After many days of difficulty we passed the Strait of Gibraltar, and on the 18th of July were safely anchored in the Bay of Naples, where I sold the claret, which Von Rotterdaam had changed into water, as the latest mineral product of the Schnitzelhammerstein Spa.
But from the hour of my refusal to compromise with my honor and become the successor and partner of Von Rotterdaam in the profession of piracy we had trouble on board.
Letting my cargo alone, he introduced a system of haunting my crew, so that at the end of several years not a German-speaking sailor was anxious to ship with me, except at ruinously high wages. I found some, but not many, and finally I was reduced to the followers of the two men I have already mentioned—Hans Stickenfurst and Diedrich Foutzenhickle—men who had never known fear, and who, when Von Rotterdaam haunted them, merely laughed and blew the vile-smelling smoke from their pipes into his face. But while the pirate ghost was powerless to fill the men with fear, he did arouse a great interest in the stories of his booty which he told. Night after night, lying in my cabin, I could hear him in the forecastle telling them tales of his prowess, and giving forth vague hints as to where vast treasure was hid which might become theirs if only I would come around and become his successor. The night we entered port I overheard a compact made between them, that on the next outward voyage they would first reason with me and persuade me, if possible, to accept his proposition, and, failing in that, to seize the ship, put me in the long-boat, turn me adrift, and place themselves subject to Von Rotterdaam's orders.
That was a year ago. Since then, until this ill-fated voyage (by-the-way, as I look up the water is clear over the port window, and is beginning to trickle in under the door, so I must again hasten)—until this ill-fated voyage, I was not again on the sea, and having in mind the threats of my crew, which they do not even now know that I overheard, I secured for this voyage the crew of an Irish bark, discharging all my previous men.
"I will at least have men who do not understand Dutch or German," I thought, "and for this voyage shall be comparatively safe. To insure against a possible turning adrift in the long-boat, I shall likewise sail without it."
Alas for all my expectations! While neither Sullivan nor O'Brien, as I had supposed, was acquainted with the native tongue of Von Rotterdaam, that talented ghost could speak English with as fine a brogue as ever gilded speech; and, worse than this, Sullivan, the carpenter, was a fly-away fool. Genial, full of good stories, and an excellent carpenter (the deck beneath my feet is bulging upward), he was absolutely without foresight, and it is to him I owe my present plight.
It happened this afternoon. The day had been absolutely calm and still. Not a ripple on the sea, not a breath of wind to stir even the frayed hemp in the rigging, and yet down, down, down we are sinking, for Sullivan has sawed a hole in our bottom big enough to let a man through!
I didn't suppose he would do it, but he has; and because last night while he and Rafferty, my second mate, were smoking in the forecastle, Von Rotterdaam's spirit rose up before them, and, arousing their cupidity, led them astray.
"For the love of the shaints!" cried Rafferty, as the ghost appeared, "phwat are you?"
Rotterdaam replied, "A spherit of the poirate Von Rotterdaam; and here where I stand, directly below me, in five fathoms of water, lies a million in treasure."