"Where is the chase?" I asked, not being able to see forwards on account of the swelling foresail and other intervening objects. "I suppose she's right ahead, eh?"

"No, sir. Jist come here alongside o' me at the taffrail," said he.

"Now foller my finger, sir. Look, there she is, two points off our starboard bow. She was hull down jist now, but we're rising her fast, sir. See, there she be right under the foreyard there!"

I looked in the direction he indicated, and could very faintly in the distance see something white like a sail, almost out of sight on the ocean ahead.

"But, Masters," said I, having no gla.s.s with me to bring her nearer, and seeing she was too far off for me to distinguish her with the naked eye, "are you certain she's the same craft?"

"As sartin, Master Haldane," he answered solemnly, "aye, as sartin as that when we goes aboard her, as go aboard her we must, we shall both be a-goin' to our death! That's the 'ghost-ship,' Master Haldane, as you and I've seed three times afore. May I die this minute if she ain't!"

"Die! don't talk such nonsense, Masters."

"It ain't no nonsense, Master Haldane," he retorted, and looking the picture of misery and unhappiness. "That there ship means no good to you nor me, nor to none of them as seed her afore, I knows. It's her, sure enuff. No mortal ship could sail on like that continually since Friday, right afore the wind, and still allers be a-crossin' our hawser, though her canvas be tore to ribbings and never a man aboard, as we've seed. It ain't nat'ral, nohow. Aye, she be the 'ghost-ship' and no mistake,--and G.o.d help us all!"

I noticed at the moment a telescope lying on the top of the saloon skylight, which Mr Fosset must have left behind him in his haste, when he came from the bridge to hail the skipper and then hurried back to his post; so, quickly catching up the gla.s.s, I scanned the distant sail, which grew more perceptible every minute.

Yes, there was no doubt about it.

She was a full-rigged ship running before the wind, but going a bit every now and then off her course as if under no proper guidance or management, while all her sails were torn and hanging anyhow, and her spars and rigging apparently at sixes and sevens, as though she had been terribly mauled by the weather.

"For Heaven's sake, tell me!" cried the colonel, who had approached me un.o.bserved while I was looking through the telescope. "Tell me, is she there? Can you see her?"

"Yes, sir," said I. "I can see her, and it's the same ship I saw the other night. It is the _Saint Pierre_!"

"Ha!" he exclaimed, his black eyes flashing into a pa.s.sion that made him forget his lameness, as he strode to the side of the vessel, where, resting one hand on the rail, he shook the other menacingly at the ill- fated craft, now with her hull well above the horizon. "Ah, you black devils, we'll settle you at last!"

Meanwhile, the skipper, who had gone up to join Mr Fosset on the bridge after leaving us below so suddenly, was making his way aft again; and on the colonel turning round from the rail he found him at his back, looking over his shoulder at the ship we were approaching.

The skipper was all agog with excitement.

"By George!" he exclaimed. "We're closing on her fast now, colonel!"

"How soon, Senor Applegarth, do you think we'll be before we're alongside her?"

"In about half an hour at the outside, sir, unless something gives way.

We would have been up to her before if she had been lying-to; but she's going ahead too, like ourselves, and not making bad way either, considering the state she's in aloft, and her yawing this way and that.

It is wonderful how she keeps on!"

"Oh dear! oh dear! she's possessed, as your companion here said just now to the young Senor Haldane."

"Oh, you mustn't mind what the bo'sun says," observed the skipper.

"He's chock full of the old superst.i.tions of the sea, and makes mountains out of molehills."

"The deuce! he's not far wrong about the _Saint Pierre_, though, for if ever a ship had the devil aboard, I'm sure she has, in the shape of that villainous black 'marquis'!"

"Then the sooner the better for us to see about 'Scotching' your de'il,"

cried the skipper with a laugh that meant business, I knew. "I'm now going to call the hands aft and prepare for the fight, and they shall have it hot, I can tell you," said he.

"Have you got arms enough for them, sir? Those rascals will make a stubborn resistance, and there's a big lot of them still left in the ship, remember!"

The skipper laughed outright at this.

"Lord bless you, colonel!" said he, "the steamers of our line are fitted out in their way very like men-of-war; and I have enough rifles and cutla.s.ses in the arm chest below to rig out more than twice the number of the crew we carry, besides revolvers for all the officers. This, however, will be short and sharp work, as we're going to run your black devils by the beard; so I shall only serve out cutla.s.ses."

"But you'll spare me a revolver, Senor Applegarth? I left mine, as you are aware, behind me," said he with a smile, "and I should like to have another shot or two at my friend, the 'marquis'!"

"Aye, aye, colonel, you shall have one, and a good one too, and so shall all those who know how to use a pistol properly; but, for close hand-to- hand fighting, I prefer cold steel myself."

Colonel Vereker joined in the skipper's grim chuckle, which suited his mood well.

"Yes, sir, that's true," he rejoined; "but a revolver isn't to be sneezed at, all the same!"

"No colonel, your leg'll bear witness to that," said the skipper as he turned to me. "Run down quickly, Haldane, to the arm chest in my state room--here are the keys--and pick out a dozen or so cutla.s.ses and boarding-pikes, with a revolver apiece for all on the quarter-deck, and half a dozen rounds of ammunition. You can get Weston to help you to bring the lot up here. Look smart; I want to serve them out at once, as we're now coming up with the chase, and there's no time to lose."

Down I scuttled into the saloon with the skipper's bunch of keys; and, calling the steward to help me, went into the after cabin, where Garry O'Neil still remained, wetting the bandage round the head of the French captain, and doing it too with greater delicacy of touch than the most experienced and flippant of hospital nurses.

Garry was delighted when I told him what I came about.

"Houly Moses!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed; "why that's the virry job for me, sure.

Here, Weston, you ugly thaife of a son of a gun, come here! There's going to be some rare foightin' on deck prisintly; an' as I know ye don't loike to be afther spoilin' that beautiful mug o' yours, you jist sit down there, alannah, an' moind this poor chap here till I come below ag'in, whilst I help Musther Haldane, too, with thim murtherin' arms that give one a could chill, faith, to look at, bad cess to 'em."

He gave me a sly wink as he said this, which was unperceived by Weston, who accepted the proposed change of duty with an alacrity that showed he had no stomach for warfare procedure, and Garry and I very speedily took up a bundle of weapons each on to the p.o.o.p, laying them down close beside the skipper, who stood against the rail.

"Ah, doctor," said the colonel, who was sitting down near by on the skylight hatchway, resting himself before the battle should begin, on seeing Garry come up the companion, "how's my poor friend now?"

"Faith, he's still unconshus," replied he, handing him a big revolver with a cartridge belt attached; "ah, sure, I 'spect he'll remain so, too, colonel, till you've had toime to polish off the rest of thim schoindrels we're afther. Indade, it's going off loike that the poor crayture will be, I'm afeard, whin it comes to the ind. I don't think he'll ayther spake or move ag'in in this loife."

But Garry was mistaken in this diagnosis of his, as events turned out; but, ere he could say another word, just then as the colonel was going to make a reply to him, the skipper hammered on the deck with a marling- spike to attract attention and give a hail at the very top of his voice that made us all jump, it was so loud and unexpected.

"Ahoy there, forrad!" he shouted in stentorian tones that rang fore and aft like a trumpet. "Bo'sun, send the hands aft."

"Say, cap'en," sang out Mr Fosset from the bridge, "shall I call up the fellows down below in the stoke-hold, sir?"

"Aye. Ring the engine-room gong. I want every man-jack on deck that Mr Stokes can spare; tell him so."

While old Masters was sounding his boatswain's pipe and while busy feet were tramping aft, the men were beginning to cl.u.s.ter in the waist immediately below the back of the p.o.o.p. And here Captain Applegarth stood stern and erect like an old lion, his cap off and his wavy grey hair fluffed out over his head by the wind. While this was happening we could hear the distant sound of the engine-room bell, and then there came a hail from Mr Fosset.

"Mr Stokes is sending up every one from below, sir," yelled out the first mate. "He says he can manage by himself now that we're nearly up to the chase, with the help of a couple of the other firemen; and the engineers and stokers, the whole lot of them in a batch, have volunteered to come on deck and join the boarding party."

"That's your sort, my hearty," cried the skipper enthusiastically, looking down at the sea of excited faces below gazing up expectantly at his, awaiting the stirring words they knew to be coming, all having got wind of the approaching fray. "Now, men, I have summoned the lot of you aft because--well, because I've got something to say to you."

"Bully for you, old man," exclaimed one of the men, amidst a grand roar, while I could distinguish, distinctly above the other voices of the crew, Accra Prout, the mulatto cook's laugh as he called out approvingly, "Golly, dat so, sonny!"

"Heavens!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Colonel Vereker, seemingly, like myself, to recognise the voice at once, "who's that?" said he sharply.

Accra Prout, who stood a head taller than any other of the men cl.u.s.tered round him, caught sight of the colonel as the latter cast his eyes downwards, rising from his seat and coming to the side of the skipper; and the mulatto's eyes grew as large as saucers, while his eyeb.a.l.l.s rolled in delight and his wide mouth extended itself from ear to ear.

"Bress de Lor'!" he cried out, with all a darkey's emphatic enthusiasm, breaking into a huge guffaw that was almost hysterical--"bress de Lor'!

it's de ma.s.sa; it's Ma.s.s' Vereker from de plantation, for surh!"