O’Toole I was not so certain about, but I made up my mind to try him. So I went with him up the dirty street to Garnett’s favourite haunts in the neighbourhood of the Battery.
As we walked along the old sailor told how he had been overpowered along with the rest of the crew and guard on the Countess of Warwick, and how the convicts had taken to the boats after setting fire to the ship and leaving the whole ship’s company to burn.
One man had finally burned himself clear, and while badly injured had managed to clear one of his comrades. Then they were all cast loose and set to work to build a raft.
They left the burning ship while the villains were fighting us, and were not discovered by them. A vessel had picked them up the fifth day afterward, and a month later landed them at Cape Town. While waiting there a vessel came in, and off her walked O’Toole. He had been afloat twenty days in the open boat, and was all but dead when rescued. His first desire appeared to be to give Garnett a thrashing for having been the indirect cause of his sufferings, as it was owing to Garnett’s steering that caused the Countess of Warwick to remain in our vicinity for such a long time. Had she been a few miles farther off that night, the convicts would probably not have noticed us. In the end, however, the mates compromised matters by becoming friendly again and sailing together for the States.
When we turned into the street that led past the office, I was astonished to find the lower rooms of that building lit up with a bright light which shone through the closed shutters. It was long after office hours, so, fearing there might be a fire within the building, I stopped and looked about me for the watchman. He was not in sight.
Without waiting any longer I made O’Toole and Garnett raise me on their shoulders until I could peep through the shutters into the room.
The gas was burning brightly, and there at a desk sat Mr. Anderson. He was talking, with flushed face and angry gestures, to Brown, who stood quietly before him.
I couldn’t hear the words well enough to distinguish their meaning, but it was evident that something unusual was being discussed.
“What the devil makes you so long about it—is it a ghost?” asked Garnett, who was getting tired holding half my weight.
“No,” I said, “but it might be one soon if it were you in there,” and little did I think as I joked that my words were almost prophetic.