The skipper gazed contemptuously on the speaker, then yelled:
“Haunted, you say? Well, get to hell out of it! Or go forward and put up with it!”
“’Tain’t no good, sir, yer carrying on. Ship’s ’aunted, and I, for one, ain’t going forrard no more.”
“You moon-struck, superstitious niggers, clear to hell out of it, or, by God! I’ll put you back,” yelled the now enraged skipper, as he stamped on the deck.
Then the boatswain quickly stepped forward and said:
“Captain, I reckon this ’ere packet’s ’aunted right enough. You can come up by the fore-peak and listen for yourself. We ain’t mad.”
Saying this, old Bully-beef—for that was the boatswain’s nickname—spat on the deck, and then looked the captain steadily in the eyes.
The skipper’s manner immediately changed. He had sailed with Bully-beef for several years, and knew that he was a level-headed old fellow.
For a moment he returned the boatswain’s stare, then he responded:
“Well, I’ll come forward and see your ghost, but, mind you, I don’t want any fooling here. Now then, lads, tell me what’s upset you all?”