Before Tim Rokens could reply, something fell with a heavy flop from the yard over their heads right in among the men, and vanished with a shriek. It was Jacko, who, in his nocturnal rambles in the rigging, had been shaken off the yard on which he was perched, by a sudden lurch of the vessel as the tide began to move her about. At any time such an event would have been startling, but at such a time as this it was horrifying. The men recoiled with sharp cries of terror, and then burst into laughter as they observed what it was that had fallen amongst them. But the laughter was subdued, and by no means hearty.
“I’ll be the death o’ that brute yet,” said Gurney, wiping the perspiration from his forehead; “but go on, Rokens; what was it you saw?”
“It was the ghost,” replied Rokens, as the men gathered round him again—“a long, thin ghost, standin’ at my bedside. The light was so dim that I couldn’t well make it out, but I saw that it was white, or pale-like, and that it had on a pointed cap, like the cap o’ an old witch. I thought I should ha’ died outright, and I lay for full five minits tremblin’ like a leaf and starin’ full in its face. At last I started up in despair, not knowin’ well wot to do; and the moment I did so the ghost disappeared.
“I thought this was very odd, but you may be sure I didn’t find fault with it; so after lookin’ all round very careful to make quite sure that it was gone, I lay down again on my back. Well, would ye b’lieve it, shipmates, at that same moment up starts the ghost again as bold as iver? And up starts I in a fright; but the moment I was up the ghost was gone. ‘Now, Tim Rokens,’ says I to myself, always keepin’ my eye on the spot where I’d last seed the ghost, ‘this is queer; this is quite remarkable. You’re dreamin’, my lad, an’ the sooner ye put a stop to that ’ere sort o’ dreamin’ the better.’
“Havin’ said this, I tried to feel reckless, and lay down again, and up started the ghost again with its long thin white body, an’ the pointed cap on its head. I noticed, too, that it wore its cap a little on one side quite jaunty like. So, wheniver I sot up that ’ere ghost disappeared, and wheniver I lay down it bolted up again close beside me. At last I lost my temper, and I shouts out quite loud, ‘Shiver my timbers,’ says I, ‘ghost or no ghost, I’ll knock in your daylights if ye carry on like that any longer;’ and with that I up fist and let drive straight out at the spot where its bread-basket should ha’ bin. Down it went, that ghost did, with a clatter that made the old room echo like an empty church. I guv it a rap, I did, sich as it hadn’t had since it was born—if ghosts be born at all—an’ my knuckles paid for it, too, for they was skinned all up; then I lay down tremblin’, and then, I dun know how it was, I went to sleep.
“Next mornin’ I got up to look for the ghost, and, sure enough, I found his remains! His pale body lay in a far corner o’ the room doubled up and smashed to bits, and his pointed cap lay in another corner almost flat. That ghost,” concluded Rokens, with slow emphasis—“that ghost was the candle, it wos!”
“The candle!” exclaimed several of the men in surprise.
“Yes, the candle, and brass candlestick with the stinguisher a-top o’t. Ye see, lads, the candle stood close to the side o’ my bed on the table, an’ when I woke up and I saw it there, it seemed to me like a big thing in the middle o’ the room, instead o’ a little thing close to my nose; an’ when I sot up in my bed, of coorse I looked right over the top of it and saw nothin’; an’ when I lay down, of coorse it rose up in the very same place. An’, let me tell you, shipmates,” added Tim, in conclusion, with the air of a philosopher, “all ghosts is o’ the same sort. They’re most of ’em made o’ wood or brass, or some sich stuff, as I’ve good cause to remimber, for I had to pay the price o’ that ’ere ghost before I left that there hinn on the lonesome moor, and for the washin’ of the blankets, too, as wos all kivered with blood nixt mornin’ from my smashed knuckles. There’s a morial contained in most things, lads, if ye only try for to find it out; an’ the morial of my story is this—don’t ye go for to b’lieve that everything ye don’t ’xactly understand is a ghost until ye’ve got to know more about it.”
While Tim Rokens was thus recounting his ghostly experiences, and moralising thereon, for the benefit of his comrades, the silent tide was stealthily creeping up the sides of the Red Eric, and placing her gradually on an even keel. At the same time a British man-of-war was creeping down upon that innocent vessel with the murderous intention of blowing her out of the water, if possible.
In order to explain this latter fact, we must remind the reader of the boat and crew of the Portuguese slaver which was encountered by the party of excursionists on their trip down the river. The vessel to which that boat belonged had been for several weeks previous creeping about off the coast, watching her opportunity to ship a cargo of slaves, and at the same time to avoid falling into the hands of a British cruiser which was stationed on the African coast to prevent the villainous traffic. The Portuguese ship, which was very similar in size and shape to the Red Eric, had hitherto managed to elude the cruiser, and had succeeded in taking a number of slaves on board ere she was discovered. The cruiser gave chase to her on the same afternoon as that on which the Red Eric grounded on the mud-bank off the mouth of the river. Darkness, however, favoured the slaver, and when the land breeze failed, she was lost sight of in the intricacies of the navigation at that part of the coast.
Towards morning, while it was yet dark, the Red Eric floated, and Captain Dunning, who had paced the deck all night with a somewhat impatient tread, called to the mate— “Now, Mr Millons, man the boats, and let some of the hands stand-by to trim the sails to the first puff of wind.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” answered the mate, as he sprang to obey.
Now it is a curious fact, that at that identical moment the captain of the cruiser addressed his first lieutenant in precisely the same words, for he had caught a glimpse of the whaler’s topmasts against the dark sky, and mistook them, very naturally, for those of the slaver. In a few seconds the man-of-war was in full pursuit.
“I say, Dr Hopley,” remarked Captain Dunning, as he gazed intently into the gloom astern, “did you not hear voices? and, as I live, there’s a large ship bearing right down on us!”
“It must be a slaver,” replied the doctor; “probably the one that owned the boat we saw up the river.”
“Ship on the larboard bow!” shouted the look-out on the forecastle.
“Hallo! ships ahead and astern!” remarked the captain, in surprise. “There seems to be a ‘school’ of ’em in these waters.”
At this moment the oars of the boats belonging to the ship astern were heard distinctly, and a light puff of wind at the same time bulged out the sails of the Red Eric, which instantly forged ahead.
“Ship ahoy!” shouted a voice from the boats astern in a tone of authority; “heave-to, you rascal, or I’ll sink you!”
Captain Dunning turned to the doctor with a look of intense surprise.
“Why, doctor, that’s the usual hail of a pirate, or something like it. What it can be doing here is past my comprehension. I would as soon expect to find a whale in a wash-tub as a black flag in these waters! Port, port a little” (turning to the steersman)—“steady—so. We must run for it, anyhow, for we’re in no fightin’ trim. The best answer to give to such a hail is silence.”
Contrary to expectation the boats did not again hail, but in a few minutes the dark hull of the British cruiser became indistinctly visible as it slipped swiftly through the water before the freshening breeze, and neared the comparatively slow-going whaler rapidly. Soon it came within easy range, and while Captain Dunning looked over the taffrail with a troubled countenance, trying to make her out, the same voice came hoarsely down on the night breeze issuing the same peremptory command.
“Turn up the hands, Mr Millons, and serve out pistols and cutlasses. Get the carronades on the forecastle and quarterdeck loaded, Mr Markham, and look alive; we must show