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Authors: Theodore Sturgeon
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himself up the ladder. “O.K.—you’re relieved,” he said.
“At eleven o’clock? What’s the idea?”
“Aw—” His huge bulk pulsed as he panted, and he was sweating. “I couldn’t sleep, that’s all. Shove off.”
“I’ll be damned! First time I ever heard of you rolling out before you were called, Harry. What’s the matter—this canting too much for you?” The ship still lay over at about 47°.
“Naw. I c’n sleep through twice that. It was—Oh, go below, third.”
“O.K. Course ’n’ speed the same—zero-zero. The wind is on the weather side, an’ we’re runnin’ between the anchors. The bow is dead ahead and the smokestack is aft. The temperature—”
“Dry up, will ya?”
“The temperature is mighty hot around the second mate. What’s eatin’ you, Harry?”
“I’ll tell you,” he said suddenly, very softly, so Johnny couldn’t hear. “It was my bunk. It was full of spikes. I could feel ’em, but I couldn’t see ’em. I’ve got the blue willies, third.” He mopped his expansive face.
I slapped him on the back and went aft laughing. I was sorry I had laughed. When I turned in to my bunk it was full of cold, wet worms that crept and crawled and sent me mooning and shuddering to the deck, to roll up in the carpet for some shut-eye. No, I couldn’t see them.
We left there—wherever “there” was—about fourteen hours after we struck. What it was that had stopped the ship we never did find out. We took soundings all around and got nothing but deep water. Whatever it was that the ship was lying on was directly underneath the turn of the bilge, so that no sounding lead could strike it. After the first surprise of it we almost got used to it—it and the fog, thick as banked snow, that covered everything. And all the while the “loading” went on. When it began, that invisible crowding centered around the section of the starboard well deck that was awash. But in a few hours it spread to every part of the ship. Everywhere you went you saw nothing and you actually felt nothing; and yet there was an increasing sense of being crowded—jostled.
It happened at breakfast, 7:20. The skipper was there, and the mate, though he should have been on the bridge. Harry rolled in, too, three hundred pounds of fretful wanness. I gathered that there were still spikes in his bunk. Being second mate, his watch was the twelve to four, and breakfast was generally something he did without.
The captain lolled back in his chair, leaning against the canted deck and grinning. It made me sore. I refused the bottle he shoved at me and ordered my eggs from the messman.
“Na, don’t be dat vay,” said the skipper. “Everyt’ing is under control. Ve is all going to get a bonus, and nobody is going to get hurt.”
“I don’t savvy you, cap’n,” I said brusquely. “Here we are high and dry in the middle of an African pea-souper, with everythingaboard gone haywire, and you’re tickled to death. If you know what’s going on, you ought to tip us off.”
The mate said, “He’s got something there, captain. I want to put a boat over the side, at least, and have a look at what it is that’s grounded us. I told you that last night, and you wouldn’t let a boat leave the chocks. What’s the idea—don’t you want to know?”
The captain dipped a piece of sea bread into the remains of four eggs on his plate. “Look, boyss, didn’t I pull y’u out of a lot of spots before dis? Did I ever let y’u down yet? Heh. Vell, I von’t now.”
The mate looked exasperated. “O.K., O.K., but this calls for a little more than seamanship, skipper.”
“Not from y’u it don’t,” flared the captain. “I know vat goes on, but if I told y’u, y’u wouldn’t believe it. Y’u’ll make out all right.”
I decided to take matters into my own hands. “Toole, he’s got some silly idea that the ship is out of our hands. Told me the other night. He’s seeing ghosts. He says we were
“At eleven o’clock? What’s the idea?”
“Aw—” His huge bulk pulsed as he panted, and he was sweating. “I couldn’t sleep, that’s all. Shove off.”
“I’ll be damned! First time I ever heard of you rolling out before you were called, Harry. What’s the matter—this canting too much for you?” The ship still lay over at about 47°.
“Naw. I c’n sleep through twice that. It was—Oh, go below, third.”
“O.K. Course ’n’ speed the same—zero-zero. The wind is on the weather side, an’ we’re runnin’ between the anchors. The bow is dead ahead and the smokestack is aft. The temperature—”
“Dry up, will ya?”
“The temperature is mighty hot around the second mate. What’s eatin’ you, Harry?”
“I’ll tell you,” he said suddenly, very softly, so Johnny couldn’t hear. “It was my bunk. It was full of spikes. I could feel ’em, but I couldn’t see ’em. I’ve got the blue willies, third.” He mopped his expansive face.
I slapped him on the back and went aft laughing. I was sorry I had laughed. When I turned in to my bunk it was full of cold, wet worms that crept and crawled and sent me mooning and shuddering to the deck, to roll up in the carpet for some shut-eye. No, I couldn’t see them.
We left there—wherever “there” was—about fourteen hours after we struck. What it was that had stopped the ship we never did find out. We took soundings all around and got nothing but deep water. Whatever it was that the ship was lying on was directly underneath the turn of the bilge, so that no sounding lead could strike it. After the first surprise of it we almost got used to it—it and the fog, thick as banked snow, that covered everything. And all the while the “loading” went on. When it began, that invisible crowding centered around the section of the starboard well deck that was awash. But in a few hours it spread to every part of the ship. Everywhere you went you saw nothing and you actually felt nothing; and yet there was an increasing sense of being crowded—jostled.
It happened at breakfast, 7:20. The skipper was there, and the mate, though he should have been on the bridge. Harry rolled in, too, three hundred pounds of fretful wanness. I gathered that there were still spikes in his bunk. Being second mate, his watch was the twelve to four, and breakfast was generally something he did without.
The captain lolled back in his chair, leaning against the canted deck and grinning. It made me sore. I refused the bottle he shoved at me and ordered my eggs from the messman.
“Na, don’t be dat vay,” said the skipper. “Everyt’ing is under control. Ve is all going to get a bonus, and nobody is going to get hurt.”
“I don’t savvy you, cap’n,” I said brusquely. “Here we are high and dry in the middle of an African pea-souper, with everythingaboard gone haywire, and you’re tickled to death. If you know what’s going on, you ought to tip us off.”
The mate said, “He’s got something there, captain. I want to put a boat over the side, at least, and have a look at what it is that’s grounded us. I told you that last night, and you wouldn’t let a boat leave the chocks. What’s the idea—don’t you want to know?”
The captain dipped a piece of sea bread into the remains of four eggs on his plate. “Look, boyss, didn’t I pull y’u out of a lot of spots before dis? Did I ever let y’u down yet? Heh. Vell, I von’t now.”
The mate looked exasperated. “O.K., O.K., but this calls for a little more than seamanship, skipper.”
“Not from y’u it don’t,” flared the captain. “I know vat goes on, but if I told y’u, y’u wouldn’t believe it. Y’u’ll make out all right.”
I decided to take matters into my own hands. “Toole, he’s got some silly idea that the ship is out of our hands. Told me the other night. He’s seeing ghosts. He says we were
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