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Title: Sea curse
Author: Robert E. Howard
Release date: January 13, 2024 [eBook #72707]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Weird Tales, 1928
Credits: Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEA CURSE ***
Sea Curse
ROBERT E. HOWARD
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
_Sea Curse_, copyright 1928 by Popular Fiction Publishing Company for
_Weird Tales_, May 1928.
Sea Curse
And some return by the failing light
And some in the waking dream,
For she hears the heels of the dripping ghosts
That ride the rough roofbeam.
--Kipling
They were the brawlers and braggarts, the loud boasters and hard
drinkers, of Faring town, John Kulrek and his crony Lie-lip Canool.
Many a time have I, a tousled-haired lad, stolen to the tavern door
to listen to their curses, their profane arguments and wild sea
songs; half fearful and half in admiration of these wild rovers.
Aye, all the people of Faring town gazed on them with fear and
admiration, for they were not like the rest of the Faring men; they
were not content to ply their trade along the coasts and among the
shark-teeth shoals. No yawls, no skiffs for them! They fared far,
farther than any other man in the village, for they shipped on the
great sailing-ships that went out on the white tides to brave the
restless gray ocean and make ports in strange lands.
Ah, I mind it was swift times in the little sea-coast village of
Faring when John Kulrek came home, with his furtive Lie-lip at his
side, swaggering down the gang-plank, in his tarry sea-clothes, and
the broad leather belt that held his ever-ready dagger; shouting
condescending greeting to some favored acquaintance, kissing some
maiden who ventured too near; then up the street, roaring some
scarcely decent song of the sea. How the cringers and the idlers,
the hangers-on, would swarm about the two desperate heroes,
flattering and smirking, guffawing hilariously at each nasty jest.
For to the tavern loafers and to some of the weaker among the
straight-forward villagers, these men with their wild talk and their
brutal deeds, their tales of the Seven Seas and the far countries,
these men, I say, were valiant knights, nature's noblemen who dared
to be men of blood and brawn.
And all feared them, so that when a man was beaten or a woman
insulted, the villagers muttered--and did nothing. And so when Moll
Farrell's niece was put to shame by John Kulrek, none dared even to
put in words what all thought. Moll had never married, and she and
the girl lived alone in a little hut down close to the beach, so
close that in high tide the waves came almost to the door.
The people of the village accounted old Moll something of a witch,
and she was a grim, gaunt old dame who had little to say to anyone.
But she minded her own business, and eked out a slim living by
gathering clams, and picking up bits of driftwood.
The girl was a pretty, foolish little thing, vain and easily
befooled, else she had never yielded to the shark-like blandishments
of John Kulrek.
I mind the day was a cold winter day with a sharp breeze out of the
east when the old dame came into the village street shrieking that
the girl had vanished. All scattered over the beach and back among
the bleak inland hills to search for her--all save John Kulrek and
his cronies who sat in the tavern dicing and toping. All the while
beyond the shoals, we heard the never-ceasing droning of the heaving,
restless grey monster, and in the dim light of the ghostly dawn Moll
Farrell's girl came home.
The tides bore her gently across the wet sands and laid her almost at
her own door. Virgin-white she was, and her arms were folded across
her still bosom; calm was her face, and the gray tides sighed about
her slender limbs. Moll Farrell's eyes were stones, yet she stood
above her dead girl and spoke no word till John Kulrek and his crony
came reeling down from the tavern, their drinking-jacks still in
their hands. Drunk was John Kulrek, and the people gave back for
him, murder in their souls; so he came and laughed at Moll Farrell
across the body of her girl.
"Zounds!" swore John Kulrek; "the wench has drowned herself, Lie-lip!"
Lie-lip laughed, with the twist of his thin mouth. He always hated
Moll Farrell, for it was she that had given him the name of Lie-lip.
Then John Kulrek lifted his drinking-jack, swaying on his uncertain
legs. "A health to the wench's ghost!" he bellowed, while all stood
aghast.
Then Moll Farrell spoke, and the words broke from her in a scream
which sent ripples of cold up and down the spines of the throng.
"The curse of the Foul Fiend upon you, John Kulrek!" she screamed.
"The curse of God rest upon your vile soul throughout eternity! May
you gaze on sights that shall sear the eyes of you and scorch the
soul of you! May you die a bloody death and writhe in hell's flames
for a million and a million and yet a million years! I curse you by
sea and by land, by earth and by air, by the demons of the oceans and
the demons of the swamplands, the fiends of the forests and the
goblins of the hills! And you--" her lean finger stabbed at Lie-lip
Canool and he started backward, his face paling, "you shall be the
death of John Kulrek and he shall be the death of you! You shall
bring John Kulrek to the doors of hell and John Kulrek shall bring
you to the gallows-tree! I set the seal of death upon your brow,
John Kulrek! You shall live in terror and die in horror far out upon
the cold grey sea! But the sea that took the soul of innocence to
her bosom shall not take you, but shall fling forth your vile carcass
to the sands! Aye, John Kulrek--" and she spoke with such a terrible
intensity that the drunken mockery on the man's face changed to one
of swinish stupidity, "the sea roars for the victim it will not keep!
There is snow upon the hills, John Kulrek, and ere it melts your
corpse will lie at my feet. And I shall spit upon it and be content."
Kulrek and his crony sailed at dawn for a long voyage, and Moll went
back to her hut and her clam gathering. She seemed to grow leaner
and more grim than ever and her eyes smoldered with a light not sane.
The days glided by and people whispered among themselves that Moll's
days were numbered, for she faded to a ghost of a woman; but she went
her way, refusing all aid.
That was a short, cold summer and the snow on the barren inland hills
never melted; a thing very unusual, which caused much comment among
the villagers. At dusk and at dawn Moll would come up on the beach,
gaze up at the snow which glittered on the hills, then out to sea
with a fierce intensity in her gaze.
Then the days grew shorter, the nights longer and darker, and the
cold grey tides came sweeping along the bleak strands, bearing the
rain and sleet of the sharp east breezes.
And upon a bleak day a trading-vessel sailed into the bay and
anchored. And all the idlers and the wastrels flocked to the wharfs,
for that was the ship upon which John Kulrek and Lie-lip Canool had
sailed. Down the gang-plank came Lie-lip, more furtive than ever,
but John Kulrek was not there.
To shouted queries, Canool shook his head. "Kulrek deserted ship at
a port of Sumatra," said he. "He had a row with the skipper, lads;
wanted me to desert, too, but no! I had to see you fine lads again,
eh, boys?"
Almost cringing was Lie-lip Canool, and suddenly he recoiled as Moll
Farrell came through the throng. A moment they stood eyeing each
other; then Moll's grim lips bent in a terrible smile.
"There's blood on your hand, Canool!" she lashed out suddenly--so
suddenly that Lie-lip started and rubbed his right hand across his
left sleeve.
"Stand aside, witch!" he snarled in sudden anger, striding through
the crowd which gave back for him. His admirers followed him to the
tavern.
Now, I mind that the next day was even colder; grey fogs came
drifting out of the east and veiled the sea and the beaches. There
would be no sailing that day, and so all the villagers were in their
snug houses or matching tales at the tavern. So it came about that
Joe, my friend, a lad of my own age, and I, were the ones who saw the
first of the strange thing that happened.
Being harum-scarum lads of no wisdom, we were sitting in a small
rowboat, floating at the end of the wharfs, each shivering and
wishing the other would suggest leaving, there being no reason
whatever for our being there, save that it was a good place to build
air-castles undisturbed.
Suddenly Joe raised his hand. "Say," he said, "d'ye hear? Who can
be out on the bay upon a day like this?"
"Nobody. What d'ye hear?"
"Oars. Or I'm a lubber. Listen."
There was no seeing anything in that fog, and I heard nothing. Yet
Joe swore he did, and suddenly his face assumed a strange look.
"Somebody rowing out there, I tell you! The bay is alive with oars
from the sound! A score of boats at the least! Ye dolt, can ye not
hear?"
Then, as I shook my head, he leaped and began to undo the painter.
"I'm off to see. Name me liar if the bay is not full of boats, all
together like a close fleet. Are you with me?"
Yes, I was with him, though I heard nothing. Then out in the
greyness we went, and the fog closed behind and before so that we
drifted in a vague world of smoke, seeing naught and hearing naught.
We were lost in no time, and I cursed Joe for leading us upon a wild
goose chase that was like to end with our being swept out to sea. I
thought of Moll Farrell's girl and shuddered.
How long we drifted I know not. Minutes faded into hours, hours into
centuries. Still Joe swore he heard the oars, now close at hand, now
far away, and for hours we followed them, steering our course toward
the sound, as the noise grew or receded. This I later thought of,
and could not understand.
Then, when my hands were so numb that I could no longer hold the oar,
and the forerunning drowsiness of cold and exhaustion was stealing
over me, bleak white stars broke through the fog which glided
suddenly away, fading like a ghost of smoke, and we found ourselves
afloat just outside the mouth of the bay. The waters lay smooth as a
pond, all dark green and silver in the starlight, and the cold came
crisper than ever. I was swinging the boat about, to put back into
the bay, when Joe gave a shout, and for the first time I heard the
clack of oar-locks. I glanced over my shoulder and my blood went
cold.
A great beaked prow loomed above us, a weird, unfamiliar shape
against the stars, and as I caught my breath, sheered sharply and
swept by us, with a curious swishing I never heard any other craft
make. Joe screamed and backed oars frantically, and the boat walled
out of the way just in time; for though the prow had missed us, still
otherwise we had died. For from the sides of the ship stood long
oars, bank upon bank which swept her along. Though I had never seen
such a craft, I knew her for a galley. But what was she doing upon
our coasts? They said, the far-farers, that such ships were still in
use among the heathens of Barbary; but it was many a long, heaving
mile to Barbary, and even so she did not resemble the ships described
by those who had sailed far.
We started in pursuit, and this was strange, for though the waters
broke about her prow, and she seemed fairly to fly through the waves,
yet she was making little speed, and it was no time before we caught
up with her. Making our painter fast to a chain far back beyond the
reach of the swishing oars, we hailed those on deck. But there came
no answer, and at last, conquering our fears, we clambered up the
chain and found ourselves upon the strangest deck man has trod for
many a long, roaring century.
"This is no Barbary rover!" muttered Joe fearsomely. "Look, how old
it seems! Almost ready to fall to pieces. Why, 'tis fairly rotten!"
There was no one on deck, no one at the long sweep with which the
craft was steered. We stole to the hold and looked down the stair.
Then and there, if ever men were on the verge of insanity, it was we.
For there were rowers there, it is true; they sat upon the rowers'
benches and drove the creaking oars through the gray waters. _And
they that rowed were skeletons!_
Shrieking, we plunged across the deck, to fling ourselves into the
sea. But at the rail I tripped upon something and fell headlong, and
as I lay, I saw a thing which vanquished my fear of the horrors below
for an instant. The thing upon which I had tripped was a human body,
and in the dim gray light that was beginning to steal across the
eastern waves I saw a dagger hilt standing up between his shoulders.
Joe was at the rail, urging me to haste, and together we slid down
the chain and cut the painter.
Then we stood off into the bay. Straight on kept the grim galley,
and we followed, slowly, wondering. She seemed to be heading
straight for the beach beside the wharfs, and as we approached, we
saw the wharfs thronged with people. They had missed us, no doubt,
and now they stood, there in the early dawn light, struck dumb by the
apparition which had come up out of the night and the grim ocean.
Straight on swept the galley, her oars a-swish; then ere she reached
the shallow water--crash!--a terrific reverberation shook the bay.
Before our eyes the grim craft seemed to melt away; then she
vanished, and the green waters seethed where she had ridden, but
there floated no driftwood there, nor did there ever float any
ashore. Aye, something floated ashore, but it was grim driftwood!
We made the landing amid a hum of excited conversation that stopped
suddenly. Moll Farrell stood before her hut, limned gauntly against
the ghostly dawn, her lean hand pointing seaward. And across the
sighing wet sands, borne by the grey tide, something came floating;
something that the waves dropped at Moll Farrell's feet. And there
looked up at us, as we crowded about, a pair of unseeing eyes set in
a still, white face. John Kulrek had come home.
Still and grim he lay, rocked by the tide, and as he lurched
sideways, all saw the dagger hilt that stood from his back--the
dagger all of us had seen a thousand times at the belt of Lie-lip
Canool.
"Aye, I killed him!" came Canool's shriek, as he writhed and groveled
before our gaze. "At sea on a still night in a drunken brawl I slew
him and hurled him overboard! And from the far seas he has followed
me--" his voice sank to a hideous whisper,
"because--of--the--curse--the--sea--would--not--keep--his--body!"
And the wretch sank down, trembling, the shadow of the gallows
already in his eyes.
"Aye!" Strong, deep and exultant was Moll Farrell's voice. "From
the hell of lost craft Satan sent a ship of bygone ages! A ship red
with gore and stained with the memory of horrid crimes! None other
would bear such a vile carcass! The sea has taken vengeance and has
given me mine. See now, how I spit upon the face of John Kulrek."
And with a ghastly laugh, she pitched forward, the blood starting to
her lips. And the sun came up across the restless sea.
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEA CURSE ***
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