over. Nothing was to be seen. He surveyed the ocean by the
light of the stars, and glanced along the deck and up aloft, then told
the look-out man to go below and turn in, and went aft, reckoning the
thing an epileptic's nightmare.

"'It soaks into their livers ashore,' thought he, as he leisurely
mounted the poop ladder, 'and when they get upon the ocean and into
hot weather it works out in slaps over the head and hairy sea-beasts
four feet high. Ha! ha! ha!' and he laughed drowsily as he walked to
the wheel.

"Just then a catspaw blew. It was so faint that it scarcely chilled
the moistened forefinger of the officer. It had to be reckoned with
nevertheless; it was an air of wind anyhow, and some one sung out that
the ship was aback forward, on which the mate went to the break of the
poop, and yelled to the seamen to trim sail. Something went wrong in
swinging the yards on the fore.

"'Jump aloft, a hand, and clear it.'

"A seaman went up the rigging, his shadowy shape vanished in the gloom
that blackened like a thunder-cloud upon the foretop; he showed again
when he got into the topmast rigging, with his figure small, and
clear-cut against the stars.

"Suddenly, when midway the rigging he yelled at the top of his voice.
His cry was more dismal and heartshaking than even that with which the
man Kennedy had terrified the ship; he caught hold of a backstay, and
sank to the bulwark rail, as though handsomely lowered away in a
bowline.

"'By Cott!' he roared, flinging down his cap, whilst those who peered
close saw that he trembled violently, 'der toyfel is on boardt dis
ship. I have seen her mit mine eyes. If I hov not seen her den I was a
nightmare und she was mad. Look up dar.'

"He obtained no answer. The seamen attending the indication of the
Dutchman were to a man gazing aloft with hanging chins; for on high up
in the cross-trees, a visible bulk of shadow, there sat, squatted,
hung--what? A man? No angel from heaven surely? A demon then with
folded wings like those of a bat resting in his flight from the halls
of fire to some star of Satan? Mateys, if you think this language too
poetical, I'll translate my thought into fok'sle speech. But I'd
rather leave the job to others," said the grey-haired respectable
seaman; "I've forgotten the profanities of the sea-parlour. I have not
used a bad word for thirty year."

Some interruption by laughter attended this flight. The grey-haired
sailor looked round him with