him ez we all thought ez ded ez a coffin nail, an' buried fathoms
below the sea, an' which all on us hed b'leeved ter hev haunted the shep
fur the hull v'y'ge. Ay, thet it wer, streenger, what ez frit me an'
made me fall all of a heap, an' thaar I lies till Cholly an' the durned
nigger riz me up agen by tumblin' athwart my hawse!"

"I think I was the most frightened of all," I now frankly confessed, on
Hiram thus bravely acknowledging his own terror. "I really for the
moment believed that I was actually looking at two real, distinct
ghosts, or spirits--the one that of Sam, which you, Tom and Hiram, know
I already thought I had seen before on board the ship; and the second
apparition that of the negro slave which Mr Steenbock told us of. But,
how is it that Sam is here at all--how did he escape?"

"Let him tell his yarn in his own way, the same as I have done mine,"
replied Tom. "Ax him."

"Now Sam," said I, "tell us all about it."

"Ay, dew," chimed in Hiram; "fire away, ye old black son of a gun!"

"All right, Mass' Hiram an' yer, too, Cholly. I'se tell you de trute,
de hole trute, an' nuffin' but de trute, s'help me!"

"Carry on, you blooming old crocodile, carry on!"

Taking Tom Bullover's words in the sense in which they were meant, as a
sort of friendly encouragement to proceed, Sam, nothing loath to air his
long-silent tongue, soon satisfied the eager curiosity of Hiram and
myself--giving us a full account of his adventures from the time that we
saw him drop from the rigging, when all the crew, with the solitary
exception of his ally the carpenter, believed him to have been murdered
and his body lost overboard.

"I'se specks," he commenced, "dat yer all 'members when de cap'en shake
him billy-goat beard, an' shoot dis pore niggah in de tumjon, an' I'se
drop inter de bottom ob de sea, hey?"

"Yes," replied Hiram; while I added: "But, how on earth did you manage
to save your life and get on board again?"

"Dis chile cleberer dan yer tinks," replied Sam proudly. "When de
cap'en shoot, I'se jump one side like de Bobolink bird, an' de bullet,
dat he tink go troo my tumjon, go in de air. I'se make one big
miscalkerfation, dough, fo' my han' mis de riggin' when I'se stretch up
to catch him, an' I'se tumble inter de water."

"Poor Sam!" said I. "Your heart must have come right into your mouth,
eh?"

"Inter my mout, sonny?" he repeated after me. "Bress yer, it come up
inter my mout, an' I'se swaller