“Oh, it’s horrible,” said Brace bitterly. “So well and strong only yesterday when seeing to our cases and luggage, and now—”
“Dead,” said Sir Humphrey sadly, “and—”
“Boat ahoy!” shouted one of the men, drawing attention to a canoe paddled by a black, coming down with the tide in mid-stream, and only a few hundred yards above where the brig swung from her chain cable, which dipped down from her bows into the muddy water.
At the hail a second man; a white, with a coloured handkerchief tied about his head, rose up in the stern of the fragile vessel, snatched off the handkerchief to wave it above his head, and nearly capsized the canoe, only saving it by dropping down at once.
“Ugh!” yelled one of the crew, a big bronzed fellow of six- or seven-and-twenty, and, turning sharply round, he upset one of his mates as he made for the forecastle hatch, but was hindered from going below by the brothers, who were standing between him and the opening.
“What is it, Tommy, mate?” shouted one of the men.
“Look, look!” groaned the scared sailor. “His ghost—his ghost!”
In an instant the rest of the men took fright and shrank away from the bows, to hang together in a scared-looking group, the first man, addressed as Tommy, holding one hand to his mouth as if to check his chattering teeth.
“Stand by there with a rope,” came from the boat; but not a man stirred, and just then the captain and mate came trotting up from aft.
“Here, what’s the matter, my lads?” cried the former.