
they have brought their relic safely through all their wanderings until
they settled in this strange place, where the desert protects them from their enemies."
"And the ear?" I asked, almost involuntarily.
"Oh, that was the same story over again. Some of the tribe wandered away
to the south a few hundred years ago, and one of them, wishing to have
good luck for the enterprise, got into the temple at night and carried off
one of the ears. There has been a tradition among the negroes ever since
that the ear would come back some day. The fellow who carried it was
caught by some slaver, no doubt, and that was how it got into America, and
so into your hands—and you have had the honour of fulfilling the prophecy."
He paused for a few minutes, resting his head upon his hands, waiting
apparently for me to speak. When he looked up again, the whole expression
of his face had changed. His features were firm and set, and he changed
the air of half levity with which he had spoken before for one of
sternness and almost ferocity.
"I wish you to carry a message back," he said, "to the white race, the
great dominating race whom I hate and defy. Tell them that I have battened
on their blood for twenty years, that I have slain them until even I
became tired of what had once been a joy, that I did this unnoticed and
unsuspected in the face of every precaution which their civilisation could
suggest. There is no satisfaction in revenge when your enemy does not know
who has struck him. I am not sorry, therefore, to have you as a messenger.
There is no need why I should tell you how this great hate became born in
me. See this," and he held up his mutilated hand; "that was done by a
white man's knife. My father was white, my mother was a slave. When he
died she was sold again, and I, a child then, saw her lashed to death to
break her of some of the little airs and graces which her late master had
encouraged in her. My young wife, too, oh, my young wife!" a shudder ran
through his whole frame. "No matter! I swore my oath, and I kept it. From
Maine to Florida, and from Boston to San Francisco, you could track my
steps by sudden deaths which baffled the police. I warred against the
whole white race as they for centuries had warred against the black one.
At last, as I tell you, I sickened of blood. Still, the sight of a white
face was abhorrent to me, and I determined to find some bold free black
people and to throw in my lot with them, to cultivate their latent powers,
and to form a nucleus for a great coloured nation. This idea possessed me,
and I travelled over the world for two years seeking for what I desired.
At last I almost despaired of finding it. There was no hope of
regeneration in the slave-dealing Soudanese, the debased Fantee, or the
Americanised negroes of Liberia. I was returning from my quest when chance
brought me in contact with this magnificent tribe of dwellers in the
desert, and I threw in my lot with them. Before doing so, however, my old
instinct of revenge prompted me to make one last visit to the United
States, and I returned from it in the Marie Celeste.
"As to the voyage itself, your intelligence will have told you by this
time that, thanks to my manipulation, both compasses and chronometers were
entirely untrustworthy. I alone worked out the course with correct
instruments of my own, while the steering was done by my black friends
under my guidance. I pushed Tibbs's wife overboard. What! You look
surprised and shrink away. Surely you had guessed that by this time. I
would have shot you that day through the partition, but unfortunately you
were not there. I tried again afterwards, but you were awake. I shot
Tibbs. I think the idea of suicide was carried out rather neatly. Of
course when once we got on the coast the rest was simple. I had bargained
that all on board should die; but that stone of yours upset my plans. I
also bargained that there should be no plunder. No one can say we are
pirates. We have acted from principle, not from any sordid motive."
I listened in amazement to the summary of his crimes which this strange
man gave me, all in the quietest and most composed of voices, as though
detailing incidents of every-day occurrence. I still seem to see him
sitting like a hideous nightmare at the end of my couch, with the single
rude lamp flickering over his cadaverous features.
"And now," he continued, "there is no difficulty about your escape. These
stupid adopted children of mine will say that you have gone back to heaven
from whence you came. The wind blows off the land. I have a boat all ready
for you, well stored with provisions and water. I am anxious to be rid of
you, so you may rely that nothing is neglected. Rise up and follow me."
I did what he commanded, and he led me through the door of the hut.
The guards had either been withdrawn, or Goring had arranged matters with
them. We passed unchallenged through the town and across the sandy plain.
Once more I heard the roar of the sea, and saw the long white line of the
surge. Two figures were standing upon the shore arranging the gear of a
small boat. They were the two sailors who had been with us on the voyage.
"See him safely through the surf," said Goring. The two men sprang in and
pushed off, pulling me in after them. With mainsail and jib we ran out
from the land and passed safely over the bar. Then my two companions
without a word of farewell sprang overboard, and I saw their heads like
black dots on the white foam as they made their way back to the shore,
while I scudded away into the blackness of the night. Looking back I
caught my last glimpse of Goring. He was standing upon the summit of a
sand-hill, and the rising moon behind him threw his gaunt angular figure
into hard relief. He was waving his arms frantically to and fro; it may
have been to encourage me on my way, but the gestures seemed to me at the
time to be threatening ones, and I have often thought that it was more
likely that his old savage instinct had returned when he realised that I
was out of his power. Be that as it may, it was the last that I ever saw
or ever shall see of Septimius Goring.
There is no need for me to dwell upon my solitary voyage. I steered as
well as I could for the Canaries, but was picked up upon the fifth day by
the British and African Steam Navigation Company's boat Monrovia. Let me
take this opportunity of tendering my sincerest thanks to Captain
Stornoway and his officers for the great kindness which they showed me
from that time till they landed me in Liverpool, where I was enabled to
take one of the Guion boats to New York.
From the day on which I found myself once more in the bosom of my family I
have said little of what I have undergone. The subject is still an
intensely painful one to me, and the little which I have dropped has been
discredited. I now put the facts before the public as they occurred,
careless how far they may be believed, and simply writing them down
because my lung is growing weaker, and I feel the responsibility of
holding my peace longer. I make no vague statement. Turn to your map of
Africa. There above Cape Blanco, where the land trends away north and
south from the westernmost point of the continent, there it is that
Septimius Goring still reigns over his dark subjects, unless retribution
has overtaken him; and there, where the long green ridges run swiftly in
to roar and hiss upon the hot yellow sand, it is there that Harton lies
with Hyson and the other poor fellows who were done to death in the Marie Celeste.
