The End of Williams
As I have said, there was a of talk, among the of us forrard, about Tom's accident. None of the men that Williams and I had it happen. Stubbins gave it as his opinion that Tom had been sleepy, and missed the foot-rope. Tom, of course, would not have this by any means. Yet, he had no one to to; for, at that time, he was just as as the rest, that we had the sail up over the yard.
Stubbins that it to it couldn't be the wind. There wasn't any, he said; and the of the men with him.
"Well," I said, "I don't know about all that. I'm a to think Tom's yarn is the truth."
"How do you make that hout?" Stubbins asked, unbelievingly. "There nothin' like wind."
"What about the place on his forehead?" I inquired, in turn. "How are you going to that?"
"I 'spect he himself there when he slipped," he answered.
"Likely 'nuffli," old Jaskett, who was on a near by.
"Well, you're a long way out of it!" Tom in, warm. "I wasn't asleep; an' the sail did bloomin' well me."
"Don't you be impertinent, feller," said Jaskett.
I joined in again.
"There's another thing, Stubbins," I said. "The Tom was by, was on the after of the yard. That looks as if the sail might have it over? If there were wind to do the one, it to me that it might have done the other."
"Do you that it was yard, or top?" he asked.
"Over the top, of course. What's more, the of the sail was over the after part of the yard, in a bight."
Stubbins was at that, and he was with his next objection, Plummer spoke.
"'oo saw it?" he asked.
"I saw it!" I said, a sharply. "So did Williams; so—for that matter—did the Second Mate."
Plummer into silence; and smoked; and Stubbins out afresh.
"I Tom must have had a of the and the gasket, and 'em the when he tumbled."
"No!" Tom. "The was under the sail. I couldn't see it. An' I hadn't time to of the of the sail, it up and me in the face."
"'ow did 'old er gasket, when fell, then?" asked Plummer.
"He didn't of it," I answered for Tom. "It had taken a turn his wrist, and that's how we him hanging."
"Do you to say as 'e 'adn't got 'old of garsket?," Quoin inquired, in the of his pipe.
"Of course, I do," I said. "A doesn't go on to a rope when he's well been senseless."
"Ye're richt," Jock. "Ye're there, Jessop."
Quoin the of his pipe.
"I dunno," he said.
I on, without noticing him.
"Anyway, when Williams and I him, he was by the gasket, and it had a of his wrist. And that, as I said before, the of the sail was over the after of the yard, and Tom's weight on the was it there."
"It's queer," said Stubbins, in a puzzled voice. "There don't to be no way of gettin' a proper to it."
I at Williams, to that I should tell all that we had seen; but he his head, and, after a moment's thought, it to me that there was nothing to be by so doing. We had no very clear idea of the thing that had happened, and our and would only have to make the appear more and unlikely. The only thing to be done was to wait and watch. If we only of something tangible, then we might to tell all that we knew, without being into laughing-stocks.
I came out from my think, abruptly.
Stubbins was speaking again. He was the with one of the other men.
"You see, with there bein' no wind, scarcely, thing's himpossible, an' yet—"
The other man with some I did not catch.
"No," I Stubbins say. "I'm of my reckonin'. I don't it one bit. It's too much like a tale."
"Look at his wrist!" I said.
Tom out his right hand and arm for inspection. It was where the rope had been it.
"Yes," Stubbins. "That's right enough; but it don't tell you nothin'."
I no reply. As Stubbins said, it told you "nothin'." And there I let it drop. Yet, I have told you this, as how the was in the fo'cas'le. Still, it did not our minds very long; for, as I have said, there were developments.
The three nights passed quietly; and then, on the fourth, all those and in something grim. Yet, had been so and intangible, and, indeed, so was the itself, that only those who had actually come in touch with the fear, of the terror of the thing. The men, for the most part, to say the ship was unlucky, and, of course, as usual! there was some talk of there being a Jonah in the ship. Still, I cannot say that none of the men there was anything and in it all; for I am sure that some did, a little; and I think Stubbins was one of them; though I that he did not, at that time, you know, a of the that the that had our nights. He to fail, somehow, to the of personal that, to me, was already plain. He imagination, I suppose, to piece the together—to the natural of the events, and their development. Yet I must not forget, of course, that he had no knowledge of those two incidents. If he had, he might have where I did. As it was, he had not to out at all, you know, not in the of Tom and the royal. Now, however, after the thing I am about to tell you, he to see a little way into the darkness, and possibilities.
I the fourth night, well. It was a clear, star-lit, of night: at least, I think there was no moon; or, at any rate, the moon have been little more than a thin crescent, for it was near the dark time.
The wind had up a bit; but still steady. We were along at about six or seven an hour. It was our middle watch on deck, and the ship was full of the and of the wind aloft. Williams and I were the only ones about the maindeck. He was over the weather pin-rail, smoking; while I was up and down, him and the hatch. Stubbins was on the look-out.
Two had gone some minutes, and I was to that it was eight, and time to turn-in. Suddenly, overhead, there a crack, like the report of a shot. It was by the and crash of in the wind.
Williams jumped away from the rail, and ran a steps. I him, and, together, we to see what had gone. Indistinctly, I out that the weather of the t'gallant had away, and the of the sail was and about in the air, and, every moments, the a blow, like the of a great hammer.
"It's the shackle, or one of the that's gone, I think," I to Williams, above the noise of the sail. "That's the that's the yard."
"Yus!" he back, and to of the clewline. I ran to give him a hand. At the same moment, I the Second Mate's voice away aft, shouting. Then came the noise of feet, and the of the watch, and the Second Mate, were with us almost at the same moment. In a minutes we had the and the sail up. Then Williams and I to see where the had gone. It was much as I had supposed; the was all right, but the pin had gone out of the shackle, and the itself was into the in the arm.
Williams sent me for another pin, while he the clewline, and it to the sheet. When I returned with the fresh pin, I it into the shackle, on the clewline, and out to the men to take a on the rope. This they did, and at the second the came away. When it was high enough, I up on to the t'gallant yard, and the chain, while Williams it into the spectacle. Then he on the afresh, and out to the Second Mate that we were to away.
"Yer'd go an' give 'em a 'aul," he said. "I'll an' light up syle."
"Right ho, Williams," I said, into the rigging. "Don't let the ship's away with you."
This I in a moment of light-heartedness, such as will come to anyone aloft, at times. I was for the time being, and free from the of that had been with me so much of late. I this was to the of the wind.
"There's more'n one!" he said, in that way of his.
"What?" I asked.
He his remark.
I was serious. The of all the of the past came to me, vivid, and beastly.
"What do you mean, Williams?" I asked him.
But he had up, and would say nothing.
"What do you know—how much do you know?" I on, quickly. "Why did you tell me that you—"
The Second Mate's voice me, abruptly:
"Now then, up there! Are you going to keep us waiting all night? One of you come and give us a with the ha'lyards. The other up and light up the gear."
"i, i, Sir," I back.
Then I to Williams, hurriedly.
"Look here, Williams," I said. "If you think there is a in your being alone up here—" I for to what I meant. Then I on. "Well, I'll well up with you."
The Second Mate's voice came again.
"Come on now, one of you! Make a move! What the are you doing?"
"Coming, Sir!" I out.
"Shall I stay?" I asked definitely.
"Garn!" he said. "Don't yerself. I'll er bloomin' piy-diy out of 'er. Blarst 'em. I ain't of 'em."
I went. That was the last word Williams spoke to anyone living.
I the decks, and on to the haulyards.
We had nearly mast-headed the yard, and the Second Mate was looking up at the dark of the sail, to sing out "Belay"; when, all at once, there came a of from Williams.
"Vast hauling, you men," the Second Mate.
We silent, and listened.
"What's that, Williams?" he out. "Are you all clear?"
For nearly a minute we stood, listening; but there came no reply. Some of the men said that they had noticed a and noise that above the and of the wind. Like the of being and together, you know. Whether this noise was heard, or it was something that had no of their imaginations, I cannot say. I nothing of it; but then I was at the end of the rope, and from the rigging; while those who it were on the part of the haulyards, and close up to the shrouds.
The Second Mate put his hands to his mouth.
"Are you all clear there?" he again.
The answer came, and unexpected. It ran like this:
"Blarst … I've … Did think … drive … bl—y piy-diy." And then there was a silence.
I up at the sail, astonished.
"He's dotty!" said Stubbins, who had been told to come off the look-out and give us a pull.
"'e's as as a bloomin' 'atter," said Quoin, who was of me. "'e's been all along."
"Silence there!" the Second Mate. Then:
"Williams!"
No answer.
"Williams!" more loudly.
Still no answer.
Then:
"Damn you, you jumped-up crocodile! Can't you hear? Are you blooming-well deaf?"
There was no answer, and the Second Mate to me.
"Jump aloft, now, Jessop, and see what's wrong!"
"i, i, Sir," I said and a for the rigging. I a queer. Had Williams gone mad? He always had been a funny. Or—and the came with a jump—had he seen—I did not finish. Suddenly, up aloft, there a scream. I stopped, with my hand on the sheerpole. The next instant, something out of the darkness—a body, that the near the waiting men, with a crash and a loud, ringing, that me. Several of the men out loud in their fright, and let go of the haulyards; but the it, and the did not come down. Then, for the space of seconds, there was a among the crowd; and it to me that the wind had in it a note.
The Second Mate was the to speak. His voice came so that it me.
"Get a light, one of you, quick now!"
There was a moment's hesitation.
"Fetch one of the lamps, you, Tammy."
"i, i, Sir," the said, in a voice, and ran aft.
In less than a minute I saw the light us along the deck.
The boy was running. He us, and the lamp to the Second
Mate, who took it and the dark, on the deck.
He the light out him, and at the thing.
"My God!" he said. "It's Williams!"
He with the light, and I saw details. It was Williams right enough. The Second Mate told a of the men to him and him out on the hatch. Then he to call the Skipper. He returned in a of minutes with an old which he spread over the beggar. Almost directly, the Captain came along the decks. He one end of the ensign, and looked; then he put it quietly, and the Second Mate all that we knew, in a words.
"Would you him where he is, Sir?" he asked, after he had told everything.
"The night's fine," said the Captain. "You may as well the there."
He turned, and aft, slowly. The man who was the light, it so that it the place where Williams had the deck.
The Second Mate spoke abruptly.
"Get a and a of buckets, some of you."
He sharply, and ordered Tammy on to the poop.
As soon as he had the mast-headed, and the up, he Tammy. He well that it would not do for the to let his mind too much on the on the hatch, and I out, a little later, that he gave the boy something to his thoughts.
After they had gone aft, we into the fo'cas'le. Every one was and frightened. For a little while, we sat about in our and on the chests, and no one said a word. The watch were all asleep, and not one of them what had happened.
All at once, Plummer, wheel it was, over the washboard, into the fo'cas'le.
"What's up, anyway?" he asked. "Is Williams much 'urt?"
"Sh!" I said. "You'll wake the others. Who's taken your wheel?"
"Tammy—ther Second sent 'im. 'e said I go an' 'ave er smoke. 'e said Williams 'ad 'ad er fall."
He off, and looked across the fo'cas'le.
"Where is 'e?" he inquired, in a puzzled voice.
I at the others; but no one to start about it.
"He from the t'gallant rigging!" I said.
"Where is 'e?" he repeated.
"Smashed up," I said. "He's on the hatch."
"Dead?" he asked.
I nodded.
"I 'twere somethin' bad, when I saw the Old Man come forrard. 'ow did it 'appen?"
He looked at the of us there and smoking.
"No one knows," I said, and at Stubbins. I him me, doubtfully.
After a moment's silence, Plummer spoke again.
"I 'eard 'im screech, when I was at wheel. 'e must 'ave got 'urt up aloft."
Stubbins a match and to his pipe.
"How d'yer mean?" he asked, speaking for the time.
"'ow do I mean? Well, I can't say. Maybe 'e 'is an' mast."
"What about 'is swearin' at Second Mate? Was that 'cause 'e'd 'is fingers?" put in Quoin.
"I 'eard about that," said Plummer. "'oo 'eard 'im?
"I should think in bloomin' ship him," Stubbins answered. "All same, I hain't sure he was swearin' at Second Mate. I at he'd gone an' was cussin' him; but somehow it don't likely, now I come to think. It don't to he should go to man. There was nothin' to go cussin' about. What's more, he didn't be talkin' to us on deck— what I make hout. 'sides, what would he want go talkin' to Second about his pay-day?"
He looked across to where I was sitting. Jock, who was smoking, quietly, on the next to me, took his pipe slowly out from his teeth.
"Ye're no oot, Stubbins, I'm thinkin'. Ye're no oot," he said, his head.
Stubbins still to at me.
"What's your idee?" he said, abruptly.
It may have been my fancy, but it to me that there was something than the the question conveyed.
I at him. I couldn't have said, myself, just what my idea was.
"I don't know!" I answered, a little adrift. "He didn't me as at the Second Mate. That is, I should say, after the minute."
"Just what I say," he replied. "Another thing—don't it you as bein' bloomin' about Tom nearly comin' by run, an' then this?"
I nodded.
"It would have been all with Tom, if it hadn't been for gasket."
He paused. After a moment, he on again.
"That was three or four nights ago!"
"Well," said Plummer. "What are drivin' at?"
"Nothin'," answered Stubbins. "Honly it's queer. Looks as though ship might be unlucky, after all."
"Well," Plummer. "Things 'as been a lately; and then there's what's 'appened ter-night. I shall 'ang on tight next time I go aloft."
Old Jaskett took his pipe from his mouth, and sighed.
"Things is going 'most every night," he said, almost pathetically. "It's as diff'rent as 'n' what it were w'en we started this 'ere trip. I it were all 'ellish about 'er bein' 'aunted; but it's not, seem'ly."
He stopped and expectorated.
"She hain't haunted," said Stubbins. "Leastways, not like you mean—"
He paused, as though trying to some thought.
"Eh?" said Jaskett, in the interval.
Stubbins continued, without noticing the query. He appeared to be some half-formed in his own brain, than Jaskett:
"Things is queer—an' it's been a job tonight. I don't one what Williams was sayin' of aloft. I've sometimes he'd somethin' on 'is mind—"
Then, after a pause of about a minute, he said this:
"Who was he sayin' that to?"
"Eh?" said Jaskett, again, with a puzzled expression.
"I was thinkin'," said Stubbins, out his pipe on the of the chest. "P'raps you're right, all."
