Astounding Sea Stories: Fifteen Ripping Good Tales

INTRODUCTION

Need to escape? Want to spend an hour or two sealed off from the daily detritus that might be getting you down?

There is nothing like a sea story to help you along. It’s been that way forever. Certainly even before Jason and his heroic crew of Argonauts set off to find the Golden Fleece and had an adventure or two along the way. Writers love to use the sea as a backdrop for adventure and tragedy and inspiration and elevating heart rates. Why? For one thing, using the sea as a setting is an easy first step to draw readers in. Throw in a few storms and shipwrecks and some pirates, and the rest is easy. Well, maybe not that easy, because there have certainly been some forgettable sea stories—the ones springing from the it was a dark and stormy night variety of pulp writing.

But not in this collection.

Here are fifteen unexpected pleasures—many that have been sitting unread for years. And that’s a shame. Some are from master writers whose deserved fame rests on works and characters that lived far from the sea and might never have set foot in a boat of any kind. You’ll find Jack London’s first published story, written when he was seventeen, and it’s miles away from the frozen north that London loved and wrote about often. You’ll also discover Charles Dickens without Scrooge, Victor Hugo far from Paris, and Arthur Conan Doyle on the deck of a ship, without Sherlock or Watson. All are hidden gems that make you wish they had written more sea stories.

But fear not. There are also in this collection some wonderful stories that simply slipped away quietly. It’s time to revive them.

Astounding Sea Stories also brings along some of the best writers of the sea: Herman Melville; Richard Henry Dana Jr.; and Erskine Childers, a writer who captures the sublime joyous beauty of being aboard a small sailboat better than any other author in his genre.

You will find adventure, certainly, along with drama and well-paced tales that will make you sit back in the comfort of your warm and cozy (and I hope, dry) reading chair and start turning the pages quickly—being pulled in to the story and happy you are home and safe. That’s the magic of a good tale and why some of the best writers chose it as a backdrop.

This is not just a collection of stirring writing by wonderful writers. Here also are frank and—one must admit—inspiring stories of men of the sea, not writers but individuals who by luck (more often than not, bad luck), found themselves alone on a boat in devastating circumstances. Inside is William Bligh taking his small group of supporters to safety after they were thrown from the Bounty. In his own words, an understated firsthand account of what many consider, even today nearly 250 years later, the greatest small boat navigation ever. Here also is Elisha Kent Kane, frozen, dismal but still hopeful, looking for the lost ships of John Franklin along the Northwest Passage Franklin gave his life trying to find.

And this courage and resoluteness, of course, is not just the purview of men. Read here Charlotte-Adélaïde Dard’s account of surviving the sinking of the Medusa and try to argue against her valor. Charlotte and her family survived only to land in a small boat with little water and food on the edge of the Sahara. But that’s another journey for another time.

You will also find a tale of how a ship was holed and sunk by an angry whale (sound familiar?), written by its captain. He began by writing: "Having been requested to give an account of the sinking of the Bark Kathleen by a whale, I will do the best I can, though I think that those who have read the papers know as much or more about it than I do."

Ah, one wonders what a twenty-first-century publicist would have told him about marketing?

We also take a step away from literature and compelling writing to find something more practical yet as equally compelling as works in the original report of the investigation of the sinking of the Titanic.

It is fascinating stuff. Read. Enjoy. Stay dry.

Le Terrible Coffret by George Conrad, from Journal Des Voyages, 1906.

1.

THE STRIPED CHEST

ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

What do you make of her, Allardyce? I asked.

My second mate was standing beside me upon the poop, with his short, thick legs astretch, for the gale had left a considerable swell behind it, and our two quarter-boats nearly touched the water with every roll. He steadied his glass against the mizzen-shrouds, and he looked long and hard at this disconsolate stranger every time she came reeling up on to the crest of a roller and hung balanced for a few seconds before swooping down upon the other side. She lay so low in the water that I could only catch an occasional glimpse of a pea-green line of bulwark.

She was a brig, but her mainmast had been snapped short off some ten feet above the deck, and no effort seemed to have been made to cut away the wreckage, which floated, sails and yards, like the broken wing of a wounded gull, upon the water beside her. The foremast was still standing, but the fore-topsail was flying loose, and the head-sails were streaming out in long white pennons in front of her. Never have I seen a vessel which appeared to have gone through rougher handling.

But we could not be surprised at that, for there had been times during the last three days when it was a question whether our own barque would ever see land again. For thirty-six hours we had kept her nose to it, and if the Mary Sinclair had not been as good a seaboat as ever left the Clyde, we could not have gone through. And yet here we were at the end of it with the loss only of our gig and of part of the starboard bulwark. It did not astonish us, however, when the smother had cleared away, to find that others had been less lucky, and that this mutilated brig, staggering about upon a blue sea, and under a cloudless sky, had been left, like a blinded man after a lightning flash, to tell of the terror which is past.

Allardyce, who was a slow and methodical Scotchman, stared long and hard at the little craft, while our seamen lined the bulwark or clustered upon the fore shrouds to have a view of the stranger. In latitude 20° and longitude 10°, which were about our bearings, one becomes a little curious as to whom one meets, for one has left the main lines of Atlantic commerce to the north. For ten days we had been sailing over a solitary sea.

She’s derelict, I’m thinking, said the second mate.

I had come to the same conclusion, for I could see no sign of life upon her deck, and there was no answer to the friendly wavings from our seamen. The crew had probably deserted her under the impression that she was about to founder.

She can’t last long, continued Allardyce, in his measured way. She may put her nose down and her tail up any minute. The water’s lipping up to the edge of her rail.

What’s her flag? I asked.

I’m trying to make out. It’s got all twisted and tangled with the halyards. Yes, I’ve got it now, clear enough. It’s the Brazilian flag, but it’s wrong side up.

She had hoisted a signal of distress, then, before her people abandoned her. Perhaps they had only just gone. I took the mate’s glass and looked round over the tumultuous face of the deep blue Atlantic, still veined and starred with white lines and spoutings of foam. But nowhere could I see anything human beyond ourselves.

There may be living men aboard, said I.

There may be salvage, muttered the second mate.

Then we will run down upon her lee side, and lie to.

We were not more than a hundred yards from her when we swung our fore-yard aback, and there we were, the barque and the brig, ducking and bowing like two clowns in a dance.

Drop one of the quarter-boats, said I. Take four men, Mr. Allardyce, and see what you can learn of her.

But just at that moment my first officer, Mr. Armstrong, came on deck, for seven bells had struck, and it was but a few minutes off his watch. It would interest me to go myself to this abandoned vessel and to see what there might be aboard of her. So, with a word to Armstrong, I swung myself over the side, slipped down the falls, and took my place in the sheets of the boat.

It was but a little distance, but it took some time to traverse, and so heavy was the roll, that often, when we were in the trough of the sea, we could not see either the barque which we had left or the brig which we were approaching. The sinking sun did not penetrate down there, and it was cold and dark in the hollows of the waves, but each passing billow heaved us up into the warmth and the sunshine once more. At each of these moments, as we hung upon a white-capped ridge between the two dark valleys, I caught a glimpse of the long, pea-green line, and the nodding foremast of the brig, and I steered so as to come round by her stern, so that we might determine which was the best way of boarding her. As we passed her we saw the name Nossa Sehnora da Vittoria painted across her dripping counter.

The weather side, sir, said the second mate. Stand by with the boat-hook, carpenter! An instant later we had jumped over the bulwarks, which were hardly higher than our boat, and found ourselves upon the deck of the abandoned vessel.

Our first thought was to provide for our own safety in case—as seemed very probable—the vessel should settle down beneath our feet. With this object two of our men held on to the painter of the boat, and fended her off from the vessel’s side, so that she might be ready in case we had to make a hurried retreat. The carpenter was sent to find out how much water there was, and whether it was still gaining, while the other seaman, Allardyce, and myself, made a rapid inspection of the vessel and her cargo.

The deck was littered with wreckage and with hen-coops, in which the dead birds were washing about. The boats were gone, with the exception of one, the bottom of which had been stove, and it was certain that the crew had abandoned the vessel. The cabin was in a deck house, one side of which had been beaten in by a heavy sea. Allardyce and I entered it, and found the captain’s table as he had left it, his books and papers—all Spanish or Portuguese—scattered over it, with piles of cigarette ash everywhere. I looked about for the log, but could not find it.

As likely as not he never kept one, said Allardyce. Things are pretty slack aboard a South American trader, and they don’t do more than they can help. If there was one it must have been taken away with him in the boat.

I should like to take all these books and papers, said I. Ask the carpenter how much time we have.

His report was reassuring. The vessel was full of water, but some of the cargo was buoyant, and there was no immediate danger of her sinking. Probably she would never sink, but would drift about as one of those terrible, unmarked reefs which have sent so many stout vessels to the bottom.

In that case there is no danger in your going below, Mr. Allardyce, said I. See what you can make of her, and find out how much of her cargo may be saved. I’ll look through these papers while you are gone.

The bills of lading, and some notes and letters which lay upon the desk, sufficed to inform me that the Brazilian brig Nossa Sehnora da Vittoria had cleared from Bahia a month before. The name of the captain was Texeira, but there was no record as to the number of the crew. She was bound for London, and a glance at the bills of lading was sufficient to show me that we were not likely to profit much in the way of salvage. Her cargo consisted of nuts, ginger, and wood, the latter in the shape of great logs of valuable tropical growths. It was these, no doubt, which had prevented the ill-fated vessel from going to the bottom, but they were of such a size as to make it impossible for us to extract them. Besides these, there were a few fancy goods, such as a number of ornamental birds for millinery purposes, and a hundred cases of preserved fruits. And then, as I turned over the papers, I came upon a short note in English, which arrested my attention.

It is requested, said the note, that the various old Spanish and Indian curiosities, which came out of the Santarem collection, and which are consigned to Prontfoot and Neuman, of Oxford Street, London, should be put in some place where there may be no danger of these very valuable and unique articles being injured or tampered with. This applies most particularly to the treasure-chest of Don Ramirez di Leyra, which must on no account be placed where any one can get at it.

The treasure-chest of Don Ramirez! Unique and valuable articles! Here was a chance of salvage after all! I had risen to my feet with the paper in my hand, when my Scotch mate appeared in the doorway.

I’m thinking all isn’t quite as it should be aboard of this ship, sir, said he. He was a hard-faced man, and yet I could see that he had been startled.

What’s the matter?

Murder’s the matter, sir. There’s a man here with his brains beaten out.

Killed in the storm? said I.

May be so, sir. But I’ll be surprised if you think so after you have seen him.

Where is he, then?

This way, sir; here in the main-deck house.

There appeared to have been no accommodation below in the brig, for there was the afterhouse for the captain, another by the main hatchway with the cook’s galley attached to it, and a third in the forecastle for the men. It was to this middle one that the mate led me. As you entered the galley, with its litter of tumbled pots and dishes, was upon the right, and upon the left was a small room with two bunks for the officers. Then beyond there was a place about twelve feet square, which was littered with flags and spare canvas. All round the walls were a number of packets done up in coarse cloth and carefully lashed to the woodwork. At the other end was a great box, striped red and white, though the red was so faded and the white so dirty that it was only where the light fell directly upon it that one could see the colouring. The box was, by subsequent measurement, four feet three inches in length, three feet two inches in height, and three feet across—considerably larger than a seaman’s chest.

But it was not to the box that my eyes or my thoughts were turned as I entered the store-room. On the floor, lying across the litter of bunting, there was stretched a small, dark man with a short, curling beard. He lay as far as it was possible from the box, with his feet towards it and his head away. A crimson patch was printed upon the white canvas on which his head was resting, and little red ribbons wreathed themselves round his swarthy neck and trailed away on to the floor, but there was no sign of a wound that I could see, and his face was as placid as that of a sleeping child.

It was only when I stooped that I could perceive his injury, and then I turned away with an exclamation of horror. He had been pole-axed; apparently by some person standing behind him. A frightful blow had smashed in the top of his head and penetrated deeply into his brain. His face might well be placid, for death must have been absolutely instantaneous, and the position of the wound showed that he could never have seen the person who had inflicted it.

Is that foul play or accident, Captain Barclay? asked my second mate, demurely.

You are quite right, Mr. Allardyce. The man has been murdered, struck down from above by a sharp and heavy weapon. But who was he, and why did they murder him?

He was a common seaman, sir, said the mate. You can see that if you look at his fingers. He turned out his pockets as he spoke and brought to light a pack of cards, some tarred string, and a bundle of Brazilian tobacco.

Hullo, look at this! said he.

It was a large, open knife with a stiff spring blade which he had picked up from the floor. The steel was shining and bright, so that we could not associate it with the crime, and yet the dead man had apparently held it in his hand when he was struck down, for it still lay within his grasp.

It looks to me, sir, as if he knew he was in danger, and kept his knife handy, said the mate. However, we can’t help the poor beggar now. I can’t make out these things that are lashed to the wall. They seem to be idols and weapons and curios of all sorts done up in old sacking.

That’s right, said I. They are the only things of value that we are likely to get from the cargo. Hail the barque and tell them to send the other quarter-boat to help us to get the stuff aboard.

While he was away I examined this curious plunder which had come into our possession. The curiosities were so wrapped up that I could only form a general idea as to their nature, but the striped box stood in a good light where I could thoroughly examine it. On the lid, which was clamped and cornered with metal-work, there was engraved a complex coat of arms, and beneath it was a line of Spanish which I was able to decipher as meaning, The treasure-chest of Don Ramirez di Leyra, Knight of the Order of Saint James, Governor and Captain-General of Terra Firma and of the Province of Veraquas. In one corner was the date 1606, and on the other a large white label, upon which was written in English, You are earnestly requested, upon no account, to open this box. The same warning was repeated underneath in Spanish. As to the lock, it was a very complex and heavy one of engraved steel, with a Latin motto, which was above a seaman’s comprehension.

By the time I had finished this examination of the peculiar box, the other quarter-boat with Mr. Armstrong, the first officer, had come alongside, and we began to carry out and place in her the various curiosities which appeared to be the only objects worth moving from the derelict ship. When she was full I sent her back to the barque, and then Allardyce and I, with a carpenter and one seaman, shifted the striped box, which was the only thing left, to our boat, and lowered it over, balancing it upon the two middle thwarts, for it was so heavy that it would have given the boat a dangerous tilt had we placed it at either end. As to the dead man, we left him where we had found him.

The mate had a theory that at the moment of the desertion of the ship, this fellow had started plundering, and that the captain in an attempt to preserve discipline, had struck him down with a hatchet or some other heavy weapon. It seemed more probable than any other explanation, and yet it did not entirely satisfy me either. But the ocean is full of mysteries, and we were content to leave the fate of the dead seaman of the Brazilian brig to be added to that long list which every sailor can recall.

The heavy box was slung up by ropes on to the deck of the Mary Sinclair, and was carried by four seamen into the cabin, where, between the table and the after-lockers, there was just space for it to stand. There it remained during supper, and after that meal the mates remained with me, and discussed over a glass of grog the event of the day. Mr. Armstrong was a long, thin, vulture-like man, an excellent seaman, but famous for his nearness and cupidity. Our treasure-trove had excited him greatly, and already he had begun with glistening eyes to reckon up how much it might be worth to each of us when the shares of the salvage came to be divided.

If the paper said that they were unique, Mr. Barclay, then they may be worth anything that you like to name. You wouldn’t believe the sums that the rich collectors give. A thousand pounds is nothing to them. We’ll have something to show for our voyage, or I am mistaken.

I don’t think that, said I. As far as I can see they are not very different from any other South American curios.

Well, sir, I’ve traded there for fourteen voyages, and I have never seen anything like that chest before. That’s worth a pile of money, just as it stands. But it’s so heavy, that surely there must be something valuable inside it. Don’t you think we ought to open it and see?

If you break it open you will spoil it, as likely as not, said the second mate.

Armstrong squatted down in front of it, with his head on one side, and his long, thin nose within a few inches of the lock.

The wood is oak, said he, and it has shrunk a little with age. If I had a chisel or a strong-bladed knife I could force the lock back without doing any damage at all.

The mention of a strong-bladed knife made me think of the dead seaman upon the brig.

I wonder if he could have been on the job when someone came to interfere with him, said I.

I don’t know about that, sir, but I am perfectly certain that I could open the box. There’s a screwdriver here in the locker. Just hold the lamp, Allardyce, and I’ll have it done in a brace of shakes.

Wait a bit, said I, for already, with eyes which gleamed with curiosity and with avarice, he was stooping over the lid. "I don’t see that there is any hurry over this matter. You’ve read that card which warns us not to open it. It may mean anything or it may mean nothing, but somehow I feel inclined to obey it. After all, whatever is in it will keep, and if it is valuable it will be worth as much if it is opened in the owner’s offices as in the cabin of the Mary Sinclair."

The first officer seemed bitterly disappointed at my decision.

Surely, sir, you are not superstitious about it, said he, with a slight sneer upon his thin lips. If it gets out of our own hands, and we don’t see for ourselves what is inside it, we may be done out of our rights; besides—

That’s enough, Mr. Armstrong, said I, abruptly. You may have every confidence that you will get your rights, but I will not have that box opened to-night.

Why, the label itself shows that the box has been examined by Europeans, Allardyce added. Because a box is a treasure-box is no reason that it has treasures inside it now. A good many folk have had a peep into it since the days of the old Governor of Terra Firma.

Armstrong threw the screwdriver down upon the table and shrugged his shoulders.

Just as you like, said he; but for the rest of the evening, although we spoke upon many subjects, I noticed that his eyes were continually coming round, with the same expression of curiosity and greed, to the old striped box.

And now I come to that portion of my story which fills me even now with a shuddering horror when I think of it. The main cabin had the rooms of the officers round it, but mine was the farthest away from it at the end of the little passage which led to the companion. No regular watch was kept by me, except in cases of emergency, and the three mates divided the watches among them. Armstrong had the middle watch, which ends at four in the morning, and he was relieved by Allardyce. For my part I have always been one of the soundest of sleepers, and it is rare for anything less than a hand upon my shoulder to arouse me.

And yet I was aroused that night, or rather in the early grey of the morning. It was just half-past four by my chronometer when something caused me to sit up in my berth wide awake and with every nerve tingling. It was a sound of some sort, a crash with a human cry at the end of it, which still jarred upon my ears. I sat listening, but all was now silent. And yet it could not have been imagination, that hideous cry, for the echo of it still rang in my head, and it seemed to have come from some place quite close to me. I sprang from my bunk, and, pulling on some clothes, I made my way into the cabin.

At first I saw nothing unusual there. In the cold, grey light I made out the red-clothed table, the six rotating chairs, the walnut lockers, the swinging barometer, and there, at the end, the big striped chest. I was turning away with the intention of going upon deck and asking the second mate if he had heard anything, when my eyes fell suddenly upon something which projected from under the table. It was the leg of a man—a leg with a long sea-boot upon it. I stooped, and there was a figure sprawling upon his face, his arms thrown forward and his body twisted. One glance told me that it was Armstrong, the first officer, and a second that he was a dead man. For a few moments I stood gasping. Then I rushed on to the deck, called Allardyce to my assistance, and came back with him into the cabin.

Together we pulled the unfortunate fellow from under the table, and as we looked at his dripping head, we exchanged glances, and I do not know which was the paler of the two.

The same as the Spanish sailor, said I.

The very same. God preserve us! It’s that infernal chest! Look at Armstrong’s hand!

He held up the mate’s right hand, and there was the screwdriver which he had wished to use the night before.

He’s been at the chest, sir. He knew that I was on deck and you asleep. He knelt down in front of it, and he pushed the lock back with that tool. Then something happened to him, and he cried out so that you heard him.

Allardyce, I whispered, "what could have happened to him?"

The second mate put his hand upon my sleeve and drew me into his cabin.

We can talk here, sir, and we don’t know who may be listening to us in there. What do you suppose is in that box, Captain Barclay?

I give you my word, Allardyce, that I have no idea.

Well, I can only find one theory which will fit all the facts. Look at the size of the box. Look at all the carving and metal-work which may conceal any number of holes. Look at the weight of it; it took four men to carry it. On the top of that, remember that two men have tried to open it, and both have come to their end through it. Now, sir, what can it mean except one thing?

You mean there is a man in it?

"Of course there is a man in it. You know how it is in