Read Hurricane for Free Online Page B

pretty damp, y’know, and I’m the least bit squeamish about the way the hull has held out.”
    “Ashore?” said Spar. “You mean sleep over there with the . . . on the rocks?”
    “With the dead men?” said Folston. “No, sailor, I assure you that there are no dead men on Hurricane Hill. You see, er . . . I have a hut over there I use for shooting.”
    “Shooting,” snapped Spar. “There’s no game down here.”
    “Oh, yes, goats and small deer and such. I had a hut constructed so that I could get away from it all, you know. It’s really quite comfortable.”
    “I’m staying with the ship,” replied Spar, definitely.
    Felice Bereau came up in time to hear Folston’s statement.
    “Oh, I’d love it. When can we go?”
    “I’d advise you to stay here,” said Spar.
    “But why?”
    Spar looked at her annoyed face and smiled bleakly. “The ship is comfortable enough.”
    Perry appeared. “What’s this? Go ashore? My God, yes.”
    “I thought you were drunk,” said Spar, looking at Folston.
    “Sure I was,” grinned Perry. “Now, lower us a boat, you captain, and let’s go. I command it—instantly.”
    Peg Mannering looked longingly at the shore. “Perhaps we’d better go.”
    “Go ahead,” snapped Spar, gruffly. “Helmsman, tell the mate to drop the hook and then lower the tender.”
    They waited for several minutes until the launch was set in the water. And then all but Spar turned to go. Peg Mannering looked appealingly at him. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
    “No,” said Spar.
    She hung back from the rest and looked long at him.
    “All right,” said Spar. “Let me get a razor and some dry clothes. I need a rest.”
    She seemed very relieved and when Spar joined them some minutes later in the launch, she was talking gaily with Felice Bereau.
    “We’ll be back shortly,” yelled Spar at the mate on deck. “Stand by and see what the engineers can do with that reduction gear.”
    “Aye, aye, sir,” said the black mate.
    When they drew in toward the small landing stage which Spar had not known existed there, the group fell silent. There was something about the dismal blackness of the doleful cliffs which struck them into silence, something about the bleak, treeless heights which made them feel that they were in the presence of something greater than themselves.
    The musty odor of the seaweed on the small beach mingled with a salt taste of the air. One lone gull wheeled high above, calling out with his mournful voice, as though warning them back away from Hurricane Hill.
    Spar tied their launch to the landing stage and began to help the others out of the craft. And then there came to them a sound, a screaming sound which seemed far away across the water.
    Peg Mannering gripped Spar’s arm. “What was that?”
    Spar did not answer. The sound came again, louder, more awful than before, as though some poor devil was dying in exquisite agony.
    Folston assayed to be jocular about it. “The wind in the cliffs, that’s all. No need to be afraid. I’ve heard it many times. Your sailor here will try to tell you that it’s the scream of men dying in the gray sea, but that’s merely superstition. It’s true that the sandy strip here has often been littered with the drowned, but—”
    “Shut up!” cried Spar at the sight of Peg’s blanching face.
    Folston smiled and led the way up a narrow ledge which had been hacked into steps, slimy with the sea. The sea gull swooped lower and cried out again. The far-off scream dwindled away.
    And through the heavy darkness which settled upon them like a shroud, they heard a human call high up on the cliff.
    “My caretaker,” explained Folston. “Hello, up there! We have guests!”
    The call came down once more and the sea gull vanished into the dark air. Far below they could see the Venture swinging gently at her anchor, a sliver of white on the black sea.
    Spar helped Peg up the steps and felt her hands shake as the terrible sound came to