trembling, figure in front.

This was too much for the banjo-playing spectre.

Uttering a wild yell that only a human throat could have emitted, and
with his mouth open as wide as the mouth of the cave towards which he
rushed, Sam Jedfoot--for it was his own substantial self, I saw, and no
ghost at all, as I was now convinced--cleared in two bounds the
intervening space that lay between him and the entrance to the cavern,
seeking to get away as far as possible from his terrible visitant.
Apparently, he must have thought the other to be the `genuine Simon
Pure,' come to punish him for his false pretences in making believe to
be a denizen of the spirit world whilst he was yet in the flesh, and so
poaching unlawfully on what was by right and title the proper domain of
the ghostal tribe!

In his hurry and haste, however, to avoid this avenging spectre, poor
Sam, naturally, did not see me standing in front of the cave blocking
the entrance, nor had I time to get out of his way, so as to avoid the
impetuous rush he made for the opening.

The consequences may be readily surmised.

He came against me full butt, and we both tumbled to the ground headlong
together all of a heap.

Sam thereupon imagined the terrible apparition to be clutching him, and
that his last hour had come.

"Oh, golly! De debbel's got me, de debbel's got me fo' suah!" he roared
out in an agony of terror, clawing at my clothes and nearly tearing the
shirt off my back in his attempts to regain his feet, as we rolled over
and over together down the decline towards the shore. "Lor', a mussy!
Do forgib me dis time, Massa Duppy, fo' play-actin' at ghostesses, an' I
promises nebber do so no moah! O Lor'! O Lor'! I'se a gone niggah!
Bress de Lor', fo' ebbah an' ebbah! Amen!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

SAM JEDFOOT'S YARN.

"Ho-ho-ho! I shall die a-laughing!" exclaimed another voice at this
juncture, interrupting Sam's terrified appeal to the spiritual powers.
"Ho-ho-ho! I shall die a-laughing!"

The voice sounded like that of Tom Bullover; but, before I could look up
to see if it were really he, Sam and I, the negro cook still clutching
me tightly in his frantic grasp as we rolled down the little declivity
on to the beach below the entrance to the cave, fetched up against
Hiram; who, only just recovering from the shock he had received, was
then in the act of rising from the ground, where he had dropped at the
sight of Sam and his banjo--still daze