either. Six or eight of them,
to my knowledge--and the treasure just where it was for all that. I
das'say it sounds all foolishness, but it's true for all that. Something
or other'll come, mark my word--just when they think they've got their
hands on it: a hurricane, or a tidal wave, or an earthquake. As sure as
you live, something'll come; a rock'll fall down, or a thunderbolt, and
somebody gets killed--And, well, the ghost laughs, but the treasure
stays there all the same."

"The ghost laughs?" I asked.

"Eh! of course; didn't you know every treasure is guarded by a ghost?
He's got to keep watch there till the next fellow comes along, to
relieve sentry duty, so to speak. He doesn't give it away. My no! He
dassn't do that. But the minute some one else is killed, coming looking
for it, then he's free--and the new ghost has got to go on sitting
there, waiting for ever so long till some one else comes looking for
it."

"But, what has this sucking fish got to do with it?" And I pointed to
the red membrane already drying up in Tom's hand.

"Well, the man who carries this in his pocket won't be the next ghost,"
he answered.

"Take good care of it for me then, Tom," I said, "and when it's properly
dried, let me have it. For I've a sort of idea I may have need of it,
after all."

And just then, old Sailor, the quietest member of the crew, put up his
head into my hands, as though to say that he had been unfairly lost
sight of.

"Yes, and you too, old chap--that's right. Tom, and you, and I."

And then I turned in for the night.

CHAPTER V

_In Which We Begin to Understand our Unwelcome Passenger._

Charlie Webster had hinted at a nor'easter--even a hurricane. As a rule,
Charlie is a safe weather prophet. But, for once, he was mistaken. There
hadn't been much of any wind as we made a lee at sunset; but as I yawned
and looked out of my cabin soon after dawn, about 4.30 next morning,
there was no wind at all.

There was every promise of a glorious day--calm, still, and untroubled.
But for men whose voyaging depended on sails, it was, as the lawyers
say, a _dies non._ In fact, there was no wind, and no hope of wind.

As I stood out of the cabin hatch, however, there was enough breeze to
flutter a piece of paper that had been caught in the mainsail halyard;
it fluttered there lonely in the morning. Nothing else was astir but it
and I, and I took it up in my hand, idly. As I did so, George reared his
head fo