"Yes, sir, at noon today one came near alighting on the end of the jibboom."
"You must have mistaken it for a sea-gull," said I.
"No, sir; it was no sea-gull. I have been sailing the seas for thirty-four years, and I have seen and heard strange things."
"Well, suppose it did light on the jibboom; it has to get a rest sometimes."
"They have their island homes and never come near a ship, unless," speaking very softly, "unless some one is going to die."
"Nonsense, Charlie. Surely you don't believe in such foolishness."
"I started to tell you some time back about an old ship I was in off the Cape of Good Hope. Maybe you remember her, she was called 'The Mud Puddler,'" and Charlie continued with a grin, "she was never in the mud while I was on her."
"Yes," said I, "I remember her. She sailed from Liverpool, didn't she?"
"Yes, sir; that's her; four-masted and bark-rigged. Well, as I was saying, we left Calcutta bound for Hamburg. One night, off the Cape, it was my lookout. It was a fine night with a fresh breeze, and we were ploughing along about eight knots. I heard two bells go aft, and in that ship we had to answer all bells on the foc's'le head."
"Is it one o'clock so soon?" thought I.