The Coming of the Mist and That Which It Ushered
We Williams at midday. Poor beggar! It had been so sudden. All day the men were and gloomy, and there was a of talk about there being a Jonah aboard. If they'd only what Tammy and I, and the Second Mate, knew!
And then the next thing came—the mist. I cannot now, it was on the day we Williams that we saw it, or the day after.
When I noticed it, like else aboard, I took it to be some of haze, to the of the sun; for it was when the thing came.
The wind had died away to a light breeze, and I was at the main rigging, along with Plummer, on seizings.
"Looks as if 'twere middlin' 'ot," he remarked.
"Yes," I said; and, for the time, took no notice.
Presently he spoke again:
"It's gettin' 'azy!" and his he was surprised.
I up, quickly. At first, I see nothing. Then, I saw what he meant. The air had a wavy, strange, appearance; something like the air over the top of an engine's funnel, that you can often see when no is out.
"Must be the heat," I said. "Though I don't anything just like it before."
"Nor me," Plummer agreed.
It not have been a minute later when I looked up again, and was to that the whole ship was by a that the horizon.
"By Jove! Plummer," I said. "How queer!"
"Yes," he said, looking round. "I anythin' like it before— not in these parts."
"Heat wouldn't do that!" I said.
"N—no," he said, doubtfully.
We on with our work again—occasionally an odd word or two. Presently, after a little time of silence, I and asked him to pass me up the spike. He and it up from the deck, where it had tumbled. As he it out to me, I saw the on his face, to a look of complete surprise. He opened his mouth.
"By gum!" he said. "It's gone."
I quickly, and looked. And so it had—the whole sea clear and bright, right away to the horizon.
I at Plummer, and he at me.
"Well, I'm blowed!" he exclaimed.
I do not think I any reply; for I had a sudden, that the thing was not right. And then, in a minute, I called myself an ass; but I not shake off the feeling. I had another good look at the sea. I had a idea that something was different. The sea looked brighter, somehow, and the air clearer, I thought, and I missed something; but not much, you know. And it was not until a of days later, that I that it was on the horizon, which had been in the mist, and now were gone.
During the of the watch, and all day, there was no of anything unusual. Only, when the came (in the second dog-watch it was) I saw the faintly—the setting sun through it, and unreal.
I then, as a certainty, that it was not by heat.
And that was the of it.
The next day, I a close watch, all my time on deck; but the clear. Yet, I from one of the in the Mate's watch, that it had been part of the time he was at the wheel.
"Comin' an' goin', like," he it to me, when I questioned him about it. He it might be heat.
But though I otherwise, I did not him. At that time, no one, not Plummer, to think very much of the matter. And when I mentioned it to Tammy, and asked him he'd noticed it, he only that it must have been heat, or else the sun up water. I let it at that; for there was nothing to be by that the thing had more to it.
Then, on the day, something that set me more than ever, and me how right I had been in the to be something unnatural. It was in this way.
Five bells, in the eight to twelve watch, had gone. I was at the wheel. The sky was perfectly clear—not a cloud to be seen, on the horizon. It was hot, at the wheel; for there was any wind, and I was drowsy. The Second Mate was on the with the men, about some job he wanted done; so that I was on the alone.
Presently, with the heat, and the sun right on to me, I thirsty; and, for want of something better, I out a of I had on me, and off a chew; though, as a rule, it is not a of mine. After a little, naturally enough, I for the spittoon; but that it was not there. Probably it had been taken when the were washed, to give it a scrub. So, as there was no one on the poop, I left the wheel, and to the taffrail. It was thus that I came to see something of—a full-rigged ship, close-hauled on the port tack, a hundred yards on our quarter. Her were by the light breeze, and as she to the of the sea. She appeared to have very little way through the water, not more than a an hour. Away aft, from the gaff-end, was a of flags. Evidently, she was to us. All this, I saw in a flash, and I just and stared, astonished. I was I had not her earlier. In that light breeze, I that she must have been in for at least a of hours. Yet I think of nothing to satisfy my wonder. There she was—of that much, I was certain. And yet, how had she come there without my her, before?
All at once, as I stood, staring, I the wheel me, rapidly. Instinctively, I jumped to of the spokes; for I did not want the jammed. Then I again to have another look at the other ship; but, to my bewilderment, there was no of her—nothing but the ocean, away to the horizon. I my a bit, and pushed the off my forehead. Then, I again; but there was no of her— nothing, you know; and nothing unusual, a faint, in the air. And the blank surface of the sea to the empty horizon.
Had she foundered? I asked myself, naturally enough; and, for the moment, I wondered. I the sea for wreckage; but there was nothing, not an odd hen-coop, or a piece of furniture; and so I away that idea, as impossible.
Then, as I stood, I got another thought, or, perhaps, an and I asked myself this ship might not be in some way with the other things. It to me then, that the I had was nothing real, and, perhaps, did not of my own brain. I the idea, gravely. It helped to the thing, and I think of nothing else that would. Had she been real, I sure that others us would have been to have her long I had—I got a there, with trying to think it out; and then, abruptly, the of the other ship, came to me—every rope and sail and spar, you know. And I how she had to the of the sea, and how the had in the light breeze. And the of flags! She had been signalling. At that last, I it just as to that she had not been real.
I had to this point of irresolution, and was with my back, to the wheel. I was it with my left hand, while I looked over the sea, to try to something to help me to understand.
All at once, as I stared, I to see the ship again.
She was more on the now, than on the quarter; but I little of that, in the of her once more. It was only a glimpse, I of her—dim and wavering, as though I looked at her through the of air. Then she indistinct, and again; but I was now that she was real, and had been in all the time, if I have her. That curious, dim, had something to me. I the strange, look of the air, a days previously, just the had the ship. And in my mind, I the two. It was nothing about the other packet that was strange. The was with us. It was something that was about (or invested) our ship that me—or indeed, any one else from that other. It was that she had been able to see us, as was proved by her signalling. In an of way, I what the people of her of our of their signals.
After that, I of the of it all. Even at that minute, they see us, plainly; and yet, so as we were concerned, the whole empty. It appeared to me, at that time, to be the thing that to us.
And then a fresh came to me. How long had we been like that? I puzzled for a moments. It was now that I that we had on the of the day when the appeared; and since then, we had nothing. This, to say the least, should have me as queer; for some of the other were along with us, and the same course. Consequently, with the weather being fine, and the wind next to nothing, they should have been in all the time. This to me to show, unmistakably, some the of the mist, and our to see. So that it is possible we had been in that of for nearly three days.
In my mind, the last of that ship on the quarter, came to me. And, I remember, a got me, that I had looked at her from out of some other dimension. For a while, you know, I the of the idea, and that it might be the truth, took me; of my just all that it might mean. It so to all the half-defined that had come, since that other packet on the quarter.
Suddenly, me, there came a and of the sails; and, in the same instant, I the Skipper saying:
"Where the have you got her to, Jessop?"
I to the wheel.
"I don't know—Sir," I faltered.
I had that I was at the wheel.
"Don't know!" he shouted. "I should well think you don't.
Starboard your helm, you fool. You'll have us all aback!"
"i, i, Sir," I answered, and the wheel over. I did it almost mechanically; for I was still dazed, and had not yet had time to my senses.
During the half-minute, I was only conscious, in a of way, that the Old Man was at me. This of passed off, and I that I was into the binnacle, at the compass-card; yet, until then, without being aware of the fact. Now, however, I saw that the ship was on to her course. Goodness how much she had been off!
With the that I had let the ship almost aback, there came a memory of the in the position of the other vessel. She had appeared last on the beam, of on the quarter. Now, however, as my brain to work, I saw the of this and, until then, change. It was due, of course, to our having come up, until we had the other packet on to the beam.
It is how all this through my mind, and my attention—although only momentarily—in the of the Skipper's storming. I think I had he was still out at me. Anyhow, the next thing I remember, he was my arm.
"What's the with you, man?" he was shouting. And I just into his face, like an ass, without saying a word. I still incapable, you know, of actual, speech.
"Are you well off your head?" he on shouting. "Are you a lunatic? Have you had sunstroke? Speak, you idiot!"
I to say something; but the would not come clearly.
"I—I—I—" I said, and stopped, stupidly. I was all right, really; but I was so with the thing I had out; and, in a way, I almost to have come out of a distance, you know.
"You're a lunatic!" he said, again. He the times, as if it were the only thing that his opinion of me. Then he let go of my arm, and a of paces.
"I'm not a lunatic!" I said, with a gasp. "I'm not a lunatic,
Sir, any more than you are."
"Why the don't you answer my questions then?" he shouted, angrily.
"What's the with you? What have you been doing with the ship?
Answer me now!"
"I was looking at that ship away on the quarter, Sir," I out. "She's been signalling—"
"What!" he cut me with disbelief. "What ship?"
He turned, quickly, and looked over the quarter. Then he to me again.
"There's no ship! What do you by trying to up a like that?"
"There is, Sir," I answered. "It's out there—" I pointed.
"Hold your tongue!" he said. "Don't talk to me. Do you think I'm blind?"
"I saw it, Sir," I persisted.
"Don't you talk to me!" he snapped, with a quick of temper.
"I won't have it!"
Then, just as suddenly, he was silent. He came a step me, and into my face. I the old I was a mad; anyway, without another word, he to the of the poop.
"Mr. Tulipson," he out.
"Yes, Sir," I the Second Mate reply.
"Send another man to the wheel."
"Very good, Sir," the Second answered.
A of minutes later, old Jaskett came up to me. I gave him the course, and he it.
"What's up, mate?" he asked me, as I off the grating.
"Nothing much," I said, and to where the Skipper was on the of the poop. I gave him the course; but the old took no notice of me, whatever. When I got on to the maindeck, I up to the Second, and gave it to him. He answered me enough, and then asked me what I had been doing to put the Old Man's up.
"I told him there's a ship on the quarter, us," I said.
"There's no ship out there, Jessop," the Second Mate replied, looking at me with a queer, expression.
"There is, Sir," I began. "I—"
"That will do, Jessop!" he said. "Go and have a smoke. I shall want you then to give a hand with these foot-ropes. You'd a serving-mallet with you, when you come."
I a moment, in anger; but more, I think, in doubt.
"i, i, Sir," I at length, and forrard.
