ave the helmsman,
were leaning over the bulwarks--grinning at us. Never shall I forget the
horror of those grins. They were hideous, meaningless, hellish grins,
the grins of corpses in the last stage of putrefaction. And that is just
what they were--all of them--corpses, but corpses possessed by spirits
of the most devilish sort, for as we stared, too petrified with fear to
remove our gaze, they nodded their ulcerated heads and gesticulated
vehemently. The brig then gave a sudden yaw, and with that motion there
was wafted a stink--a stink too damnably foul and rotten to originate
from anywhere, save from some cesspool in hell. Choking, retching, and
all but fainting, I buried my face in the skipper's coat, and did not
venture to raise it, till the far-away sounds of plunging and tossing
assured me the cursed ship had passed. I then looked up, and was just in
time to catch a final glimpse of the brig, a few hundred yards to
leeward, (she had passed close under our stern) before her lofty stern
rose out of the water, and, bows foremost, she plunged into the stilly
depths and we saw her no more. There was no need for the skipper to tell
us that she was the phantom ship, nor did she belie her sinister
reputation, for within a week of seeing her, yellow fever broke out on
board, and when we arrived at port, there were only three of us left."

_The Sargasso Sea_

Of all the seas in the world, none bear a greater reputation for being
haunted than the Sargasso. Within this impenetrable waste of rank,
stinking seaweed, in places many feet deep, are collected wreckages of
all ages and all climes, grim and permanent records of the world's
maritime history, unsinkable and undestroyable. It has ever been my
ambition to explore the margins of this unsightly yet fascinating marine
wilderness, but, so far, I have been unable to extend my peregrinations
further south than the thirty-fifth degree of latitude.

Among the many stories I have heard in connection with this sea, the
following will, I think, bear repeating:--

"A brig with twelve hands aboard, bound from Boston to the Cape Verde
Islands, was caught in a storm, and, being blown out of her course,
drifted on to the northern extremities of the Sargasso. The wind then
sinking, and an absolute calm taking its place, there seemed every
prospect that the brig would remain where it was for an indefinite
period. A most horrible fate now stared the crew in the face, for
although t