XI
J. HABAKUK JEPHSON'S STATEMENT
In the month of December in the year 1873, the British ship _Dei Gratia_steered into Gibraltar, having in tow the derelict brigantine _MarieCeleste_, which had been picked up in latitude 38 deg. 40', longitude 17 deg.15' W. There were several circumstances in connection with the conditionand appearance of this abandoned vessel which excited considerablecomment at the time, and aroused a curiosity which has never beensatisfied. What these circumstances were was summed up in an ablearticle which appeared in the _Gibraltar Gazette_. The curious can findit in the issue for January 4, 1874, unless my memory deceives me. Forthe benefit of those, however, who may be unable to refer to the paperin question, I shall subjoin a few extracts which touch upon the leadingfeatures of the case.
"We have ourselves," says the anonymous writer in the _Gazette_, "beenover the derelict _Marie Celeste_, and have closely questioned theofficers of the _Dei Gratia_ on every point which might throw light onthe affair. They are of opinion that she had been abandoned severaldays, or perhaps weeks, before being picked up. The official log, whichwas found in the cabin, states that the vessel sailed from Boston toLisbon, 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 theidea that she was abandoned for any such reason. She is perfectlywatertight. No signs of a struggle or of violence are to be detected,and there is absolutely nothing to account for the disappearance of thecrew. There are several indications that a lady was present on board, asewing-machine being found in the cabin and some articles of femaleattire. These probably belonged to the captain's wife, who is mentionedin the log as having accompanied her husband. As an instance of themildness of the weather, it may be remarked that a bobbin of silk wasfound standing upon the sewing-machine, though the least roll of thevessel would have precipitated it to the floor. The boats were intactand slung upon the davits; and the cargo, consisting of tallow andAmerican clocks, was untouched. An old-fashioned sword of curiousworkmanship was discovered among some lumber in the forecastle, and thisweapon is said to exhibit a longitudinal striation on the steel, as ifit had been recently wiped. It has been placed in the hands of thepolice, and submitted to Dr. Monaghan, the analyst, for inspection. Theresult of his examination has not yet been published. We may remark, inconclusion, that Captain Dalton, of the _Dei Gratia_, an able andintelligent seaman, is of opinion that the _Marie Celeste_ may have beenabandoned a considerable distance from the spot at which she was pickedup, since a powerful current runs up in that latitude from the Africancoast. He confesses his inability, however, to advance any hypothesiswhich can reconcile all the facts of the case. In the utter absence of aclue or grain of evidence, it is to be feared that the fate of the crewof the _Marie Celeste_ will be added to those numerous mysteries of thedeep which will never be solved until the great day when the sea shallgive up its dead. If crime has been committed, as is much to besuspected, there is little hope of bringing the perpetrators tojustice."
I shall supplement this extract from the _Gibraltar Gazette_ by quotinga telegram from Boston, which went the round of the English papers, andrepresented the total amount of information which had been collectedabout the _Marie Celeste_. "She was," it said, "a brigantine of 170 tonsburden, and belonged to White, Russell & White, wine importers, of thiscity. Captain J. W. Tibbs was an old servant of the firm, and was a manof known ability and tried probity. He was accompanied by his wife, agedthirty-one, and their youngest child, five years old. The crew consistedof seven hands, including two coloured seamen, and a boy. There werethree passengers, one of whom was the well-known Brooklyn specialist onconsumption, Dr. Habakuk Jephson, who was a distinguished advocate forAbolition in the early days of the movement, and whose pamphlet,entitled, 'Where is thy Brother?' exercised a strong influence on publicopinion before the war. The other passengers were Mr. J. Harton, awriter in the employ of the firm, and Mr. Septimius Goring, a half-castegentleman, from New Orleans. All investigations have failed to throw anylight 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 beenhitherto known concerning the _Marie Celeste_ and her crew, for the pastten years have not in any way helped to elucidate the mystery. I havenow taken up my pen with the intention of telling all that I know of theill-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 thatbefore many months my tongue and hand may be alike incapable ofconveying information. Let me remark, as a preface to my narrative,that I am Joseph Habakuk Jephson, Doctor of Medicine of the Universityof Harvard, and ex-Consulting Physician of the Samaritan Hospital ofBrooklyn.
Many will doubtless wonder why I have not proclaimed myself before, andwhy I have suffered so many conjectures and surmises to passunchallenged. Could the ends of justice have been served in any way bymy revealing the facts in my possession I should unhesitatingly havedone so. It seemed to me, however, that there was no possibility of sucha result; and when I attempted after the occurrence, to state my case toan English official, I was met with such offensive incredulity that Idetermined never again to expose myself to the chance of such anindignity. I can excuse the discourtesy of the Liverpool magistrate,however, when I reflect upon the treatment which I received at the handsof my own relatives, who, though they knew my unimpeachable character,listened to my statement with an indulgent smile as if humouring thedelusion of a monomaniac. This slur upon my veracity led to a quarrelbetween myself and John Vanburger, the brother of my wife, and confirmedme in my resolution to let the matter sink into oblivion--adetermination which I have only altered through my son's solicitations.In order to make my narrative intelligible, I must run lightly over oneor two incidents in my former life which throw light upon subsequentevents.
My father, William K. Jephson, was a preacher of the sect calledPlymouth Brethren, and was one of the most respected citizens ofLowell. Like most of the other Puritans of New England, he was adetermined opponent of slavery, and it was from his lips that I receivedthose lessons which tinged every action of my life. While I was studyingmedicine at Harvard University, I had already made a mark as an advancedAbolitionist; and when, after taking my degree, I bought a third shareof the practice of Dr. Willis, of Brooklyn, I managed, in spite of myprofessional duties, to devote a considerable time to the cause which Ihad at heart, my pamphlet, "Where is thy Brother?" (Swarburgh, Lister &Co., 1849) attracting considerable attention.
When the war broke out I left Brooklyn and accompanied the 113th NewYork Regiment through the campaign. I was present at the second battleof Bull's Run and at the battle of Gettysburg. Finally, I was severelywounded at Antietam, and would probably have perished on the field hadit not been for the kindness of a gentleman named Murray, who had mecarried to his house and provided me with every comfort. Thanks to hischarity, and to the nursing which I received from his black domestics, Iwas soon able to get about the plantation with the help of a stick. Itwas during this period of convalescence that an incident occurred whichis closely connected with my story.
Among the most assiduous of the negresses who had watched my couchduring my illness there was one old crone who appeared to exertconsiderable authority over the others. She was exceedingly attentive tome, and I gathered from the few words that passed between us that shehad heard of me, and that she was grateful to me for championing heroppressed race.
One day as I was sitting alone in the verandah, basking in the sun, anddebating whether I should rejoin Grant's army, I was surprised to seethis old creature hobbling towards me. After looking cautiously aroundto see that we were alone, she fumbled in the front of her dress andproduced a small chamois leather bag which was hung round her neck by awhite cord.
"Massa," she said, bending down and croaking the words into my ear, "medi
e soon. Me very old woman. Not stay long on Massa Murray'splantation."
"You may live a long time yet, Martha," I answered. "You know I am adoctor. If you feel ill let me know about it, and I will try to cureyou."
"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 whichnegroes indulge. "But, massa, me have one thing must leave behind mewhen I go. No able to take it with me across the Jordan. That one thingvery precious, more precious and more holy than all thing else in theworld. Me, a poor old black woman, have this because my people, verygreat people, 'spose they was back in the old country. But you cannotunderstand this same as black folk could. My fader give it me, and hisfader give it him, but now who shall I give it to? Poor Martha hab nochild, 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--hemust be a good man, and he shall have it though he is white man, andnebber can know what it mean or where it came from." Here the old womanfumbled in the chamois leather bag and pulled out a flattish black stonewith a hole through the middle of it. "Here, take it," she said,pressing it into my hand; "take it. No harm nebber come from anythinggood. Keep it safe--nebber lose it!" and with a warning gesture the oldcrone hobbled away in the same cautious way as she had come, lookingfrom side to side to see if we had been observed.
I was more amused than impressed by the old woman's earnestness, and wasonly prevented from laughing during her oration by the fear of hurtingher feelings. When she was gone I took a good look at the stone whichshe had given me. It was intensely black, of extreme hardness, and ovalin shape--just such a flat stone as one would pick up on the seashore ifone wished to throw a long way. It was about three inches long, and aninch and a half broad at the middle, but rounded off at the extremities.The most curious part about it was several well-marked ridges which ranin semicircles over its surface, and gave it exactly the appearance of ahuman ear. Altogether I was rather interested in my new possession, anddetermined to submit it, as a geological specimen, to my friendProfessor Shroeder of the New York Institute, upon the earliestopportunity. In the meantime I thrust it into my pocket, and rising frommy chair started off for a short stroll in the shrubbery, dismissing theincident 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 victoriousand converging on Richmond, so that my assistance seemed unnecessary,and I returned to Brooklyn. There I resumed my practice, and marriedthe second daughter of Josiah Vanburger, the well-known wood engraver.In the course of a few years I built up a good connection and acquiredconsiderable reputation in the treatment of pulmonary complaints. Istill kept the old black stone in my pocket, and frequently told thestory of the dramatic way in which I had become possessed of it. I alsokept my resolution of showing it to Professor Shroeder, who was muchinterested both by the anecdote and the specimen. He pronounced it to bea piece of meteoric stone, and drew my attention to the fact that itsresemblance to an ear was not accidental, but that it was most carefullyworked into that shape. A dozen little anatomical points showed that theworker 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 thanI can understand. If there is a statue to correspond I should like tosee 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 anyvariation in my duties. As the practice increased I admitted J. S.Jackson as partner, he to have one-fourth of the profits. The continuedstrain had told upon my constitution, however, and I became at last sounwell that my wife insisted upon my consulting Dr. Kavanagh Smith, whowas my colleague at the Samaritan Hospital. That gentleman examined me,and pronounced the apex of my left lung to be in a state ofconsolidation, recommending me at the same time to go through a courseof medical treatment and to take a long sea-voyage.
My own disposition, which is naturally restless, predisposed me stronglyin favour of the latter piece of advice, and the matter was clinched bymy meeting young Russell, of the firm of White, Russell & White, whooffered 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," hesaid, "and Tibbs, the captain, is an excellent fellow. There is nothinglike a sailing ship for an invalid." I was very much of the same opinionmyself, so I closed with the offer on the spot.
My original plan was that my wife should accompany me on my travels. Shehas always been a very poor sailor, however, and there were strongfamily reasons against her exposing herself to any risk at the time, sowe determined that she should remain at home. I am not a religious or aneffusive man; but oh, thank God for that! As to leaving my practice, Iwas easily reconciled to it, as Jackson, my partner, was a reliable andhard-working man.
I arrived in Boston on October 12, 1873, and proceeded immediately tothe office of the firm in order to thank them for their courtesy. As Iwas sitting in the counting-house waiting until they should be atliberty to see me, the words _Marie Celeste_ suddenly attracted myattention. I looked round and saw a very tall, gaunt man, who wasleaning across the polished mahogany counter asking some questions ofthe clerk at the other side. His face was turned half towards me, and Icould see that he had a strong dash of negro blood in him, beingprobably a quadroon or even nearer akin to the black. His curvedaquiline nose and straight lank hair showed the white strain; but thedark, restless eye, sensuous mouth, and gleaming teeth all told of hisAfrican origin. His complexion was of a sickly unhealthy yellow, and ashis face was deeply pitted with small-pox, the general impression was sounfavourable as to be almost revolting. When he spoke, however, it wasin a soft, melodious voice, and in well-chosen words, and he wasevidently a man of some education.
"I wished to ask a few questions about the _Marie Celeste_," herepeated, leaning across to the clerk. "She sails the day afterto-morrow, does she not?"
"Yes, sir," said the young clerk, awed into unusual politeness by theglimmer 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 mypassage at once. Put it down, will you--Mr. Septimius Goring, of NewOrleans."
The clerk filled up a form and handed it over to the stranger, pointingto a blank space at the bottom. As Mr. Goring stooped over to sign it Iwas horrified to observe that the fingers of his right hand had beenlopped off, and that he was holding the pen between his thumb and thepalm. I have seen thousands slain in battle, and assisted at everyconceivable surgical operation, but I cannot recall any sight which gaveme such a thrill of disgust as that great brown sponge-like hand withthe single member protruding from it. He used it skilfully enough,however, for dashing off his signature, he nodded to the clerk andstrolled out of the office just as Mr. White sent out word that he wasready to receive me.
I went down to the _Marie Celeste_ that evening, and looked over myberth, which was extremely comfortable considering the small size of thevessel. Mr. Goring, whom I had seen in the morning, was to have the onenext 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 ledfrom the main-deck to the saloon. The latter was a comfortable room, thepanelling tastefully do
ne in oak and mahogany, with a rich Brusselscarpet and luxurious settees. I was very much pleased with theaccommodation, and also with Tibbs the captain, a bluff, sailor-likefellow, with a loud voice and hearty manner, who welcomed me to the shipwith effusion, and insisted upon our splitting a bottle of wine in hiscabin. He told me that he intended to take his wife and youngest childwith him on the voyage, and that he hoped with good luck to make Lisbonin 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 heintended to make a start by the midday tide, having now shipped all hiscargo. I went back to my hotel, where I found a letter from my wifeawaiting me, and, after a refreshing night's sleep, returned to the boatin the morning. From this point I am able to quote from the journalwhich I kept in order to vary the monotony of the long sea-voyage. If itis somewhat bald in places I can at least rely upon its accuracy indetails, as it was written conscientiously from day to day.
_October 16th._--Cast off our warps at half-past two and were towed outinto the bay, where the tug left us, and with all sail set we bowledalong at about nine knots an hour. I stood upon the poop watching thelow land of America sinking gradually upon the horizon until the eveninghaze hid it from my sight. A single red light, however, continued toblaze balefully behind us, throwing a long track like a trail of bloodupon the water, and it is still visible as I write, though reduced to amere speck. The Captain is in a bad humour, for two of his handsdisappointed him at the last moment, and he was compelled to ship acouple of negroes who happened to be on the quay. The missing men weresteady, reliable fellows, who had been with him several voyages, andtheir non-appearance puzzled as well as irritated him. Where a crew ofseven men have to work a fair-sized ship the loss of two experiencedseamen is a serious one, for though the negroes may take a spell at thewheel 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 littledarkie servant, so that we are rather a piebald community. Theaccountant, John Harton, promises to be an acquisition, for he is acheery, amusing young fellow. Strange how little wealth has to do withhappiness! He has all the world before him and is seeking his fortune ina far land, yet he is as transparently happy as a man can be. Goring isrich, 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. Howpoorly do we both contrast with the careless, penniless clerk!
_October 17th._--Mrs. Tibbs appeared upon the deck for the first timethis morning--a cheerful, energetic woman, with a dear little child justable to walk and prattle. Young Harton pounced on it at once, andcarried it away to his cabin, where no doubt he will lay the seeds offuture dyspepsia in the child's stomach. Thus medicine doth make cynicsof us all! The weather is still all that could be desired, with a finefresh breeze from the west-sou'-west. The vessel goes so steadily thatyou would hardly know that she was moving were it not for the creakingof the cordage, the bellying of the sails, and the long white furrow inour wake. Walked the quarter-deck all morning with the Captain, and Ithink the keen fresh air has already done my breathing good, for theexercise did not fatigue me in any way. Tibbs is a remarkablyintelligent man, and we had an interesting argument about Maury'sobservations on ocean currents, which we terminated by going down intohis cabin to consult the original work. There we found Goring, rather tothe Captain's surprise, as it is not usual for passengers to enter thatsanctum unless specially invited. He apologised for his intrusion,however, pleading his ignorance of the usages of ship life; and thegood-natured sailor simply laughed at the incident, begging him toremain and favour us with his company. Goring pointed to thechronometers, the case of which he had opened, and remarked that he hadbeen admiring them. He has evidently some practical knowledge ofmathematical instruments, as he told at a glance which was the mosttrustworthy of the three, and also named their price within a fewdollars. He had a discussion with the Captain too upon the variation ofthe compass, and when we came back to the ocean currents he showed athorough grasp of the subject. Altogether he rather improves uponacquaintance, and is a man of decided culture and refinement. His voiceharmonises with his conversation, and both are the very antithesis ofhis face and figure.
The noonday observation shows that we have run two hundred and twentymiles. Towards evening the breeze freshened up, and the first mateordered reefs to be taken in the topsails and top-gallant sails inexpectation of a windy night. I observe that the barometer has fallen totwenty-nine. I trust our voyage will not be a rough one, as I am a poorsailor, and my health would probably derive more harm than good from astormy trip, though I have the greatest confidence in the Captain'sseamanship 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 18th._--The gloomy prognostications of last night were notfulfilled, as the wind died away again, and we are lying now in a longgreasy swell, ruffled here and there by a fleeting catspaw which isinsufficient to fill the sails. The air is colder than it wasyesterday, and I have put on one of the thick woollen jerseys which mywife knitted for me. Harton came into my cabin in the morning, and wehad a cigar together. He says that he remembers having seen Goring inCleveland, Ohio, in '69. He was, it appears, a mystery then as now,wandering about without any visible employment, and extremely reticenton his own affairs. The man interests me as a psychological study. Atbreakfast this morning I suddenly had that vague feeling of uneasinesswhich comes over some people when closely stared at, and, lookingquickly up, I met his eyes bent upon me with an intensity which amountedto ferocity, though their expression instantly softened as he made someconventional remark upon the weather. Curiously enough, Harton says thathe had a very similar experience yesterday upon deck. I observe thatGoring frequently talks to the coloured seamen as he strolls about--atrait which I rather admire, as it is common to find half-breeds ignoretheir dark strain and treat their black kinsfolk with greaterintolerance than a white man would do. His little page is devoted tohim, apparently, which speaks well for his treatment of him. Altogether,the man is a curious mixture of incongruous qualities, and unless I amdeceived in him will give me food for observation during the voyage.
The Captain is grumbling about his chronometers, which do not registerexactly the same time. He says it is the first time that they have everdisagreed. We were unable to get a noonday observation on account of thehaze. By dead reckoning, we have done about a hundred and seventy milesin the twenty-four hours. The dark seamen have proved, as the skipperprophesied, to be very inferior hands, but as they can both manage thewheel well they are kept steering, and so leave the more experiencedmen to work the ship. These details are trivial enough, but a smallthing serves as food for gossip aboard ship. The appearance of a whalein the evening caused quite a flutter among us. From its sharp back andforked tail, I should pronounce it to have been a rorqual, or "finner,"as they are called by the fishermen.
_October 19th._--Wind was cold, so I prudently remained in my cabin allday, only creeping out for dinner. Lying in my bunk I can, withoutmoving, reach my books, pipes, or anything else I may want, which is oneadvantage of a small apartment. My old wound began to ache a littleto-day, probably from the cold. Read _Montaigne's Essays_ and nursedmyself. 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 20th and 21st._--Still cold, with a continual drizzle of rain,and I have not been able to leave the cabin. This confinement makes mefeel weak and depressed. Goring came in to see me, but his company didnot tend to cheer me up much, as he hardly uttered a word, but contentedhimself 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 ambeginning to suspect that the man is a lunatic. I think I mentioned thathis cabin is next to mine. The two are simply divided by a thin woodenpartition which is cracked in many places, some of the cracks being solarge that I can har
dly avoid, as I lie in my bunk, observing hismotions in the adjoining room. Without any wish to play the spy, I seehim continually stooping over what appears to be a chart and workingwith a pencil and compasses. I have remarked the interest he displays inmatters connected with navigation, but I am surprised that he shouldtake the trouble to work out the course of the ship. However, it is aharmless amusement enough, and no doubt he verifies his results by thoseof the Captain.
I wish the man did not run in my thoughts so much. I had a nightmare onthe night of the 20th, in which I thought my bunk was a coffin, that Iwas 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 couldhardly persuade myself that I was not in a coffin. As a medical man, Iknow that a nightmare is simply a vascular derangement of the cerebralhemispheres, and yet in my weak state I cannot shake off the morbidimpression which it produces.
_October 22nd._--A fine day, with hardly a cloud in the sky, and a freshbreeze from the sou'-west which wafts us gaily on our way. There hasevidently been some heavy weather near us, as there is a tremendousswell on, and the ship lurches until the end of the fore-yard nearlytouches the water. Had a refreshing walk up and down the quarter-deck,though I have hardly found my sea-legs yet. Several smallbirds--chaffinches, I think--perched in the rigging.
4.40 P.M.--While I was on deck this morning I heard a sudden explosionfrom the direction of my cabin, and, hurrying down, found that I hadvery nearly met with a serious accident. Goring was cleaning a revolver,it seems, in his cabin, when one of the barrels which he thought wasunloaded went off. The ball passed through the side partition andimbedded itself in the bulwarks in the exact place where my headusually rests. I have been under fire too often to magnify trifles, butthere 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, andmust therefore have felt terribly frightened. I never saw such emotionin a man's face as when, on rushing out of his cabin with the smokingpistol in his hand, he met me face to face as I came down from deck. Ofcourse, he was profuse in his apologies, though I simply laughed at theincident.
11 P.M.--A misfortune has occurred so unexpected and so horrible that mylittle escape of the morning dwindles into insignificance. Mrs. Tibbsand her child have disappeared--utterly and entirely disappeared. I canhardly compose myself to write the sad details. About half-past eightTibbs rushed into my cabin with a very white face and asked me if I hadseen his wife. I answered that I had not. He then ran wildly into thesaloon and began groping about for any trace of her, while I followedhim, endeavouring vainly to persuade him that his fears were ridiculous.We hunted over the ship for an hour and a half without coming on anysign of the missing woman or child. Poor Tibbs lost his voice completelyfrom calling her name. Even the sailors, who are generally stolidenough, were deeply affected by the sight of him as he roamed bareheadedand dishevelled about the deck, searching with feverish anxiety the mostimpossible places, and returning to them again and again with a piteouspertinacity. The last time she was seen was about seven o'clock, whenshe took Doddy on to the poop to give him a breath of fresh air beforeputting him to bed. There was no one there at the time except the blackseaman at the wheel, who denies having seen her at all. The whole affairis wrapped in mystery. My own theory is that while Mrs. Tibbs washolding the child and standing near the bulwarks it gave a spring andfell overboard, and that in her convulsive attempt to catch or save it,she followed it. I cannot account for the double disappearance in anyother way. It is quite feasible that such a tragedy should be enactedwithout the knowledge of the man at the wheel, since it was dark at thetime, and the peaked skylights of the saloon screen the greater part ofthe quarter-deck. Whatever the truth may be it is a terriblecatastrophe, and has cast the darkest gloom upon our voyage. The matehas put the ship about, but of course there is not the slightest hope ofpicking 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 hoursat least his anguish may be deadened.
_October 23rd._--Woke with a vague feeling of heaviness and misfortune,but it was not until a few moments' reflection that I was able to recallour loss of the night before. When I came on deck I saw the poor skipperstanding gazing back at the waste of waters behind us which containseverything dear to him upon earth. I attempted to speak to him, but heturned brusquely away, and began pacing the deck with his head sunk uponhis breast. Even now, when the truth is so clear, he cannot pass a boator an unbent sail without peering under it. He looks ten years olderthan he did yesterday morning. Harton is terribly cut up, for he wasfond of little Doddy, and Goring seems sorry too. At least he has shuthimself up in his cabin all day, and when I got a casual glance at himhis head was resting on his two hands as if in a melancholy reverie. Ifear we are about as dismal a crew as ever sailed. How shocked my wifewill be to hear of our disaster! The swell has gone down now, and we aredoing about eight knots with all sail set and a nice little breeze.Hyson is practically in command of the ship, as Tibbs, though he doeshis best to bear up and keep a brave front, is incapable of applyinghimself to serious work.
_October 24th._--Is the ship accursed? Was there ever a voyage whichbegan so fairly and which changed so disastrously? Tibbs shot himselfthrough the head during the night. I was awakened about three o'clock inthe morning by an explosion, and immediately sprang out of bed andrushed into the Captain's cabin to find out the cause, though with aterrible presentiment in my heart. Quickly as I went, Goring went morequickly still, for he was already in the cabin stooping over the deadbody of the Captain. It was a hideous sight, for the whole front of hisface was blown in, and the little room was swimming in blood. The pistolwas 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. Goringand I picked him reverently up and laid him on his bed. The crew had allclustered into his cabin, and the six white men were deeply grieved, forthey were old hands who had sailed with him many years. There were darklooks and murmurs among them too, and one of them openly declared thatthe ship was haunted. Harton helped to lay the poor skipper out, and wedid him up in canvas between us. At twelve o'clock the fore-yard washauled aback, and we committed his body to the deep, Goring reading theChurch of England burial service. The breeze has freshened up, and wehave done ten knots all day and sometimes twelve. The sooner we reachLisbon and get away from this accursed ship the better pleased shall Ibe. I feel as though we were in a floating coffin. Little wonder thatthe poor sailors are superstitious when I, an educated man, feel it sostrongly.
_October 25th._--Made a good run all day. Feel listless and depressed.
_October 26th._--Goring, Harton, and I had a chat together on deck inthe morning. Harton tried to draw Goring out as to his profession, andhis object in going to Europe, but the quadroon parried all hisquestions and gave us no information. Indeed, he seemed to be slightlyoffended by Harton's pertinacity, and went down into his cabin. I wonderwhy we should both take such an interest in this man! I suppose it ishis striking appearance, coupled with his apparent wealth, which piquesour curiosity. Harton has a theory that he is really a detective, thathe is after some criminal who has got away to Portugal, and that hechooses this peculiar way of travelling that he may arrive unnoticed andpounce upon his quarry unawares. I think the supposition is rather afarfetched one, but Harton bases it upon a book which Goring left ondeck, and which he picked up and glanced over. It was a sort ofscrap-book, it seems, and contained a large number of newspapercuttings. All these cuttings related to murders which had been committedat various times in the States during the last twenty years or so. Thecurious thing which Harton observed about them, however, was that theywere invariably murders the authors of which had never been brought tojustice. They varied in every detail, he says, as to the manner ofexecution and the social status of the victim, but they uniformly woundup with the same formula that the murderer was still at large, though,of cour
se, the police had every reason to expect his speedy capture.Certainly the incident seems to support Harton's theory, though it maybe a mere whim of Goring's, or, as I suggested to Harton, he may becollecting materials for a book which shall outvie De Quincey. In anycase it is no business of ours.
_October 27th, 28th._--Wind still fair, and we are making good progress.Strange how easily a human unit may drop out of its place and beforgotten! Tibbs is hardly ever mentioned now; Hyson has takenpossession 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 theunfortunate family had ever existed. Another accident occurred on boardto-day, though fortunately not a very serious one. One of our whitehands had gone down the after-hold to fetch up a spare coil of rope,when one of the hatches which he had removed came crashing down on thetop of him. He saved his life by springing out of the way, but one ofhis feet was terribly crushed, and he will be of little use for theremainder of the voyage. He attributes the accident to the carelessnessof his negro companion, who had helped him to shift the hatches. Thelatter, however, puts it down to the roll of the ship. Whatever be thecause, it reduces our short-handed crew still further. This run ofill-luck seems to be depressing Harton, for he has lost his usual goodspirits and joviality. Goring is the only one who preserves hischeerfulness. I see him still working at his chart in his own cabin.His nautical knowledge would be useful should anything happen toHyson--which God forbid!
_October 29th, 30th._--Still bowling along with a fresh breeze. Allquiet and nothing of note to chronicle.
_October 31st._--My weak lungs, combined with the exciting episodes ofthe voyage, have shaken my nervous system so much that the most trivialincident affects me. I can hardly believe that I am the same man whotied the external iliac artery, an operation requiring the nicestprecision, under a heavy rifle fire at Antietam. I am as nervous as achild. I was lying half dozing last night about four bells in the middlewatch trying in vain to drop into a refreshing sleep. There was no lightinside my cabin, but a single ray of moonlight streamed in through theport-hole, throwing a silvery flickering circle upon the door. As I layI kept my drowsy eyes upon this circle, and was conscious that it wasgradually becoming less well-defined as my senses left me, when I wassuddenly recalled to full wakefulness by the appearance of a small darkobject in the very centre of the luminous disc. I lay quietly andbreathlessly watching it. Gradually it grew larger and plainer, and thenI perceived that it was a human hand which had been cautiously insertedthrough the chink of the half-closed door--a hand which, as I observedwith a thrill of horror, was not provided with fingers. The door swungcautiously backwards, and Goring's head followed his hand. It appearedin the centre of the moonlight, and was framed as it were in a ghastlyuncertain halo, against which his features showed out plainly. Itseemed to me that I had never seen such an utterly fiendish andmerciless expression upon a human face. His eyes were dilated andglaring, his lips drawn back so as to show his white fangs, and hisstraight black hair appeared to bristle over his low forehead like thehood of a cobra. The sudden and noiseless apparition had such an effectupon me that I sprang up in bed trembling in every limb, and held out myhand towards my revolver. I was heartily ashamed of my hastiness when heexplained the object of his intrusion, as he immediately did in the mostcourteous language. He had been suffering from toothache, poor fellow!and had come in to beg some laudanum, knowing that I possessed amedicine chest. As to a sinister expression he is never a beauty, andwhat with my state of nervous tension and the effect of the shiftingmoonlight it was easy to conjure up something horrible. I gave himtwenty drops, and he went off again with many expressions of gratitude.I can hardly say how much this trivial incident affected me. I have feltunstrung all day.
A week's record of our voyage is here omitted, as nothing eventfuloccurred during the time, and my log consists merely of a few pages ofunimportant gossip.
_November 7th._--Harton and I sat on the poop all the morning, for theweather is becoming very warm as we come into southern latitudes. Wereckon that we have done two-thirds of our voyage. How glad we shall beto see the green banks of the Tagus, and leave this unlucky ship forever! I was endeavouring to amuse Harton to-day and to while away thetime by telling him some of the experiences of my past life. Amongothers I related to him how I came into the possession of my blackstone, and as a finale I rummaged in the side pocket of my old shootingcoat and produced the identical object in question. He and I werebending over it together, I pointing out to him the curious ridges uponits surface, when we were conscious of a shadow falling between us andthe sun, and looking round saw Goring standing behind us glaring overour shoulders at the stone. For some reason or other he appeared to bepowerfully excited, though he was evidently trying to control himselfand to conceal his emotion. He pointed once or twice at my relic withhis stubby thumb before he could recover himself sufficiently to askwhat it was and how I obtained it--a question put in such a brusquemanner that I should have been offended had I not known the man to be aneccentric. I told him the story very much as I had told it to Harton. Helistened with the deepest interest and then asked me if I had any ideawhat the stone was. I said I had not, beyond that it was meteoric. Heasked 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 ofit." He took the stone in his hand and went across to the sailor, andthe two examined it carefully. I could see the man gesticulating andnodding his head excitedly as if making some assertion, while his facebetrayed the utmost astonishment, mixed, I think, with some reverence.Goring came across the deck to as presently, still holding the stone inhis hand. "He says it is a worthless, useless thing," he said, "and fitonly to be chucked overboard," with which he raised his hand and wouldmost certainly have made an end of my relic, had the black sailorbehind him not rushed forward and seized him by the wrist. Findinghimself secured Goring dropped the stone and turned away with a very badgrace to avoid my angry remonstrances at his breach of faith. The blackpicked up the stone and handed it to me with a low bow and every sign ofprofound respect. The whole affair is inexplicable. I am rapidly comingto 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 thesurprise of Goring on its first production, I cannot but come to theconclusion that I have really got hold of some powerful talisman whichappeals to the whole dark race. I must not trust it in Goring's handsagain.
_November 8th, 9th._--What splendid weather we are having! Beyond onelittle blow, we have had nothing but fresh breezes the whole voyage.These two days we have made better runs than any hitherto. It is apretty thing to watch the spray fly up from our prow as it cuts throughthe waves. The sun shines through it and breaks it up into a number ofminiature rainbows--"sun-dogs," the sailors call them. I stood on thefo'c'sle-head for several hours to-day watching the effect, andsurrounded by a halo of prismatic colours. The steersman has evidentlytold the other blacks about my wonderful stone, for I am treated by themall with the greatest respect. Talking about optical phenomena, we had acurious one yesterday evening which was pointed out to me by Hyson. Thiswas the appearance of a triangular well-defined object high up in theheavens to the north of us. He explained that it was exactly like thePeak 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 havebeen a cloud, or it may have been one of those strange reflections ofwhich one reads. The weather is very warm. The mate says that he neverknew it so warm in these latitudes. Played chess with Harton in theevening.
_November 10th._--It is getting warmer and warmer. Some land birds cameand perched in the rigging to-day, though we are still a considerableway from our destination. The heat is so great that we are too lazy todo anything but lounge about the decks and smoke. Goring came over to meto-day and asked me some more questions about my stone; but I answeredhim rather shortly, for I have no
t quite forgiven him yet for the coolway in which he attempted to deprive me of it.
_November 11th, 12th._--Still making good progress. I had no ideaPortugal 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 13th._--A most extraordinary event has happened, soextraordinary as to be almost inexplicable. Either Hyson has blunderedwonderfully, or some magnetic influence has disturbed our instruments.Just about daybreak the watch on the fo'c'sle-head shouted out that heheard the sound of surf ahead, and Hyson thought he saw the loom ofland. The ship was put about, and, though no lights were seen, none ofus doubted that we had struck the Portuguese coast a little sooner thanwe had expected. What was our surprise to see the scene which wasrevealed to us at break of day! As far as we could look on either sidewas one long line of surf, great, green billows rolling in and breakinginto a cloud of foam. But behind the surf what was there! Not the greenbanks nor the high cliffs of the shores of Portugal, but a great sandywaste which stretched away and away until it blended with the skyline.To right and left, look where you would, there was nothing but yellowsand, heaped in some places into fantastic mounds, some of them severalhundred feet high, while in other parts were long stretches as levelapparently as a billiard board. Harton and I, who had come on decktogether, looked at each other in astonishment, and Harton burst outlaughing. Hyson is exceedingly mortified at the occurrence, and proteststhat the instruments have been tampered with. There is no doubt thatthis is the mainland of Africa, and that it was really the Peak ofTeneriffe which we saw some days ago upon the northern horizon. At thetime when we saw the land birds we must have been passing some of theCanary Islands. If we continued on the same course, we are now to thenorth of Cape Blanco, near the unexplored country which skirts the greatSahara. All we can do is to rectify our instruments as far as possibleand start afresh for our destination.
8.30 P.M.--Have been lying in a calm all day. The coast is now about amile and a half from us. Hyson has examined the instruments, but cannotfind any reason for their extraordinary deviation.
This is the end of my private journal, and I must make the remainder ofmy statement from memory. There is little chance of my being mistakenabout facts, which have seared themselves into my recollection. Thatvery night the storm which had been brewing so long burst over us, and Icame to learn whither all those little incidents were tending which Ihad recorded so aimlessly. Blind fool that I was not to have seen itsooner! I shall tell what occurred as precisely as I can.
I had gone into my cabin about half-past eleven, and was preparing to goto bed, when a tap came at my door. On opening it I saw Goring's littleblack page, who told me that his master would like to have a word withme on deck. I was rather surprised that he should want me at such a latehour, but I went up without hesitation. I had hardly put my foot on thequarter-deck before I was seized from behind, dragged down upon my back,and a handkerchief slipped round my mouth. I struggled as hard as Icould, but a coil of rope was rapidly and firmly wound round me, and Ifound myself lashed to the davit of one of the boats, utterly powerlessto do or say anything, while the point of a knife pressed to my throatwarned me to cease my struggles. The night was so dark that I had beenunable hitherto to recognise my assailants, but as my eyes becameaccustomed to the gloom, and the moon broke out through the clouds thatobscured it, I made out that I was surrounded by the two negro sailors,the black cook, and my fellow-passenger, Goring. Another man wascrouching on the deck at my feet, but he was in the shadow and I couldnot recognise him.
All this occurred so rapidly that a minute could hardly have elapsedfrom the time I mounted the companion until I found myself gagged andpowerless. It was so sudden that I could scarce bring myself to realiseit, or to comprehend what it all meant. I heard the gang round mespeaking in short, fierce whispers to each other, and some instinct toldme that my life was the question at issue. Goring spoke authoritativelyand angrily--the others doggedly and all together, as if disputing hiscommands. Then they moved away in a body to the opposite side of thedeck, where I could still hear them whispering, though they wereconcealed from my view by the saloon skylights.
All this time the voices of the watch on deck chatting and laughing atthe other end of the ship were distinctly audible, and I could see themgathered in a group, little dreaming of the dark doings which were goingon within thirty yards of them. Oh! That I could have given them oneword of warning, even though I had lost my life in doing it! but it wasimpossible. The moon was shining fitfully through the scattered clouds,and I could see the silvery gleam of the surge, and beyond it the vastweird desert with its fantastic sand-hills. Glancing down, I saw thatthe man who had been crouching on the deck was still lying there, and asI gazed at him a flickering ray of moonlight fell full upon his upturnedface. Great heaven! even now, when more than twelve years have elapsed,my hand trembles as I write that, in spite of distorted features andprojecting eyes, I recognised the face of Harton, the cheery young clerkwho had been my companion during the voyage. It needed no medical eye tosee that he was quite dead, while the twisted handkerchief round theneck, and the gag in his mouth, showed the silent way in which thehell-hounds had done their work. The clue which explained every event ofour voyage came upon me like a flash of light as I gazed on poorHarton's corpse. Much was dark and unexplained, but I felt a great dimperception of the truth.
I heard the striking of a match at the other side of the skylights, andthen I saw the tall, gaunt figure of Goring standing up on the bulwarksand holding in his hands what appeared to be a dark lantern. He loweredthis for a moment over the side of the ship, and, to my inexpressibleastonishment, I saw it answered instantaneously by a flash among thesand-hills on shore, which came and went so rapidly, that unless I hadbeen following the direction of Goring's gaze, I should never havedetected it. Again he lowered the lantern, and again it was answeredfrom the shore. He then stepped down from the bulwarks, and in doing soslipped, making such a noise, that for a moment my heart bounded withthe thought that the attention of the watch would be directed to hisproceedings. It was a vain hope. The night was calm and the shipmotionless, so that no idea of duty kept them vigilant. Hyson, who afterthe death of Tibbs was in command of both watches, had gone below tosnatch 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 themurdered 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 andlooking out over the water as if watching for something. I saw one ofthem grasp another's arm and point as if at some object, and followingthe direction I made out the loom of a large moving mass making towardsthe ship. As it emerged from the gloom I saw that it was a great canoecrammed with men and propelled by at least a score of paddles. As itshot under our stern the watch caught sight of it also, and raising acry hurried aft. They were too late, however. A swarm of giganticnegroes clambered over the quarter, and led by Goring swept down thedeck in an irresistible torrent. All opposition was overpowered in amoment, the unarmed watch were knocked over and bound, and the sleepersdragged out of their bunks and secured in the same manner. Hyson made anattempt to defend the narrow passage leading to his cabin, and I heard ascuffle, and his voice shouting for assistance. There was none toassist, however, and he was brought on to the poop with the bloodstreaming from a deep cut in his forehead. He was gagged like theothers, and a council was held upon our fate by the negroes. I saw ourblack seamen pointing towards me and making some statement, which wasreceived with murmurs of astonishment and incredulity by the savages.One of them then came over to me, and plunging his hand into my pockettook out my black stone and held it up. He then handed it to a man whoappeared to be a chief, who examined it as minutely as the light wouldpermit, and mutt
ering a few words passed it on to the warrior besidehim, who also scrutinised it and passed it on until it had gone fromhand to hand round the whole circle. The chief then said a few words toGoring in the native tongue, on which the quadroon addressed me inEnglish. At this moment I seem to see the scene. The tall masts of theship with the moonlight streaming down, silvering the yards and bringingthe network of cordage into hard relief; the group of dusky warriorsleaning on their spears; the dead man at my feet; the line ofwhite-faced prisoners, and in front of me the loathsome half-breed,looking in his white linen and elegant clothes a strange contrast to hisassociates.
"You will bear me witness," he said in his softest accents, "that I amno party to sparing your life. If it rested with me you would die asthese other men are about to do. I have no personal grudge againsteither you or them, but I have devoted my life to the destruction of thewhite race, and you are the first that has ever been in my power and hasescaped me. You may thank that stone of yours for your life. These poorfellows reverence it, and indeed if it really be what they think it isthey have cause. Should it prove when we get ashore that they aremistaken, and this its shape and material is a mere chance, nothing cansave your life. In the meantime we wish to treat you well, so if thereare any of your possessions which you would like to take with you, youare at liberty to get them." As he finished he gave a sign, and a coupleof the negroes unbound me, though without removing the gag. I was leddown into the cabin, where I put a few valuables into my pockets,together with a pocket-compass and my journal of the voyage. They thenpushed me over the side into a small canoe, which was lying beside thelarge one, and my guards followed me, and shoving off began paddling forthe shore. We had got about a hundred yards or so from the ship when oursteersman held up his hand, and the paddlers paused for a moment andlistened. Then on the silence of the night I heard a sort of dull,moaning sound, followed by a succession of splashes in the water. Thatis all I know of the fate of my poor shipmates. Almost immediatelyafterwards the large canoe followed us, and the deserted ship was leftdrifting about--a dreary spectre-like hulk. Nothing was taken from herby the savages. The whole fiendish transaction was carried through asdecorously and temperately as though it were a religious rite.
The first grey of daylight was visible in the east as we passed throughthe surge and reached the shore. Leaving half-a-dozen men with thecanoes, the rest of the negroes set off through the sand-hills, leadingme with them, but treating me very gently and respectfully. It wasdifficult walking, as we sank over our ankles into the loose, shiftingsand at every step, and I was nearly dead beat by the time we reachedthe native village, or town rather, for it was a place of considerabledimensions. The houses were conical structures not unlike bee-hives, andwere made of compressed seaweed cemented over with a rude form ofmortar, there being neither stick nor stone upon the coast nor anywherewithin many hundreds of miles. As we entered the town an enormous crowdof both sexes came swarming out to meet us, beating tom-toms and howlingand screaming. On seeing me they redoubled their yells and assumed athreatening attitude, which was instantly quelled by a few words shoutedby my escort. A buzz of wonder succeeded the war-cries and yells of themoment before, and the whole dense mass proceeded down the broad centralstreet of the town, having my escort and myself in the centre.
My statement hitherto may seem so strange as to excite doubt in theminds of those who do not know me, but it was the fact which I am nowabout to relate which caused my own brother-in-law to insult me bydisbelief. I can but relate the occurrence in the simplest words, andtrust to chance and time to prove their truth. In the centre of thismain street there was a large building, formed in the same primitive wayas the others, but towering high above them; a stockade of beautifullypolished ebony rails was planted all round it, the framework of the doorwas formed by two magnificent elephant's tusks sunk in the ground oneach side and meeting at the top, and the aperture was closed by ascreen of native cloth richly embroidered with gold. We made our way tothis imposing-looking structure, but on reaching the opening in thestockade, the multitude stopped and squatted down upon their hams, whileI was led through into the enclosure by a few of the chiefs and eldersof the tribe, Goring accompanying us, and in fact directing theproceedings. On reaching the screen which closed the temple--for such itevidently 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 afew long slits in the roof through which the tropical sun poured,throwing broad golden bars upon the clay floor, alternating withintervals of darkness.
The interior was even larger than one would have imagined from theoutside appearance. The walls were hung with native mats, shells, andother ornaments, but the remainder of the great space was quite empty,with the exception of a single object in the centre. This was the figureof a colossal negro, which I at first thought to be some real king orhigh priest of titanic size, but as I approached it I saw by the way inwhich the light was reflected from it that it was a statue admirably cutin 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 otherrespect, one of its ears had been broken short off.
The grey-haired negro who held my relic mounted upon a small stool, andstretching up his arm fitted Martha's black stone on to the jaggedsurface on the side of the statue's head. There could not be a doubtthat the one had been broken off from the other. The parts dovetailedtogether so accurately that when the old man removed his hand the earstuck in its place for a few seconds before dropping into his open palm.The group round me prostrated themselves upon the ground at the sightwith a cry of reverence, while the crowd outside, to whom the result wascommunicated, set up a wild whooping and cheering.
In a moment I found myself converted from a prisoner into a demi-god. Iwas escorted back through the town in triumph, the people pressingforward to touch my clothing and to gather up the dust on which my foothad trod. One of the largest huts was put at my disposal, and a banquetof every native delicacy was served me. I still felt, however, that Iwas not a free man, as several spearmen were placed as a guard at theentrance 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 ariddesert stretching away to Timbuctoo, on the other was a sea untraversedby vessels. The more I pondered over the problem the more hopeless didit seem. I little dreamed how near I was to its solution.
Night had fallen, and the clamour of the negroes had died graduallyaway. I was stretched on the couch of skins which had been provided forme, and was still meditating over my future, when Goring walkedstealthily into the hut. My first idea was that he had come to completehis murderous holocaust by making away with me, the last survivor, and Isprang up upon my feet, determined to defend myself to the last. Hesmiled when he saw the action, and motioned me down again while heseated himself upon the other end of the couch.
"What do you think of me?" was the astonishing question with which hecommenced our conversation.
"Think of you!" I almost yelled. "I think you the vilest, most unnaturalrenegade that ever polluted the earth. If we were away from these blackdevils of yours I would strangle you with my hands!"
"Don't speak so loud," he said, without the slightest appearance ofirritation. "I don't want our chat to be cut short. So you wouldstrangle me, would you!" he went on, with an amused smile. "I suppose Iam 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. Iam quite consistent. There is no reason why I should not be perfectlycandid with you. I wish to be king over these fellows--not a very highambition, certainly, but you know what Caesar said about being first in avillage in Gaul. Well, this unlucky stone of yours has not only savedyour life, but has turned all their heads, so that they think you arecome down from heaven, and my influence will be gone until you ar
e outof the way. That is why I am going to help you to escape, since I cannotkill you"--this in the most natural and dulcet voice, as if the desireto do so were a matter of course.
"You would give the world to ask me a few questions," he went on, aftera pause; "but you are too proud to do it. Never mind, I'll tell you oneor two things, because I want your fellow white men to know them whenyou go back--if you are lucky enough to get back. About that cursedstone of yours, for instance. These negroes, or at least so the legendgoes, were Mahometans originally. While Mahomet himself was still alive,there was a schism among his followers, and the smaller party moved awayfrom Arabia, and eventually crossed Africa. They took away with them, intheir exile, a valuable relic of their old faith in the shape of a largepiece of the black stone of Mecca. The stone was a meteoric one, as youmay 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 awayto Barbary, where a skilful worker modelled it into the fashion whichyou saw to-day. These men are the descendents of the original secedersfrom Mahomet, and they have brought their relic safely through all theirwanderings until they settled in this strange place, where the desertprotects them from their enemies."
"And the ear?" I asked, almost involuntarily.
"Oh, that was the same story over again. Some of the tribe wandered awayto the south a few hundred years ago, and one of them, wishing to havegood luck for the enterprise, got into the temple at night and carriedoff one of the ears. There has been a tradition among the negroes eversince that the ear would come back some day. The fellow who carried itwas caught by some slaver, no doubt, and that was how it got intoAmerica, and so into your hands--and you have had the honour offulfilling the prophecy."
He paused for a few minutes, resting his head upon his hands, waitingapparently for me to speak. When he looked up again, the wholeexpression of his face had changed. His features were firm and set, andhe changed the air of half-levity with which he had spoken before forone of sternness and almost ferocity.
"I wish you to carry a message back," he said, "to the white race, thegreat dominating race whom I hate and defy. Tell them that I havebattened on their blood for twenty years, that I have slain them untileven I became tired of what had once been a joy, that I did thisunnoticed and unsuspected in the face of every precaution which theircivilisation could suggest. There is no satisfaction in revenge whenyour 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 howthis great hate became born in me. See this," and he held up hismutilated hand; "that was done by a white man's knife. My father waswhite, my mother was a slave. When he died she was sold again, and I, achild then, saw her lashed to death to break her of some of the littleairs and graces which her late master had encouraged in her. My youngwife, 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, andfrom Boston to San Francisco, you could track my steps by sudden deathswhich baffled the police. I warred against the whole white race as theyfor 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 tome, and I determined to find some bold free black people and to throw inmy lot with them, to cultivate their latent powers and to form a nucleusfor a great coloured nation. This idea possessed me, and I travelledover the world for two years seeking for what I desired. At last Ialmost despaired of finding it. There was no hope of regeneration in theslave-dealing Soudanese, the debased Fantee, or the Americanised negroesof Liberia. I was returning from my quest when chance brought me incontact with this magnificent tribe of dwellers in the desert, and Ithrew in my lot with them. Before doing so, however, my old instinct ofrevenge prompted me to make one last visit to the United States, and Ireturned from it in the _Marie Celeste_.
"As to the voyage itself, your intelligence will have told you by thistime that, thanks to my manipulation, both compasses and chronometerswere entirely untrustworthy. I alone worked out the course with correctinstruments of my own, while the steering was done by my black friendsunder my guidance. I pushed Tibb's wife overboard. What! You looksurprised and shrink away. Surely you had guessed that by this time. Iwould have shot you that day through the partition, but unfortunatelyyou were not there. I tried again afterwards, but you were awake. I shotTibbs. I think the idea of suicide was carried out rather neatly. Ofcourse when once we got on the coast the rest was simple. I hadbargained that all on board should die; but that stone of yours upset myplans. I also bargained that there should be no plunder. No one can saywe are pirates. We have acted from principle, not from any sordidmotive."
I listened in amazement to the summary of his crimes which this strangeman gave me, all in the quietest and most composed of voices, as thoughdetailing incidents of every-day occurrence. I still seem to see himsitting like a hideous nightmare at the end of my couch, with the singlerude 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 backto heaven from whence you came. The wind blows off the land. I have aboat all ready for you, well stored with provisions and water. I amanxious 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. Theguards had either been withdrawn, or Goring had arranged matters withthem. We passed unchallenged through the town and across the sandyplain. Once more I heard the roar of the sea, and saw the long whiteline of the surge. Two figures were standing upon the shore arrangingthe gear of a small boat. They were the two sailors who had been with uson the voyage.
"See him safely through the surf," said Goring. The two men sprang inand pushed off, pulling me in after them. With mainsail and jib we ranout from the land and passed safely over the bar. Then my two companionswithout a word of farewell sprang overboard, and I saw their heads likeblack 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 Icaught my last glimpse of Goring. He was standing upon the summit of asand-hill, and the rising moon behind him threw his gaunt angular figureinto hard relief. He was waving his arms frantically to and fro; it mayhave been to encourage me on my way, but the gestures seemed to me atthe time to be threatening ones, and I have often thought that it wasmore likely that his old savage instinct had returned when he realisedthat I was out of his power. Be that as it may, it was the last that Iever saw or ever shall see of Septimius Goring.
There is no need for me to dwell upon my solitary voyage. I steered aswell as I could for the Canaries, but was picked up upon the fifth dayby the British and African Steam Navigation Company's boat _Monrovia_.Let me take this opportunity of tendering my sincerest thanks to CaptainStornoway and his officers for the great kindness which they showed mefrom that time till they landed me in Liverpool, where I was enabled totake one of the Guion boats to New York.
From the day on which I found myself once more in the bosom of my familyI have said little of what I have undergone. The subject is still anintensely painful one to me, and the little which I have dropped hasbeen discredited. I now put the facts before the public as theyoccurred, careless how far they may be believed, and simply writing themdown because my lung is growing weaker, and I feel the responsibilityof holding my peace longer. I make no vague statement. Turn to your mapof Africa. There above Cape Blanco, where the land trends away north andsouth from the westernmost point of the continent, there it is thatSeptimius Goring still reigns over his dark subjects, unless retributionhas overtaken him; and there, where the long green ridges run swiftly into roar and hiss upon the hot yellow sand, it is there that Harton lieswith Hyson and the other poor fellows who were done to death in the_Marie Celeste_.