THE FORMER PASSENGERS.
“Who is whispering and calling through the rain?Far above the tempest crashing,And the torrent’s ceaseless dashing,I hear a weary calling, as of pain.”
“Who is whispering and calling through the rain?Far above the tempest crashing,And the torrent’s ceaseless dashing,I hear a weary calling, as of pain.”
“Who is whispering and calling through the rain?
Far above the tempest crashing,
And the torrent’s ceaseless dashing,
I hear a weary calling, as of pain.”
“Ifany one can help you, it will be Captain Blane.”
This sentence was uttered by a smart young clerk, in a shipping office in Rangoon, who, clothed in cool white drill, leant his elbows confidentially on the desk, and concluded his speech with a reassuring nod.
I wasen routefrom Upper Burmah to Singapore, in order to attend my sister’s wedding. Our flat river-boat was late, and when I presented myself at the booking-office of the P. and O., I found to my dismay that the steamer for the Straits had sailed at dawn, and that there wouldnot be another for a week! I was therefore bound to miss the wedding, and waste my precious leave in Rangoon, thanks to the leisurely old tub that had dawdled down from Mandalay.
I turned my eyes expectantly on Captain Blane, a short-necked, weather-beaten sailor, in a blue serge coat with gilt buttons, and a peaked cap. He surveyed me steadily, with a pair of small keen eyes, and evidently did not receive the suggestion with enthusiasm.
“We don’t carry passengers,” he announced in a gruff voice. “My ship is only a cargo-boat, a tramp; and we have no accommodation whatsoever.”
“No accommodation!” echoed the clerk, incredulously. “Oh, I say, come!”
“Why, you know very well that all the cabins are chock-full of cargo; and we have never carried a passenger since I took command.”
“If there was any hole or corner where you could stow me, I don’t mind how I rough it,” I urged; “and I’ll pay full first-class fare.”
“Oh, there’s lots of holes and corners,” admitted the captain. “And you’d just get the ship’s rations, same as the officers and myself; no soups andentrées—plain roast and boiled.”
“I’m not particular; I’m ready to eat salt junk and sea biscuit. I’ll do anything, short of swimming, to get to Singapore by next Wednesday.”
“Is it soveryimportant?” demanded Captain Blane.
“A wedding. No—no,” in answer to his commiserating stare, “not my own—but I’ve to give away the bride.”
“Well, well, I suppose I must try and stretch a point. Mind! I’ll take you at your word about the passage money. ‘Never refuse a good offer,’ is my motto; so, Mr. ——?” and he paused interrogatively.
“Lawrence is my name.”
“Mr. Lawrence, if you’ll be down at Godwin’s Wharf to-morrow, at nine o’clock, with your baggage and bedding and servant, we will lie off a bit,and any sampan will put you aboard in five minutes. Ask for theWandering Star;” and with a nod between the clerk and myself, he turned his back and stumped out.
“He is not very keen about passengers, eh?” remarked the clerk with a laugh. “I wonder why?”
“I suppose because she is a dirty old cargo-boat. But any port in a storm, or rather, any ship, in this crisis, for me!”
“Ah,” said the clerk, rubbing his chin reflectively, “I’ve a sort of idea—though perhaps I dreamt it—that there is something rum, or out of the way, about thisWandering Star.”
“Well, whatever it is, I’ll risk it,” I answered with a laugh, as I followed the captain’s example, and took my departure.
Punctually at nine o’clock next morning I embarked in a sampan, and was rowed down the swift Irrawaddy.
“That cannot be my steamer,” I protested, as the boatman made for a long, low, raking craft, acraft of considerable pretensions! She looked like one of the smaller vessels of the P. and O. fleet.
But sure enough the boatman was right, for as we passed under her stern, I read in yellow letters the name—Wandering Star.
A closer inspection showed her to be simply what her commander had stated—a tramp; she was dirty, rusty, and travel-stained. When I clambered aboard, I found no snowy decks, or shining brasses, but piles of cargo, bustling coolies, and busy blue-clad lascars. I was immediately accosted by the captain, who presented me to the chief officer, and to a fellow-traveller, a sallow, lanky youth of nineteen, going to join his friends in the Straits.
“I thought he would be company for you,” explained the sailor. “We are off in half an hour,” pointing to the Blue Peter at the fore. “And we’re loaded to the hatches. Mr. Kelly here will show you your quarters.”
As I followed the chief officer, I was astonished at the dimensions of theStar; it was a considerabledistance from the captain’s snug cabin, near the bridge, to the poop. We made our way below, into a long saloon with tables and seats intact, but the aft part piled high with bales. There was a strange, musty, mouldy smell; it felt damp and vault-like, and afforded a sharp contrast to the blazing sun and cobalt sky on deck.
As my eye became used to the gloom, I noticed the lavish carving, the handsome mahogany and brass fittings, the maple-wood doors and panels—the remains of better days!
My cabin contained two bunks, and in one of these my servant, a Madras butler, called “Sawmy,” had already arranged my bedding.
“I wonder you don’t carry passengers?” I remarked to Mr. Kelly. “What a fine saloon! I should have thought it would have paid well.”
“She carried hundreds in her day,” he said complacently. “You see there is where the piano was hitched, and there the swinging lamps, and bookcase; but, all the same, it would never payusto take passengers;” and he laughed—anodd sort of laugh. “We are not a regular liner, you know, trading between two ports. Regular liners look on us as dirt; but lots of ’em would give a good deal for our lines, and our engines. There’s some of them I would not send my old boots home in! We pick up cargo as we find it; one time we run to Zanzibar, another to Hong Kong, another to the Cape, or maybe Sydney. I’ve not been home this three years. I hope you’ll find your bunk comfortable; the youngster is opposite, just across the saloon—you know your way back!” and having done the honours, he left me.
Certainly, theStarwas much above her present business, and bore the remains of having seen better days. Even my marble washstand was not in keeping with a cargo-steamer. I opened the next cabin; it was crammed to the door with freight—bird-cages in this instance. Every cabin was no doubt similarly packed. I was not sorry to exchange the earthy, chill atmosphere below for the bright sunshine on deck. Soon we hadweighed anchor, and were moving smoothly down the rapid Irrawaddy, between high banks of tawny grass, gradually losing sight of the shipping, then of the golden Pagoda, then of Elephant Point; finally theStarput her nose straight out, to cross the Gulf of Martaban. The sea was calm, we were well fed and found, and made a pleasant party of six; the captain, first and second officers, the chief engineer, and two passengers. I slept like a top that night, and awoke next morning, and found we were anchored off Moulmein, with its hills covered with pagodas and palms. From Moulmein we put to sea, and still the weather once more favoured us. The captain was a capital companion, full of anecdotes and sea-stories; the chief engineer was a first-rate chess-player, and I began to think I had done rather a smart thing in securing a passage in this stray steamer. As the captain concluded a thrilling yarn apropos of a former ship, in which he had been third officer, I suddenly recalled the shipping clerk’s hint, and asked—
“Are there no stories about this one? has she no history?”
Captain Blane looked at the chief officer with a knowing grin, and then replied—
“History?—of course she has. What do you call the log-book? That’s her history. I suppose that chap at the office told you she was considered an unlucky ship? Eh? Come, now, own up!”
“No; but he said he had an idea that there was something queer about her—he could not remember what it was.”
“Well, I’ve been in command of her now four years, and I’ve seen nothing to complain of. What do you say, Kelly?” appealing to the first officer.
“I say that I never wish to put foot on a better sea-boat, and there’s nothing wrong with her, as far asIknow.”
But Sawmy, my Madras boy, entertained a totally different opinion of theStar. When I asked him why he did not sleep outside my door in the saloon, he frankly replied—
“Because plenty devil in this ship; the chief Serang” (head of the Lascars) “telling me that saloon plenty bad place.”
We were now within forty-eight hours of Singapore, when the weather suddenly changed, as it frequently does in those treacherous seas. The awning was taken down—sure presage of a bad time coming. The ports were closed, and all was made ready for a blow; and we were not disappointed—it came. We had a rough night, but I was not in the least inconvenienced; I slept like a dormouse rocked in the cradle of the deep.
In the morning my fellow-passenger (whose name, by the way, was Mellish, and who had evidently “suffered,” to judge by his ghastly appearance) accosted me timidly and said—
“Did you get up and walk about last night?”
“No.”
“Do you ever walk in your sleep?” he continued.
“Not to my knowledge—why?”
“Because last night some one came and hammered on my cabin door, and shouted, ‘The ship’s aground.’ What do you think it can have been?” he asked with a frightful face.
“I think there is no doubt that it was the hot tinned lobster you had for supper,” I answered promptly.
“No, no, no, it was not a dream—it woke me,” he returned. “I thought it wasyou. Then I tried to think it was a nightmare, and had almost brought myself to believe it, and was dropping off to sleep, when a cold, cold wet hand was passed slowly across my face;” and he shuddered violently.
“Lobster!” I repeated emphatically.
“No, no. Oh, Mr. Lawrence, I heard moaning and whispering and praying. I’m afraid to sleep in that cabin alone; may I come and share yours?”
“There is no room,” I answered, rather shortly. “The top berth is crammed full of my things.”
At breakfast there was a good deal of movement, and now and then a loud splash uponthe deck. The captain, who had been tapping the barometer, looked unusually solemn, and said—
“We are in for a bit of dirty weather; unless I’m mistaken, there’s a cyclone somewhere about. I don’t think we shall do more than touch the edge of it, and this is a stout craft, so you need not be uneasy.”
This was vastly reassuring, when the sky to the west changed from a lowering grey to an inky black. The wind rose with a whimper, that increased to a shriek; it lashed the sea with fury, lashed it into enormous waves, and, laden as we were, we began to roll, at first majestically, then heavily, then helplessly. We took in great green seas over the bows, tons of water discharged themselves amidships, and made us stagger and groan, but still through it all the engines thumped doggedly on.
We seized our dinner anyhow; sitting, standing, kneeling, adapting ourselves to the momentary angle of the vessel. It was a miserable evening, wet and cold, and Mellish and I went to bed early.The dead-lights were down, the hatchway closed behind us; we were entirely cut off from the rest of our shipmates for the night, and the saloon smelt more vault-like than ever. I turned away from Mellish’s grey frightened face, and stammering, piteous importunities, shut myself into my cabin, bolted the door, went to bed, and fell asleep. Meanwhile the storm increased to a hurricane, the motion was tremendous. I was flung violently out on the floor, as theStarmade one awful plunge, and then righted herself. I was, needless to state, now thoroughly awake, and scrambling back into my berth, and clinging to the woodwork with both hands, lay listening to the roaring of the tempest, which rose now and then to a shrill shriek, that had a terribly human sound; my heart beat fast, as my ears assured it that I was not merely listening to the raving of the gale, but actually to the piercing screams of women, and the hoarse shouts of men! Just as I had arrived at this amazing conclusion, the door of the cabin was burst open, and an elderly man, in his shirt-sleeves, was hurled in.
“She’s going down,” he bawled excitedly, “and the hatches are fast.”
I sprang up, and the next lurch shot us both out into the saloon. And what a scene did I behold by three lamps that swung violently to and fro! Their fitful light showed me a large number of half-dressed strangers, in the last extremity of mortal fear; there was the horrible, selfish pushing and struggling of a panic-stricken crowd, fighting their way towards the companion-ladder; the wild frenzied distraction people exhibit when striving to escape from some deadly peril; the tumult, the cries and shrieks of frightened women making frantic appeals for rescue—cries heart-rending to hear.
Besides the dense struggling block at one end of the cabin, battling fiercely for escape, there were various groups, apparently resigned to their impending fate. A family at prayer; two men drinking raw brandy out of tumblers; an ayah beating her head upon the floor, and calling on “Ramasawmy;” an old lady, with a shawl over her head,and a Bible on her knee; a young man and a girl, hand locked in hand, whispering last words; a pale woman, with a sleeping child in her arms. I saw them all. I saw Mellish clinging to the saloon hand-rail, his eyes glazed with horror, and gibbering like an idiot.
The crash of broken crockery, the shrieks of despair, the roaring of the wind, the sullen thundering of the seas overhead, combined to make up the most frightful scene that could possibly be imagined.
Then all at once, a beautiful girl, with long dark hair, streaming over a white gown, rushed out of a cabin, and threw herself upon me, flinging her arms round my neck; she sobbed—
“Oh, save me—save me! Don’t let me die—don’t let me die!”
Her wild agonized face was pressed closely to mine; her frantic clasp round my neck tightened like a band of steel—closer, closer,closer. I was choking. I could not move or breathe. She was strangling me, as she shrieked in my ear—
“It is coming now!This is death!”
There was one awful lurch, a grinding crash, a sinking sensation, a vice-like grip about my throat—and outer darkness.
I was aroused in broad daylight by Sawmy, who had brought my tea and shaving-water. I was lying on the floor of the saloon, and he was stooping over me, with a frightened expression on his broad, brown countenance.
“At first I thinking master dead!” was his candid announcement. “Me plenty fraiding. Why master lying here and no in bed?” Why indeed!
A plunge of my head into cool water, and a cup of tea, brought me to myself, and then I flung on my dressing-gown, and hurried across the saloon to see what had become of the miserable Mellish.
He was stretched in his berth, with a life-belt beside him, rigid and cold, and in a sort of fit.
With brandy, burnt brown paper, and great difficulty, Sawmy and I brought him round. Assoon as he had come to his senses, and realized that he was still in the land of the living, he sat up and turned on me quite ferociously, and said—
“And that’s what you calllobster!”
The weather had moderated considerably, and though I had no great appetite, I was able to appear at breakfast. Mellish was too shattered to join us, and lay in a long chair in the deck-house, sipping beef-tea, and hysterically assuring all inquirers that “he would never again set foot in the saloon—no, he wouldmuchrather die!”
“I suppose you got knocked about a bit last night?” inquired the captain, with a searching glance.
“Not exactly knocked about; I did not mindthatso much, but——” and I hesitated.
“But you were disturbed?” he added significantly.
“Yes, very much so; I hope I shall never be disturbed in such a way again.”
“Then I take it you’ve seen them—the formerpassengers? They are generally aboard, they say, in dirty weather.”
“Whatever they were, I trust in God I may never witness such another scene.”
“You don’t wonder now that we are not free of offering cabin accommodation, eh? Not that I ever saw anything myself.”
“But you admit that thereissomething.”
“So they say”—nodding his head with a jaunty air.
“And what is the explanation?Whatdo they say?” I asked impatiently.
“Just this. TheWandering Starwas once theAtalanta, a fine passenger steamer, and, coming out her last trip, she fell in for the tail of a cyclone, and came to grief off the Laccadives; blown out of her course, engine-fires put out, went on a rock, and sank in ten fathoms; every soul on board went down, except a steward and a fireman, who got off on a hen-coop. It was an awful business—sixty-nine passengers, besides officers and crew. She sank like a stone, no time to get battered to pieces,and so she was right well worth her salvage. A company bought her cheap; she was but little damaged—they raised and sold her. She was intended for the pilgrim traffic, from Bombay to Mecca, and in fact she did make a couple of trips; but somehow she got a bad name; the pilgrims said she was possessed of devils—ha! ha!—and so the owners put her into the wheat and rice and general cargo trade, and we have no complaints. She has been at it these five years, and is, as I take you to witness, a grand sea-boat, and has fine accommodation betweendecks as well as aft; it’s only in real dirty weather that there is anything amiss, and that in the saloon. They say,” lowering his voice to a hoarse whisper, “they kept the passengers below, battened down; they got no chance for their lives. It was a mistake; they were all drowned like rats in their holes. Mind you,I’ve seen nothing, and I’m not a superstitious man.”
“Would you sleep in the saloon?” I sternly demanded.
“No; for in a blowmyplace is on the bridge. But I’ll not deny that a second officer, who has left us, tried a bunk down there once, out of curiosity, and did not repeat the experiment; he was properly scared;” and the captain chuckled at the recollection.
“I suppose we shall get in to-night?” I remarked, as we paced the deck together.
“Yes, about eleven o’clock. We are doing our twelve knots, dirty-looking old hooker as we are!”
“So much the better,” I answered, “for you will not be surprised to hear that I’m not anxious to occupy my berth again.”
I am thankful to relate that I slept on land that same night, and was not “disturbed.”
I often glance at the shipping lists, to see if there is any news of theWandering Star. I note that she is still tramping the ocean from China to Peru, and I have not the smallest doubt but that, on stormy nights, the saloon is still crowded with the distracted spectres of her former passengers.