Old Chissel had become a completely altered character. His conscience told him that he was the cause of poor Bobby’s death. He grew thin and pale; his voice was no longer heard in loud dispute with his brother officer, the boatswain; and even his manner was softened towards his inferiors. The men remarked the change; and all argued that the ghost had done him some good at all events, though it certainly confirmed them in their belief of its existence. Night after night, no sooner was it dark, and the watch below turned in, than Dirty Bob’s ghost was sure to appear to some one or other; till at length the gun-room officers heard of the matter, and ultimately the captain himself was informed of it.
At the same time a curious circumstance occurred. Every morning one or other of the messes had to complain that their bread-bags had been rifled, and different sorts of eatables had disappeared in a most unaccountable manner. None of the men suggested for a moment that the ghost had anything to do with the matter—for what could a ghost want with biscuit, bacon, or cheese; but Captain Poynder, who at length heard of this also, had, it appeared, formed a different notion on the subject.
Two of the marines—steady old hands—who were ready to believe or disbelieve in ghosts or spirits, and to fight carnal or spiritual enemies in any shape or of any colour, as their superior officers might command them, were sent for into the cabin. What their orders were I do not know; but one of them, Jabez Cartridge, was placed that night as sentry on the lower deck.
The first watch had nearly run out, and Jabez, who had his eyes about him in every direction, had seen nothing of the ghost, when, as it had just gone seven bells, he fancied that he observed a dark object gliding about under the hammocks. He stood as upright and stiff as his own ramrod. So immovable was he, that any one might have supposed him asleep on his post; but his little black eyes were not the less vigilant. The dark object moved slowly and cautiously on till it reached the lockers, where the men’s mess things were kept.
Jabez saw that it had hands, and, by the peculiar movement of those hands, he came to the conclusion that it had pockets. Still a ghost might have hands, and trousers too, for what he knew to the contrary. To convince himself, he sprang forward, and the ghost, with an unearthly shriek, took to flight; but Jabez was too quick for the phantom, and grasping him tight, he sung out, “I don’t care if you be a ghost or not, but I’ve got you, at all events.”
“Oh, let me go, let me go! and I’ll lie snug and quiet till we get into harbour, and then I’ll leave the ship and never come back—that I won’t,” answered the ghost, in piteous accents.
But Jabez was inexorable, and dragging him to the sentry’s lantern, by its sickly light discovered features which belonged to no other than Bobby Smudge.
“Why, where have you been, you young scoundrel, all the time?” asked Jabez.
“In the coal-hole,” blubbered out poor Bobby. “I never thought of doing harm to no one; but I can’t live without eating. Oh! let me go back,—oh! do, now.”
“My order is to take you to the captain,” replied Jabez, unmoved; and forthwith to the captain’s cabin the unhappy Smudge was led captive.