This Seal opened boldly, and we found ourselves in a small cabin, quite light—for the big square window had been broken out—and furnished in the same antique style as the big saloon above.
It had an occupant—the strangest-looking creature I ever saw.
He was an old man with long white hair and white beard, a man with a thin, haggard face and black, deep-sunken eyes. On first entering he escaped our notice, but we saw him crouching beneath the table, hiding from us in terror.
His dress, ragged and tattered, was of three centuries ago—short breeches, a doublet of faded crimson velvet, and an old coat with puffed sleeves, while in his hand he carried a rusty poniard and seemed prepared to spring out upon us.
I shall never forget the ghastly look of hatred and terror upon the queer old fellow’s countenance as he faced us. We all three stood absolutely dumfounded. It was very interesting to discover a ship lost for three centuries, but to find a survivor still on board was incredible.
Yet there was a human being actually in the flesh; a weird old fellow who, for aught we could tell, had lived on board that vessel for ages.
“Come out, sonny,” cried Seal, when he found tongue; “we won’t eat you.”
In response the weird individual gave vent to that same shrill cry of rage that had first attracted our attention, brandishing his knife threateningly, but not budging an inch from his hiding-place.
“Enough of that, my man,” exclaimed the captain, authoritatively. “Come out and talk like a Christian. Where are you bound for? and how many days are you out?”
“The bloomin’ ship’s about three ’undred years overdue, I should fancy,” remarked Dicky Dunn, who was the ship’s humorist.