"The sort of night for meeting with the Demon Ship, eh, Fenton?" cried he, with a laugh that did not sound perfectly natural.
"There's no chance of such a meeting, I fear, sir."
"You fear?"
"Well," I exclaimed, struck by his quick catching up of me, "I mean that as the Demon Ship, as you term her, is one of the wonders of the world, the seeing of her would be a mighty experience—something big enough in that way to keep a man talking about it all his life."
"God avert such a meeting!" said he, lifting his hat, and turning up his face to the stars.
I suppose, thought I, that our drawing close to the seas in which the Phantom cruises has stirred up his superstitious fears afresh.
"Did you speak to any one at Cape Town about Vanderdecken, sir?" said I.
"No," he answered. "I had got my bellyfull from the master of the snow. What is there to ask?"
"Whether others have lately sighted the ship."
"Why, yes, I might have inquired, certainly, but it didn't enter my head. Tell ye what, though, Fenton, do you remember our chat t'other day about bodies being endevilled after they pass an age when by the laws of great Nature they should die?"