rt that the sound
came from."

But this assertion in turn was contradicted by the first speaker and his
adherents, so that in less than a minute a strenuous argument was
proceeding on the forecastle, both parties to which, it seemed to me,
were in the wrong.

"Ay, ay, there ye are," commented Kennedy. "Nobody knows where the
sound came from. 'Twas the _banshee_, me bhoy, that's what ut was; and
some Oirishman aboard this good ship is goin' to lose the number of his
mess shortly."

"Oh, nonsense!" I exclaimed. "You surely do not believe that--"

I had got so far with my protest when again the blood-curdling cry rang
out over the dark water, this time sounding more distant than before.
Once more a clamorous dispute arose on the forecastle as to the
direction from which the sound proceeded, for, curiously enough, no two
individuals seemed quite agreed upon the point, while even I felt it
impossible to make an authoritative statement as to whether the cry
arose from ahead or astern. And, in the midst of the discussion, up
came the saloon party, _en masse_, to enquire what was the matter.

I was, for some not very definite reason, glad that Kennedy did not
again assert his _banshee_ theory; he merely stated the facts of the
case, leaving the others to draw their own conclusions. The boy,
Julius, no sooner heard the chief mate's statement than he was ready
with an explanation. In a high-pitched tone of voice, which could be
distinctly heard from one end of the ship to the other, he positively
asserted that the cries were those of a sea bird, although I had never
in my life heard a sea bird utter such terrible sounds, nor had the men
forward, if one might judge by the low, contemptuous laughter from the
forecastle with which the assertion was greeted. But although Kennedy
demurred, the boy insisted that he was right; he knew all about it, and
finally rushed off to his cabin for some book, a certain passage in
which, he declared, would support his contention. And I seized the
opportunity thus afforded to retire in good order to my own cabin.

When I went on deck again, at eight bells, the moon was just on the
point of ruddily setting, while the cloud bank which I had noticed
earlier in the evening hanging low over the land had risen until its
upper edge was almost over our mast-heads, blotting out about half the
stars. It was now so dark away to the eastward that nothing whatever
could be seen, not even the fai