ts and dittybags around them; Oleson at
the wheel; and Singleton in his jail-room, breathing heavily.

Adams's nerve was completely gone, and, being now thoroughly awake, I
joined him in the crow's-nest. Nothing could convince him that he had
been the victim of a nervous hallucination. He stuck to his story
firmly.

"It was on the forecastle-head first," he maintained. "I saw it
gleaming."

"Gleaming?"

"Sort of shining," he explained. "It came up over the rail, and at
first it stood up tall, like a white post."

"You didn't say before that it was white."

"It was shining," he said slowly, trying to put his idea into words.
"Maybe not exactly white, but light-colored. It stood still for so
long, I thought I must be mistaken--that it was a light on the rigging.
Then I got to thinking that there wasn't no place for a light to come
from just there."

That was true enough.

"First it was as tall as a man, or taller maybe," he went on. "Then it
seemed about half that high and still in the same place. Then it got
lower still, and it took to crawling along on its belly. It was then I
yelled."

I looked down. The green starboard light threw a light over only a
small part of the deck. The red light did no better. The masthead was
possibly thirty feet above the hull, and served no illuminating purpose
whatever. From the bridge forward the deck was practically dark.

"You yelled, and then what happened?"

His reply was vague--troubled.

"I'm not sure," he said slowly. "It seemed to fade away. The white
got smaller--went to nothing, like a cloud blown away in a gale. I
flung the spike."

I accepted the story with outward belief and a mental reservation. But
I did not relish the idea of the spike Adams had thrown lying below on
deck. No more formidable weapon short of an axe, could be devised. I
said as much.

"I'm going down for it," I said; "if you're nervous, you'd better keep
it by you. But don't drop it on everything that moves below. You
almost got Burns."

I went down cautiously, and struck a match where Adams had indicated
the spike. It was not there. Nor had Burns picked it up. A
splintered board showed where it had struck, and a smaller indentation
where it had rebounded; but the marlinespike was gone, and Burns had
not seen it. We got a lantern and searched systematically, without
result. Burns turned to me a face ghastly in the oil light.

"Somebody has it," he said, "and there