“What do you think it?”
“Why, but what is it?” I responded.
“A spirit of the sea!” he exclaimed in a sepulchral voice; “the ghost of a dead sailor who has grown tired with flying and is resting himself on the yard-arm. The souls of dead seamen always carry lanterns with them to show them the road on dark nights after this pattern.”
As he spoke the fiery exhalation disappeared.
“Ha! he’s started again!” cried Poole. “He’ll meet with another ship presently and take another spell of rest.”
“A very good explanation, Mr. Poole,” exclaimed the voice of the mate, “but not strictly scientific, sir.”
He had been standing within earshot of us, yet was utterly indistinguishable in the blackness.
“The light, Rockafellar,” continued the officer, “is what is called by sailors a corposant. It is supposed that the points of iron on board a ship kindle into a flame some quality of electricity in the air. I daresay it will show again in a minute. Yes, as I thought.... It is on the topsail yard-arm now.”