“Waal, Skipper,” said the first spokesman, “we can’t get no sleep, for, by God! there’s a spirit down in the hold. We heard it talking last night to another of its kind, and then it moaned like a mad thing and started to sing. Ain’t that right, Billy?”
As the Yankee gave this information, he turned to another sailor, who immediately stepped forward to corroborate the evidence:
“Sir, it’s right enough. I went on deck last night and stamped my foot, thinking to frighten the thing away, but it only wailed louder and louder still, and started to speak. So I puts my ear to the deck, by the hatchway, and listens. Blowed if I didn’t hear it moan and say: ‘Oh, Christ, protect me. Sink the ship. Mercy! Mercy!’”
“You did, did you?” said the skipper emphatically, as he pulled his cap back from his forehead.
Walking down the poop gangway, he said: “Come on! We’ll soon see about your ghost.”
In a moment the crew and the huddled Kanakas—for we had several natives amongst us—followed the Old Man.
As we all stood assembled by the fore-peak, we listened. Only the sound of the long-drawn roar of the dipping bows and the jiggle of the screw disturbed the vast silence of the calm sea.
One of the crew stamped his foot on the deck. Then they all listened again. They heard a noise.
“’Ear that, sir?” said the boatswain.
“Hear what?” said the skipper, as he looked aloft as the rigging rattled and the smoke from the funnel slewed about and went south-west like a great bank of cloud beneath the stars. “Why, you damned lot of cowards, I’m blessed if you are not all frightened of the wind’s whistle in the rigging!”