Man Overboard!Crawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion)
Science
Man Overboard!
Crawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion)
Ghost stories; Sailors -- Fiction; Seafaring life -- Fiction
He was angry because he was frightened. I left him before the
fireplace, and went upstairs. There was no power on earth that
could make me believe I hadn't heard a man's footsteps overhead.
I knew there was somebody there. But there wasn't. I went into
the bedroom, and it was all quiet, and the evening light was
streaming in, reddish through the foggy air; and I went out on
the landing and looked in the little back room that was meant for
a servant girl or a child. And as I came back again I saw that
the door of the other room was wide open, though I knew Jack had
locked it. He had said the lock was no good. I looked in. It was
a room as big as the bedroom, but almost dark, for it had
shutters, and they were closed. There was a musty smell, as of
old gear, and I could make out that the floor was littered with
sea chests, and that there were oilskins and stuff piled on the
bed. But I still believed that there was somebody upstairs, and I
went in and struck a match and looked round. I could see the four
walls and the shabby old paper, an iron bed and a cracked
looking-glass, and the stuff on the floor. But there was nobody
there. So I put out the match, and came out and shut the door and
turned the key. Now, what I am telling you is the truth. When I
had turned the key, I heard footsteps walking away from the door
inside the room. Then I felt queer for a minute, and when I went
downstairs I looked behind me, as the men at the wheel used to
look behind them on board the _Helen B._
Jack was already outside on the steps, smoking. I have an idea
that he didn't like to stay inside alone.
"Well?" he asked, trying to seem careless.
"I didn't find anybody," I answered, "but I heard somebody moving
about." "I told you it was the wind," said Jack, contemptuously.
"I ought to know, for I live here, and I hear it often."
There was nothing to be said to that, so we began to walk down
toward the beach. Jack said there wasn't any hurry, as it would
take Miss Mamie some time to dress for the wedding. So we
strolled along, and the sun was setting through the fog, and the
tide was coming in. I knew the moon was full, and that when she
rose the fog would roll away from the land, as it does sometimes.
I felt that Jack didn't like my having heard that noise, so I
talked of other things, and asked him about his prospects, and
before long we were chatting as pleasantly as possible.
I haven't been at many weddings in my life, and I don't suppose
you have, but that one seemed to me to be all right until it was
pretty near over; and then, I don't know whether it was part of
the ceremony or not, but Jack put out his hand and took Mamie's
and held it a minute, and looked at her, while the parson was
still speaking.
Mamie turned as white as a sheet and screamed. It wasn't a loud
scream, but just a sort of stifled little shriek, as if she were
half frightened to death; and the parson stopped, and asked her
what was the matter, and the family gathered round.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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