PRESENTLY Owen suggested that they shift their anchorage to a more advantageous point; and they had just raised the anchor when Owen exclaimed, “I’ve forgotten the kettle!”
“Let it go,” said McConnell. It had been one of his contributions to the supplies.
“No,” Owen insisted, “I don’t feel like giving it up. It has been good to us and we mustn’t leave it behind. Back her a little with the oar, Allan, and I’ll skip up and get it.”
With the oar Allan pushed the Arabella nearer the shore and Owen sprang out, landing on a broad stone, and disappeared among the bushes.
Dropping the oar on the deck, Allan sat down beside McConnell. The river was very still. They could see nothing but a few feet of the bank. Everywhere else was the gray, silent fog—a cold fog that made the boys shiver.
Less than a minute after he had seated himself beside McConnell, Allan felt something jar the Arabella. His first thought was that the boat had drifted into shallow water, and had either grounded or bumped a rock. As he turned his head he caught sight, over the bow, of a skiff, a low skiff without oars; and at the same moment the head of a man appeared above the deck line of the Arabella.
“Keep quiet,” said the man.
The voice in which the man spoke was neither loud nor harsh, and was not above a whisper in volume; yet it gave Allan a feeling of horror. It was the voice of one exhausted, of one desperate.
“Quiet!” repeated the man, this time more threateningly, and his eyes fixed themselves on Allan in a quivering stare. As he looked more definitely into the man’s face, Allan became aware that he had seen it before. Changed as the face was, there could be no doubt that it was that of the Ghost. And it arose beside Allan as the man stood up in the skiff, and, with a quick motion, stepped into the Arabella.
The boys now saw, with increased horror, that the man of the ghastly white face wore the clothes of a convict.