And now this singular craft was illuminated from stem to stern by a soft, white light that showed its outlines plainly.

"Sint Patherick presarve us!" panted Barney Mulloy.

"I am getting tired of being chased around by a canoe!" said Frank, in disgust, as he hastily sought one of the rifles.

"Don't shoot!" entreated the professor, in great alarm.

"Av yer do, our goose is cooked!" fluttered Barney.

Frank threw a fresh cartridge into the rifle, and turned toward the open door, his mind fully made up.

And then, to the profound amazement of all three, seated in the canoe there seemed to be an old man, with white hair and long, white beard.

The soft, white light seemed to come from every part of his person, as it came from the canoe.

Frank Merriwell paused, with the rifle partly lifted.

"It's th' spook himsilf!" gasped Barney, covering his face with his hands, and clinging to the professor.

"That's right!" faintly said Scotch. "For mercy's sake, don't shoot, Frank! We're lost if you do!"

Frank was startled and astonished, but he was determined not to lose his nerve, no matter what happened.

The man in the canoe seemed to be looking directly toward the cabin. He slowly lifted one hand, and pointed away across the Everglades, at the same time motioning with the other hand, as if for them to go in that direction.

"I'll just send a bullet over his head, to see what he thinks of it,"

said Frank, softly, lifting the rifle.

Then another startling thing happened.

Canoe and man disappeared in the twinkling of an eye!

The trio in the hut gasped and rubbed their eyes.

"Gone!" cried Frank.

"Vanished!" panted the professor.

"An' now Oi suppose ye'll say it wur no ghost?" gurgled Barney.

It was extremely dark beneath the shadow of the cypress trees, and not a sign of the mysterious canoe could they see.

"It is evident he did not care to have me send a bullet whizzing past his ears," laughed Frank, who did not seem in the least disturbed.

"What are your nerves made of?" demanded Professor Scotch, in a shaking tone of voice. "They must be iron!"

"Hark!"

Frank's hand fell on the professor's arm, and the three listened intently, hearing something that gave them no little surprise.

From far away through the night came the sound of hoa.r.s.e voices singing a wild, doleful song.

"Hamlet's ghost!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the professor.

"Pwhat the Ould Nick does thot mane?" cried Barney.

"Hark!" Frank again cautioned. "Let's see if we can understand the words they are singing. Be still."

"We sailed away from Gloucester Bay, And the wind was in the west, yo ho!

And her cargo was some New England rum; Our grog it was made of the best, yo ho!"

"A sailor's song," decided Frank, "and those are sailors who are singing. We are not alone in the Everglades."

"They're all drunk," declared the professor. "You can tell that by the sound of their voices. Drunken men are dangerous."

"They're a blamed soight betther than none, fer it's loikely they know th' way out av this blissed swamp," said Barney.

"They may bub-bub-be pup-pup-pup-pirates!" chattered the professor.

"What sticks me," said Frank, "is how a party of sailors ever made their way in here, for we are miles upon miles from the coast. Here is another mystery."

"Are ye fer takin' a look at th' loikes av thim, Frankie?"

"Certainly, and that without delay. Come, professor."

"Never!"

"What do you mean?"

"I am not going near those ruffianly and bloodthirsty pirates."

"Then you may stay here with the spooks, while Barney and I go."

This was altogether too much for the professor, and, when he found they really intended to go, he gave in.

Frank loaded the rifles and the shotgun, and took along his bow and arrows, even though Barney made sport of him for bothering with the last.

They slipped the canoe into the water, and, directed by Frank, the professor succeeded in getting in without upsetting the frail affair.

"Oi hope we won't run inther the ghost," uttered the Irish boy.

"The sound of that singing comes from the direction in which the old man seemed to point," said Frank.

This was true, as they all remembered.

The singing continued, sometimes sinking to a low, droning sound, sometimes rising to a wild wail that sounded weirdly over the marshland.

"Ready," said Frank, and the canoe slipped silently over the dark surface of the water course.