Edwin was by this time a considerably changed man, although but a few days at sea. The rough blue trousers, guernsey, and pea-jacket, took as naturally to his strong limbs as if he had been born and bred a sailor; and already some huge blisters, a few scars, and not a little tar, had rendered his hands creditable.
Steering at the time was a mere matter of form, as a dead calm prevailed. Our philosopher therefore amused himself and Polly with commentaries on the ghost-subject which Burr had raised.
Late that night, when the stars were shining in a cloudless sky, and winking at their reflections in the glassy ocean, the ghost appeared to Edwin Jack. It was on this wise:
Jack, being one of the watch on deck, went to the port bulwarks near the foremast shrouds, leant over, and, gazing down into the reflected sky, thought sadly of past, present, and future. Tiring at last of his meditations, he went towards a man who appeared to be skulking under the shadow of the long-boat and remarked that it was a fine night, but the man made no reply.
“A most enjoyable night, shipmate,” he said, going closer.
“I’m glad you think so,” said the ghost, “it’s anything but enjoyable to me. The state of the weather hasn’t much effect, either one way or another, on a fellow who is half-dead with hunger, half-choked with a cold caught among the rats and stores, and half-killed by a tumble down the fore-scuttle, or whatever may be the name of that vile ladder that leads to the regions below.”
“Surely,” exclaimed Jack in surprise, seizing the ghost by the shoulders and looking close into its face, “I have heard your voice before now, and, eh?—no, I don’t know you.”
“Yes, Philosopher Jack, you do know me,” returned the ghost; “I’ve had the honour of playing cricket with you on the green, though you’ve forgotten me, and no wonder, for I’ve suffered much from bad air and sea-sickness of late. My name is Walter, more familiarly Watty Wilkins.”
“Little Wilkins!” exclaimed Jack, in surprise, “well, you are changed; you don’t mean to say that you’ve run away from home?”
“That’s just what I’ve done,” said the poor lad in a tone of despondency; “but you’ve no occasion to shake your head at me so solemnly, for, to all appearance, you have run away too.”