Some time elapsed before the poor fellows rallied sufficiently to speak on the subject; and meanwhile, there flashed upon my memory, some strange and weird old Celtic tales, which a Highland boy at Eton was wont to tell us, of ships which in the days of Ossian, traversed the steep hills and the salt lochs of Morven with equal facility.
"It is a ship—or rather the representation of a veritable ship—which cannot be far off the island, and is making for it at this moment," said Hislop, emphatically.
"How far off do you think she is, sir?" asked Hugh Chute, mockingly.
"Perhaps twenty miles—perhaps a hundred—it is impossible to say."
"Perhaps ten thousand?" queried Tom Lambourne, with great irritation.
"It was the ship of the Flying Dutchman!" said Probart, the carpenter.
"I've seen many a queer thing in my time, but never the like of this before!" exclaimed Carlton.
"Though foul weather don't matter much to us here, it will be sure to follow;—so I say, mates," resumed Probart, "it was the Flying Dutchman and nought else!"
"Vanderdecken or the devil come for Antonio," added Ned Carlton; "and whether he has shipped aboard that craft or not, hang me shipmates, if we should stay another hour on the island with it, or with him, or where such things are seen."
"Yes, yes," said all the rest; "let us take to the long-boat again, and sheer off."