“De spirits, or debbils or ghostesses or whoeber do dis yer voo-doo work am writing letters now,� he exclaimed in a dumbfounded tone.
“What do they say?� asked the boys in tones of deep interest.
“Um-ah, les see. Why, dey says hyah, it’s all wrote lak print: Obey de boys an’ be dere fren’ or de torture ob de parrellel oblongata parabolensis will be yours. Mah goodness! what am dat torture?�
“I’ve heard dat it’s a special kin’ de spirits has,� said the Bowery boy, “part of it is to pull off your skin with red hot pincers. I don’t know the rest, but it’s worse.�
“Wusser ’en red hot pincers. Gollyumption! Say, boys, ole Pompey allers bin good to you alls, ain’t he?�
“Sure you have,� said Noddy, “but we’re going to ask you a special favor sometime. Will you do it for us?�
“I sho’ will. Anything at all. Mah goodness if ah didn’t wouldn’ ah get dat parrot yells and parasols torture. Red hot pincers—ugh! Reckon dem spirits ain’t got no hearts at all.â€�
One morning when Raynor came on deck he saw, lying on the sea, not more than half a mile off, an immense iceberg. Its pinnacles glittered in the bright sunlight.
Other bergs floated to the south and east. Ragged fields of ice stretched about them in long floes. The schooner was beating northward in short tacks but did not appear to be making much progress. Just then Terror Carson came on deck. He looked about him and then spoke sharply to the man at the wheel.
“Are we making any northing?� he asked, “Hold her on her course, you lubber.�