Seven Frozen Sailors

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER THREE.

  THE IRISH SAILOR'S YARN.

  "_The Ghost on Board Ship_."

  I have followed the say, man and boy, any time these thirty years andmore; and sure it's but little I have to tell you about that same in theway of short commons, long voyages, mishaps, and shipwrecks that wouldbe interesting to you, seeing that, in all rasonable probability, youhave all of you had your fair share of the like.

  However, maybe I can spin you a short yarn about what every one of youhasn't seen, and that is a "ghost on boord ship."

  "A ghost on board ship!" chorused the sailors, turning eagerly towardthe speaker.

  Bedad, ye may say that, and as fine a ghost as ever mortial man set eyesupon.

  You must know I was always partial to the say, and first tried my handat a sailor's life wid a cousin of my mother's, who had a small sloop heused for fishing along the coast off the Cove of Cork.

  It was on boord the little _Shamrock_ I got my say-legs, and, by thesame token, many a sharp rope's-ending into the bargain.

  I had plinty to ate, and plinty to drink, and plinty of hard work, too,as there were but three hands on boord--my cousin, one man, and myself,making up the entire crew.

  I was well enough trated, and had no rason to complain.

  The sloop was a fast sailer, and a good say-boat, and I ought to havebeen continted--but somehow it's myself that wasn't satisfied at all atall.

  I never saw the tall masts of the big ships that traded to furrin partsthat I didn't long to clamber up their sides, and see if I couldn't geta berth--anything, from captain to cabin-boy, I wasn't particular--onboord one of them.

  One fine day, when the little sloop was high and dry, my cousin stepp'dinto a shebeen to get a taste of the mountain dew, and give me what hecalled my share, which was a dale more pewter than whiskey--for it'smighty little of the latter was left in the measure whin he handed it tome; when a tall, spare, good-looking sort of a chap enough, withlashings of bright brass buttons on his coat and waistcoat, and a smartgoold band round his peaked cap, who happened to be taking his morning'srefreshment at the same time, said to my cousin as he emptied hisnaggin, "Fill that," says he, "onct more,--fill that, and drink wid_me_."

  "Never say it again," says my cousin. "Fill and drink's the word _this_time with _you_, and the _next_ with _me_, honest man!"

  "All right!" replied the stranger.

  And fill and drink it was more than onct round, you may be on your oath.

  "That's a smart youngster!" says he wid the band and buttons, pointingto me.

  "The boy's well enough, as a boy," says my cousin. "He's strong, handy,and willing, and not the sort of a lad to kape where there's an emptylarder; but if he ates well, he works well; so more power to his elbow,and double rations, wid all my heart!"

  "That's the lad for my money!" says the stranger. "Would you like totake a trip with me, youngster?"

  "What ship do you belong to, sir?" I asked.

  "That," says he, going to the door of the public, and pointing to asplindid three-master, with the stars and stripes at the peak.

  "And where do you sail to, sir?" says I.

  "New York," replied he.

  "Where's that, if it's plasin' to you, sir?" says I.

  "In Amerikay," says he; "the land of the brave, and the home of thefree!"

  "Amerikay!" broke in my cousin. "My sister's wife's uncle has a sonthere--a tall young man, badly pock-marked, with a slight cast in hisleft eye, and hair as red as a fox. Lanty O'Gorman is the name he hasupon him. He has been there two years and better. Mayhap you have methim?"

  "I dar say I have," said the stranger, laughing heartily.

  "Would you take a message to him, sir?" asked my cousin.

  "I'd be everlastingly delighted," says he, "but there's a dale ofO'Gormans about; and as most of them are pock-marked, squint, and havered heads, I'm afraid I'd be bothered to know him. Do you think thatyoung shaver would remimber him?"

  "Faith and troth I would, sir," says I, "by rason of the leathering hegave me onct for making an April fool of him, telling him the chickensthe ould hen had hatched from the ducks' eggs had tuck to the water, andif he didn't hurry and get them out of the pond, every mother's son ofthem would be drownded!"

  "Wal," said the stranger, "it's an almighty pity you ain't there to seehim. The man I know of the name of O'Gorman is as rich as mud; and ifhe took a liking to you, he could make your fortune right off the reelin less than no time!"

  "I'd give the worrild to go," says I.

  "Come, old man," says the Yankee--I found out afterward he was anAmerikan--"what do you say? Will you let this young shaver take a tripwith me? He shall be well cared for under the stars and stripes. I'llgive him fair pay and good usage. Fact is, I am in want of a smart lad,who has got his say-legs, to wait upon myself and a few extracabin-passengers. I like the cut of the boy's jib, so say yes or no--how is it to be? It will be for the lad's good?"

  "Arrah, good luck to ye, cousin, darlint, let me go! It has been thewish of my heart, slapin' and wakin', this many a long day! Let me go,and sorra a rap I'll spind of the lashings of goold Cousin Lanty willgive me, but bring every pinny home safe and sound, just as he puts itinto my hand!"

  "You offer fair and honest," says my cousin. "It's true for you, itwould be for the boy's good--far better than his wasting his timedredging and coasting about here; but--what would his mother say?"

  "Wal," said the stranger, "I have done a good many pretty considerabledifficult things in my time, but as to my being able to tell you whathis mother, or any other female woman of the feminine persuasion, wouldbe likely to _say_, my hand won't run to that; so, rather than play thegame out, I'll hand in my cards. What I want to know is, what _you_mean to say to it; and you must be smart making up your mind, for the_Brother Jonathan_ will trip her anchor bright and early in the morning!Yes, sir-ree!"

  To cut the matter short, boys, the Yankee skipper gave my cousin enoughin advance to find me in the slops I wanted; and I felt as if I couldlep over the moon for joy when I saw the ship's articles signed, andmyself rated, at fair wages, as cabin-boy for the outward and returntrips.

  The ould people lived some twenty miles inland, so there was no chanceof seeing them to bid good-by; and maybe that was all for the best, asit wasn't till the hurry and bustle of buying my kit was over, and I gotfairly on boord, that the thought of my father and mother, little Norahand Patsey, came across my mind; and when it did, the joy I felt atgetting the great wish of my heart gratified--sailing in an elegantthree-master--with more people on boord her (she was an emigrant ship)than there was in my own native village, and a dozen besides--turnedinto unfeigned sorrow at parting from them; and, for the life of me, Icouldn't close my eyes all night, because of the scalding hot tears thatwould force their way from under the lids.

  But boys are boys, and sorrow sits lightly on young hearts; and it's ablessin' it does, for sure we get enough of it when we grow older, and,perhaps, wiser, and better able to bear it!

  Faith, it was as much as I could do to wonder at everything I saw onboord the beautiful clipper--for a clipper she was, boys, and couldknock off her twelve knots an hour as easy as a bird flies.

  The skipper was as good a seaman as ever boxed a compass; the crew,barring the skulkers, were well trated. As for the "ould soldiers," theway _they_ got hazed and started was--I must use a Yankee word--acaution!

  We made the Battery at New York in a few hours over thirty days.

  I got leave to go on shore with the third mate, a mighty dacint youngman; and whin I tould him I wanted him to take me to my cousin, by mymother's sister's side, whose name was O'Gorman, with the small-pox, asquint, and a foxey head, I thought he'd taken a seven years' lase of alaugh, and would--unless he split his sides--never do anything else butthat same for the rest of his born days.

  To cut the matter short, he tould me the skipper had sould me as chapeas a speckled orange! So I gave up all hopes of finding my cousin
andmy fortune; saw as much as I could of the beautiful city; bought atrifle or two to take home; and, after another splendid run, was landed,safe and sound, onct more on the dear ould Cove of Cork.

  "Then you saw no ghost in that ship?" says Bostock.

  "Faith, I did!"

  "But you have told us nothing about it!" says I.

  Wait till a while ago. I tuck my wages, and started for the public,where I knew I should find my cousin--and right glad he was to see me;but I couldn't help feeling as if something was wrong by the way helooked and answered me, whin I asked afther the ould people and littleNorah and Patsey.

  "Take a tumbler of punch, now!" says he; "and we'll talk of thatafterward."

  "Not at all," says I. "The news, whether good or bad, will go betterwith the punch; so we'll have them together. How is my darlint mother?"

  "Well!" says he.

  "And dad?" I inquired.

  "Well, too!" says he.

  "Thank the Lord for that!" says I. "And the little ones?"

  "Happy and hearty!" says he.

  "Thanks be to heaven again!" says I. "But what's the matter wid you, atall, man alive?"

  "The matter wid me?" said he. "What would be the matter wid me?" saidhe.

  "Sorra a one of me knows!" replied I. "But you look as if you were at awake widout whiskey!"

  "You didn't hear much about what happened at Ballyshevan in Amerikay?"says he.

  "Faith, you are right! Not much more than I did about Foxey O'Gorman,wid his squint and red hair!" says I, laughing to think what a fool theskipper had made of me.

  "There's nothing to laugh at _here_!" says he. "There's only two thingsthat have been plintiful this sason!"

  "Potaties and oats?" says I.

  "No such luck!" says he.

  "What thin?" I asked.

  "_Famine and faver_!" he says pat.

  You might have knocked me down wid a Jack-straw, whin I heard thosewords. I raled back, and if it hadn't been for a binch that was closeagainst the wall, which I clutched a hould of, and managed to bringmyself up with, I'd have fallen full length on the floor.

  "Have a good sup of this!" says he, handing me his tumbler of punch;"and don't take on so," says he. "You are better off than most of theneighbours! Sure death hasn't knocked at your door; and all you loveare living--though they have had a hard time of it--to welcome youback."

  "You are right," says I, as I started up, "and the sooner I get thatwelcome the better. What am I wasting my time here for, at all at all,whin I ought to be there--it's only twenty miles. It's airly yet, I canbe home by nightfall. I have promised to return, but I've got threedays' lave, so I'm off at onct."

  I won't kape you on the road, sure it's longer than ever it seemed; butit came to an end at last. I forgot all my fatigue whin I opened thedoor, and stepped inside the threshhold; it was between day light anddark--there was no candle burning--but I could see the forms of the fourpeople most dear to me on earth. An involuntary "The Vargin bepraised!" broke from my lips.

  "My son!--my son!" almost screamed my mother, and if I had been fourboys instead of one there wouldn't have been room enough on me for thekisses they all wanted to give me at the same time.

  Whin the first great joy of our meeting was over, I began to ask pardonfor quitting ould Ireland widout their lave.

  "Don't spake about it, darlint," said my mother; thin, pointing upward,she added, mighty solemn, "Glory be to Him, it was His will, and it wasthe best day's work ever you did. Tell him what has happened."

  "I will," said my father. "You see, Phil, my son, soon after you sailedfor Amerikay, the old master died, and the estate came into the hands ofhis nephew, a wild harum-scarum sort of a chap, that kapes the hoith ofcompany with the quality and rich people in London and Paris, and thelord knows where else besides; but never sets his foot, nor spinds askurrick here, where the money that pays for his houses, and carriages,and race-horses, and the wine his foine friends drinks--when his tenantsis starving--comes from. Seeing how things were likely to go, the ouldagent threw up his place rather than rack the tenants any further; thisjust suited my gintleman, who sent over a new one, a hard man, wid aheart of stone, and he drove the poor craytures as a wolf would drive aflock of shape; they did their best, till their crops failed, to kapetheir bits of farms; but then--God help them! they were dead bate--surethe famine came, and the famine brought on the faver; they couldn't pay;they were evicted by dozens; and the evictions brought oil somethingworse than the famine or faver--something they hungered and thirsted formore than mate and dhrink."

  "What was that, father dear?"

  "_Revinge_!" says he.

  "Revinge! father--revinge!" I muttered.

  "Yis," says he; "but hush! spake low, darlin'! _The boys wint out_!Well, after that, it's little the moon or stars were wanted to light upthe night while there was a full barn on the estate.

  "The country is overrun by the police and the sojers; but it is smallgood they have done, or are likely to do. Starving men don't care muchfor stale or lead; but--"

  Here he paused, and raised his hand.

  "Hush! there's futsteps on the road, and me talking loud enough to beheard a mile off."

  As he spoke, he rose, went stealthily to the door, opened it, and lookedout.

  "There's nothing to be afraid of, it's naither the peelers nor thesogers, it's frinds that's coming."

  As he wint back to his sate, a fine, handsome young fellow brought in alovely girl, exclaiming, as he entered, "God save all here."

  "Amen for that same kindly wish," was our answer.

  They were ould frinds and playmates, the son and daughter of two of thesnuggest farmers on the estate; and I well knew before I sailed forAmerikay they were engaged to be married.

  "I wasn't wrong," said the young man, as he looked hard at me, "it isPhil himself. How's every bit of you? sure it's right glad I am to seeyou here this blessed night."

  "And me, too, Phil," said pretty Mary Sheean, as she took the hand youngO'Rourke left free, and shook it warmly.

  We sat for, maybe, an hour or more, talking over ould times; and it waswith a sad heart I listened to the bad news--for bad enough it was!

  O'Rourke tould me the rason of his visit was to let me know he and Maryhad made up their minds to sail for Amerikay, where they had some frindsdoing well, and it was agreed they would go as steerage passengers withme, three days after date, in the clipper ship, _George Washington_.

  As they rose to depart, and were bidding us a kind good-night, a lowwhistle outside caused us all to start. O'Rourke drew himself up, andcompressed his lips tightly, as he listened for a repetition of thesignal.

  Mary turned deathly pale, and clutched her sweetheart's armconvulsively.

  The whistle was repeated.

  Miles stooped down, kissed the trembling girl's forehead, and,addressing me, hastily said, "Phil, tired as you must be, I know I cantrust to you to see Mary safe home."

  "Why not do so yourself?" asked I.

  "Because I am called, and must obey."

  "Are the boys out to-night?" inquired my father.

  "They are, and will be till--"

  "When?--where?" demanded my mother.

  "No matter," said O'Rourke, "you will know soon enough. Perhaps toosoon."

  The whistle was heard for the third time. O'Rourke rushed from thecottage, exclaiming, "Heaven guard you all!"

  After the lapse of a few minutes, I started with Mary for her father'shouse. As I left her, looking very sad, at the door, I told her to besure to see that O'Rourke was not too late to sail wid me.

  "Little fear of that," said she; "since his father has been ordered toquit the farm, to make way for a friend of the new agent's, he'll beglad to lave the place forever."

  I turned to go home, with a sad heart.

  It was the end of harvest-time; the weather was very sultry, and thenight cloudy and overcast.

  I thought, as I hurried home, we should soon have a heavy thun
der-storm,and fancied the summer lightning was more vivid than usual.

  Just as I reached my father's door, I was startled by the suddenflashing of a fierce flame in the direction of the mansion of the newheir to the splendid estate he inherited from his uncle.

  I doubted for a moment, but then was perfectly sartain the Hall was onfire.

  I dashed off at the top of my speed, taking the nearest cut across thefields to the scene of the conflagrashun.

  As I was pelting along, I heard the fire-bell sounding from the policebarracks, but I got to the place before the sogers or peelers had achance of reaching it.

  A glance convinced me the ould place was doomed; the flames had burstthrough the lower windows, and were carried by the lattice-work, thatreached high above the portico, to the upper story.

  While I was looking at the blazing pile, a horseman galloped at fullspeed up the avenue. Just as he had almost reached the Hall door, andwas reining in his horse to dismount, four or five dark figures appearedto spring suddenly out of the ground, and I heard the report offire-arms--two distinct shots I could swear to. At the first, one ofthe party, who sought to intercept the mounted man, fell; at the second,the rider rolled from his saddle heavily to the ground, and then theother figures disappeared as suddenly as they had at first sprung up.

  I was so thunderstruck, that for some few minutes I could not stir fromthe spot.

  Seeing no sign of the approach of the military or police, curiosity, orsome strong feeling, got the better of my prudence, and I hurriedforward to the scene of slaughter, for such in my heart I felt it was--in the case of at least of one of the fallen men. And there, with thelurid light of the burning building flashing across his deathlike face,and the purple blood welling up from a wound in his chest through hiscambric shirt-frill, lay, stretched in death, the newly appointed agent,and, close beside him, O'Rourke, still living, but drawing every breathwith such difficulty that I felt certain his last hour had come.

  I raised his head, and spoke to him. He knew my voice, and, by asuperhuman effort, managed to support himself on his elbow, as he took asmall purse from his breast-pocket; he placed it in my hand, and said,"Phil, darlin', I know you've the brave and thrue heart, though it'sonly a boy you are. Listen to my last words. Kape my secret, for mysake; never let on to man or mortial you saw me here. Give that purseto Mary--take her to her frinds in Amerikay--she'll never hear of _this_there, and may larn in time to forget me. Tell her we shall meet in abetter place; and hark! my eyes are growing dark, but I can hear wellenough, there are futsteps--they are coming this way; run, for yourlife; if you are found here, you will die on the gallows, and that wouldbreak your poor old father and mother's hearts! Bless you, Phil,alanna! Remember my last words, and, as you hope for mercy, do mybidding!"

  He drew a deep sigh, fell heavily from my arms, rolled over on his side,and there--with the dead agent's fixed and glassy eyes staring thefrightful stare of death straight at him--lay cowld and still!

  The sound of the futsteps came nearer and nearer. I started at my bestspeed for home. When I stepped into the house, the children had beenput to bed, but the ould people were still talking by the dim light ofthe nearly burnt-out turf fire. I wished them good-night, pladingfataigue, and reached my small room without their having an opportunityof noticing the state of alarm and agitation I was in.

  The next day was an awful one for me. The violent death of themiddleman was in every one's mouth; but it was some relief to find nomention was made of the finding the corpse of poor O'Rourke.

  I concluded the footsteps we had both heard were those of some of hisassociates, and that they had carried off and concealed his body.

  I fulfilled O'Rourke's wishes to the best of my power; saw Mary Sheeansafe on boord ship, put her in the care of a dacent, middle-agedcountrywoman of her own--and as I was assuring her, in O'Rourke's words,that he would soon join her, all I had to say was cut short by thearrival of a parcel of peelers on boord, and the rason of their comingwas the assassination of the agent had been discovered. O'Rourke wasmissing, and so suspicion fell on him--and there was a reward of twohundred pounds offered for him. It was thought possible he might be onboord the _George Washington_, and they had come, with a fulldescription of his person, to sarch the ship.

  The passengers--and it was a tadeous job--were all paraded--over threehundred in the steerage, let alone the cabin and the crew--every part ofthe ship was overhauled, but, as may naturally be supposed, no MilesO'Rourke was found.

  I need scarcely tell yez, boys, what a relief that was to pretty MarySheean and myself.

  When the police-officers had left the _George Washington_, she beckonedme to her, and whispered, "Thanks be to the Lord he was not on boord!though I know he would never take any man's life; still, as he was outthat night, it would have gone hard wid him. But, never fear, he'llcome by the next ship; and so I'll wait and watch for him at New York.There's his box--take care of it for him till we get there; and see,here's the kay--mind that, too; maybe I'd lose it."

  I hadn't the heart to undecaive her, so I answered her as cheerfully asI could, put the kay in my pocket and the box in my locker, and wentabout my business, wid a mighty heavy heart entirely.

  All went on smoothly enough--but about the tenth day after we sailed, areport got afloat that the ship was haunted.

  At first, the captain only laughed at such an absurd rumour; but findingthe men believed it, and went unwillingly about their duty after dark,unless in couples, he set to work to find out who had been the firstperson to circulate the story.

  After a deal of dodging and prevarication, it was traced to black Sam,the nigger cook.

  The skipper called the ould darky up to the quarter-deck, and then, inthe hearing of the cabin-passengers and most of the crew, the cookstated, afther we had been at say for a few days, that one night, as hewas dozing in the caboose, he was startled by the appearance of a tallfigure, with a face as pallid as death, noiselessly entering through thehalf-open door. The ghost--for such Sam was willing to swear it was, touse his own words, "on a stack of bibles as high as the main topmast"--had on a blood-stained shroud. It slowly approached the terror-strickencook, who, fearing it intended to do him some bodily harrum, sprang fromhis bunk, and yell'd loudly for assistance. At the first sound of Sam'svoice, the lamp wint out of itself, and the ghost vanished.

  Several sailors bore testimony to hearing the cook screaming for help--to the fearful state of fright he was in; and, as they could see notrace of the apparition Sam so minutely described, confirmed his reportas to the sudden disappearance of the supernatural intruder.

  This was the origin of the report; but, some days after, at least half adozen seamen declared they had seen the self-same spectre gliding aboutthe deck soon after midnight; and among them the boatswain, as brave afellow as ever brandished a rope's-end, declared that, upon wakingsuddenly one night, he saw the ghost sated on his locker, eitherimitating the action of a person ating voraciously, or making a seriesof such horribly ugly grimaces as would have done honour to Vanity Fairitself.

  The whole affair was considered a good joke by the skipper andcabin-passengers; but those in the steerage and the ship's crew placedimplicit confidence in the cook's narrative, corroborated and supportedas it was by the sailors and the boatswain.

  For my part, I had no faith in any worse sperrits than those than thatcome out of a bottle, or, maybe, a hogshead, and I lost no chance oftrotting out the friends of the ghost.

  But my turn had to come--and come it did, with a vingeance.

  One night, boy-like, I had been braggin' mightily loud about my courage.Ould Sam offered to bet his three days' grog against mine I daren'tslape in the caboose he had deserted since he saw the sperrit that samenight.

  The wager was made, and I turned in, thinking what a laugh I should haveagainst the ould darky when I handed him back his complement of rum.

  I'll do the ould nagur the justice to say, whin I accepted the wager, heoffered to let
me off; and, when he found I was determined to stick toit, he warned me, with a sigh that sounded like a groan, I had muchbetter not; but anyway, happen what might, he hoped I would hould himharmless, and forgive him for my misfortune, if any should overtake me.

  Wid a smile, bedad! I promised to do so, and, when the time came,turned into the bunk, and was soon fast aslape.

  How long this lasted, I don't know; but I was suddenly awoke by feelinga cowld, clammy hand passing over my face, and whin I opened mypay-pers, judge of my dread whin I saw the lank spectre I had beenmaking a joke of standing by my side. Bedad! if Saint Patrick'sCathedral was stuck in my throat, I couldn't have felt more nearlychoked. The crature, whatever it was, seemed as tall as the manemast,and as thin as a rasher of wind.

  Every hair on my head sprang up, and my eyes seemed starting out oftheir sockets to meet those of the ghost, which were as big as saucers,and were fixed on mine with a look that seemed to go through and throughthem, and come out at the back of my head.

  I tried to cry out, but I couldn't; but if my tongue couldn't chatter,my teeth could. If the big skeleton's bones had been put in an emptycask, and well shuck up by a couple of strong min, they couldn't havemade a bigger noise than my jaws did.

  I tried my hardest to remimber and reharse a prayer; but sorrow thetaste of one would come into my head. Shure, everything dacent wasfrightened clane out of it. The only good thing I could call to mindwas what my mother taught me to say before males. I thought that wasbetter than nothing, so I whispered out, while I was shivering with thefear that was upon me, "For what I am going to recave, may the Lord makeme truly thankful!"

  Whin I had done, the ghost's jaws moved, and, in a voice so hoarse andhollow, that it might have come from the bottom of a churchyard vault,half-moaned, half-groaned, "It's grace you're saying, you imperint youngblaggard!"

  "It is," says I, trimbling all over. "That is, if it's not displasingto your honour's lordship."

  "That depinds," says he, "upon what you are going to give me to ateafter it."

  "Ate!" says I. "Why, thin, be good to us! can you ate?"

  "Thry me," says he, "and you'll see whether I can or not; and makehaste, for my time's short! I must go down agin almost immadiately, andit isn't the bit or sup I've had for near onto five days; and by rasonof that, although I was a strong man once, it's nearly gone I am!"

  "Gone where?" I asked.

  "To my grave," says he.

  "Bad cess to them, whoever they were, that ought to have done it, anddidn't! Haven't they buried you yet?" I inquired.

  "What would they bury me for?" says he.

  "It's customary with corpses where I come from," I answered.

  "I come from the same place," says he. "They are bad enough there, inall conscience--more particularly, by the same token, the middlemen,tithe-proctors, and excisemen; but they didn't bury live min in mytime," says he.

  "But they did dead ones," says I.

  "Of coorse," he assented. "And it's you that will have to bury memighty soon, unless--"

  "Unless what?" I demanded, in a bigger fright than ever at the thoughtof having to turn sexton to a sperrit.

  "Well, unless you give me something to ate and drink," says he.

  "Take all there is in that locker," says I, "and welcome--and be off outof this."

  "Don't say it agin," says he; and he opened the locker, and walked intothe cook's store like a shark that had been kaping a six weeks' fast.

  It was wonderful to see how the tears stood in the poor ghost's eyes,how his jaws worked, and his throat swelled, as he swallowed mouthfulafter mouthful, the bigness of a big man's fist. In a few minutes heturned to me, and said, "Take my blessing for this, Phil!"

  I was startled to hear the ghost call me by my own name; but as I didn'twant to encourage him to kape on visiting terms, I thought it wouldn'tdo to let him become too familiar, so I said, mighty stiff like, "Fillyourself, honest spirit, as much as you plase, but don't be Phil-ingme--I don't like such freedom on a short acquaintance--and you are nofriend of mine," says I.

  "I was onct," he replied.

  "When?" asked I.

  "When we were in the ould counthry," says he. "When you tuck the pursefrom me for Mary Sheean, and promised to spake the last words I spoke toher."

  When I heard him say that, all my ould fears came over me fifty timesstronger than ever, for hadn't I broken my promise to O'Rourke? And Icould see now, from the family likeness, this was his spirit; andinstead of telling her _all_ he said, only given half his message topoor Mary!

  "Oh, be me sowl, good ghost!" says I.

  "If I'm a ghost, I'm--"

  He made a long pause, so I spoke.

  "Never mind _what_," says I. "I don't want to axe any _post-mortem_questions--"

  "_Blest_!" says he.

  "That's a great relief entirely," says I. "But if you are blessed, I'mno fit company for you; so never mind your manners--don't stay to bid megood-by, but go at onct!"

  "You don't want me to stay?" says he.

  "I don't," I replied.

  "You are more changed than I am," he added.

  "I shouldn't wonder," says I, "seeing the sort of company I am in."

  "Do you find fault with my company?" asked he.

  "I do," says I.

  "And you wish me to go--down below again?"

  "As soon as convanient," says I.

  "Well, Philip Donavan," says he, "aither I or you are mortiallychanged."

  "It's you," says I. "My turn hasn't come yet, but it will, all in goodtime."

  "Phil Donavan, do you know who you are spaking to?"

  "Faix I do, to my sorrow!" says I; "to Miles O'Rourke's ghost!"

  "Miles O'Rourke's ghost!" says he.

  "Dickens a doubt of it!" says I. "Didn't I see his body lying stark anddead, wid the blood welling out in gallons from his heart?"

  "It wasn't my heart, man alive--it was my shoulder; and shure it was theloss of that same that made me faint! Take a hould of my hand, if youdoubt me! There's little left of it but skin and bone; but it's humanstill!"

  It was moightily against my own wish,--and wid a cowld shiver runningdown my back, I did as he asked; but whin I did catch a hould of hisfist, ghost or no ghost, he nearly made mine into a jelly wid thesqueeze he gave it.

  "Murther alive!" says I.

  "Hould your whist! Remember, I'm a ghost!" says he.

  "That's thrue for you!" says I; "and you must continue one for the restof the voyage, or maybe you will be trated as something worse!"

  "What's that?" he asked.

  "A stowaway!" says I. "The skipper's a good man enough; but if hediscovers you, the way he'll sarve you will be awful!"

  "What will he do?" inquired he.

  "Give you thirty-nine and land you!" says I.

  "Land me where?"

  "In the middle of the say!" says I.

  "Murther!" says he.

  "Moighty like it," says I; "but he'll do it!"

  "I'd have to give up the ghost then!" says he.

  "You would, in airnest!" I tould him. "But you mustn't do it yet.Tell me how you come on boord?"

  "I will," says he. "When the boys found me, I had only a flesh wound,and had fainted from loss of blood. They got a car, and smuggled medown to Cork. I had scarcely set my fut on deck, as the peelers camerowing up the side. When the order was given to muster all hands, Imade my way to the hould, and hid myself in the straw in an empty cratein the darkest corner of the place. The men searched pretty closely,but, as good luck would have it, they passed by my hiding-place."

  "You must go back to it. But now, Miles O'Rourke, answer me onequestion, and, as you are a man, answer it truly!"

  "What is it?"

  "Did you kill the agint?"

  Wake as was O'Rourke, he stood grandly up; the ould honest, proud lookcame into his pale, wasted, but still handsome face; and pointing hislong, thin finger to heaven, he said, in a deep, low tone, theearnestness of w
hich I shall never forget to my dying day, "_As I hopefor justice some day here, and mercy hereafter_, I did not!"

  The hug I gave him would have broken many a strong man's ribs, let alonea ghost's; but I couldn't help it. Bedad, if I had been a Roosian bearitself, that hug would have been a credit to me.

  "What on earth am I to do?" asked Miles.

  "Anything you plase," says I, "whin you get there! But you are on thewater now, worse luck--and that's what bothers me. I wouldn't give athrawneen for your life, if you are discovered and recognised as MilesO'Rourke. There's two hundred pounds reward offered for you, and theevidence seems pretty strong against you."

  "How would they know me?" says he. "You didn't--and no wonder! Shurewhin I came on boord I weighed fourteen stone; and now, ten stone in theone scale would pitch me up to the ceiling out of the other!"

  "That's thrue enough," says I; "but you must bear in mind I tuck you forsomebody else's ghost, and didn't make any allowance for the starvingyou have had, which, particularly as a stowaway, they would be sure todo. But now you must get back to the hould. I'll contrive to drop halfmy rations and a trifle of grog down every day--see Mary, and consultwith her. Shure, one woman's wit is worth a dozen men's in a case likethis."

  "But--" says he.

  "Hush!" says I; "I hear futsteps. We are in a tight place now! There'sonly one chance for us: I'm aslape, and you're a ghost again!"

  I fell back in my bunk, and began snoring like a porker wid theinfluenzey, just as the door opened, and the ould nagur poked in hisblack woolly mop.

  Miles stood up to his full height, and raised his hands above his head,as if he was going to pounce upon him.

  The poor cook, terrified beyond measure, fell down as flat as a flounderon his face, shrieking out at the top of his voice, "The ghost!--theghost!"

  O'Rourke stepped over his body, and hurried back to his hiding-place,unseen by the bewildered sailors.

  I pretended to awake from a sound slape, and had the pleasure of hearingthe toughest yarn that ever was spun, from Sam, in which he gave asoul-thrilling description of his encounter and hand-to-hand fight withthe dreadful apparition.

  I saw Mary the next morning, and broke the news of O'Rourke's being onboard as gently as I could. Our plans were soon laid. By the time wecame to an anchor off New York, I contrived to drop, unseen by any one,a bundle, containing a suit of O'Rourke's clothes, shaving materials,and a small looking-glass, down the hold.

  When the passengers were paraded, the police-officer, who had remainedon board, was too much engaged reading the following description of asupposed murderer to pay much attention to pretty Mary Sheean, or thepoor, pale, stooping invalid she was supporting.

  "Two hundred pounds reward for the apprehension of Miles O'Rourke. Description.--Florid face, curling brown hair, large and muscular limbs, finely developed chest. Height, about six feet; weight, rather under fourteen stone."

  Unlike as the half-starved wreck was to what he had been when he came onboord, I was in an agony of fear, until I saw Mary safely landed on theBattery, convulsively grasping the hand of the Ship's Ghost.

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  "Yes, Paddy," says the doctor, "that's all very cheerful andentertaining, but decidedly unscientific, and you didn't tell us how yougot here."

  "Not he!" said Scudds, growling; "I thought it war going to be a realghost."

  "I say, look at him!" said Bostock.

  But nobody would stop to look at him; the men shuffling off once more--all but the doctor and myself--as that figure regularly melted awaybefore our eyes--body, bones, clothes, everything; and at the end offive minutes there was nothing there but a little dust and some clearice.

  "It's very wonderful!" the doctor said; "but it won't do. We must findanother, take him up carefully, and not thaw him out, but get him backto Hull in his ice, like a glass case."

  "Come back, lads; the Irishman's gone," I said; and they came backslowly; and we had to set up the tent in a fresh place, and, while wedid it, the doctor found another body, and set us to work to get it out.

  We got this one out capitally; the ice running like in a grain; andafter six hours' hard work, there lay the body, like an ornament in aglass paper-weight, and the doctor was delighted.

  About two hours after, as we were all sitting together in the tent, weheard a sharp crack, and started; but the doctor said it was only theice splitting with the heat of the sun; and so it proved, for fiveminutes after, in came a gaunt, weird-looking figure, with a strangestare in his glimmering, grey eyes; a wild toss in his long yellow hairand beard, both of which were dashed with patches of white, that lookedas though the colour had changed by damp or mildew, or the bitter,searching cold. With such a dreamy, far-off gaze, he looked beyond themen who sat opposite, that they turned involuntarily and glanced overtheir shoulders, as though they expected to see something uncannypeering at them from behind. His long limbs and wiry frame, togetherwith this strange, eerie expression, give him the air of some old vikingor marauding Jute come to life again, and ready to recite a Norse_rune_, or to repeat a mystic _saga_ of the deep, impenetrable North.

  "Eh," he said, "I was just thinkin' a bit aboot the time when I went wi'Captain Parry to his expedition."

  "Why, you weren't with Captain Parry?" said the doctor.

  "It's aboot mysel' I meant to tel ye, if ye'll no' be so clever wi'contradictin', and I say once more--(here he glowered into space, asthough he saw something a long way off)--I was thinking about a man Imet wi' in about eighty-two degrees o' latitude, when I was out wi'Captain Parry on the third expedition of the _Hecla_, in 1827, at whichtime I was no more than forty year old."

  "Forty in 1827!" said the doctor. "Why, how old do you make yourself?"

  "I'll no mak' _mysel'_ any age; but let us--no' to be particular to ayear or so--put me down at seventy-six or seventy-eight."

  "Ho! ho! ho!" laughed Scudds. "Why, man, you're not above fifty."

  "Weel, if ye maun tell my story yersels--maybe ye'll gi'e me leave toturn in, or light my pipe. I'll no' speak if ye've no wish to hear; butnow I mind that I'm eighty-four year old last Thursday was a week, for Iwas four-and-twenty when I first had ten years' sleep at Slievochan."

  The man's eyes were fixed on space, as though he saw all that he wasabout to narrate going on in some strange way in the dim distance; andexcept an occasional grunt of interest, a deep-drawn breath, or therefilling and relighting of a pipe, all was still as he went on.