As the night deepened, the clouds, which during the day had slumbered on
the mountain battlements, as if held in awe by the majesty of the
burning sun, rolled slowly down the steeps and gradually spread out on
the sea, enveloping us in their humid embrace. A denser mist I never
saw; my thin clothing was soon wet through and clinging to me like steel
to a magnet, and we were completely lost in darkness. As I paced the
deck, not willing to go below while my young favorite was in peril,
Waters tapped me on the shoulder.
"Did you notice any thing then, Mr. Hackinsack? I thought I heard a
splash in the water, like the dip of an oar."
"Some fish, I suppose, Waters."
"I think not, Sir; besides, just now I saw a dark object gliding slowly
across our bow in the mist, which I then took for a drifting log."
I walked round the deck and peered into the fog on every side, but could
discover nothing. I listened; all was silent save the tweet, tweet, of
the lizards and the roar of the surf, as it beat on the rocks astern.
Presently old Benjamin Ramrod, the gunner, came aft.
"I wish this infernal fog would clear up!" said he, "for the last half
hour, I have heard strange noises about us! I am much mistaken, or we
are surrounded by enemies of some sort or other. When that shining
apparition arose from the bluff there, and began to beckon to us, I said
to myself, some accident is going to happen before many hours, and you
see if my pro'nostics ar'n't true. Minded you how, by her sweet voice,
she lured that poor boy, Ponto, overboard?--and even I, who may say I've
had some experience in such matters, began to feel a queerish sensation,
as I harkened to her witchery. Many a poor sailor has lost his life by
listening to their lonesome-like songs. I remember once when I was on
the coast of Africa, in a gold-dust and ivory trader, we heard the
water-wraiths and mermaids singing to each other all night long, and the
very next day our ship was driven upon the rocks in a white squall, and
wrecked, and only myself and a Congo nigger escaped alive, out of a crew
of twenty-three!--It strikes me, too," he continued, after listening a
moment, "that we shall have a storm before morning; the fog seems to be
brushing by us, and the noise of the breakers on shore grows terribly
loud. I would give all the prize-money I ever gained to be out of the
place, with good sea-room, a flowing sheet, and our bows turned toward
home--no good ever came of fighting these pirate imps.--Heaven help us!
what is that?" he exclaimed with a start, as a tall, white form shot
up, a few rods under our stern, seen but dimly through the fog.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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