"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 hoarse voices singing
a wild, doleful song.

"Hamlet's ghost!" ejaculated 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