"And what then?" I demanded angrily. "Am I a raree show to be peeped at and watched and spied upon?"
"Anan, pal--watched, d'ye say?"
"Aye, stared at through the knot-hole yonder awhile since by you or Penfeather."
"Never knowed there was a knot-hole, Mart'n," said he in the same hushed voice and staring at the thing, "and as for Cap'n Adam he aren't been anigh you this two days. But 'tis all one, pal, all one--this ship do be haunted. And as for eyes a-watching of ye, Martin, who should it be but this here ghost as walketh the ship o'nights and makes away wi' good men."
"How d'ye mean?" I questioned, reaching the ale he had brought. "What talk is this of ghosts?"
"What's yon?" he whispered, starting up, as a rustling sounded beyond the door.
"Mere rats, man!"
"Lord love ye, Mart'n," says he, glancing about him, "'tis a chancy place this. I don't know how ye can abide it."
"I've known worse!" said I.
"Then ye don't believe in spectres, Mart'n--ghosts, pal, nor yet phantoms?"
"No, I don't!"
"Well, Mart'n, there be strange talk among the crew o' something as do haunt the 'tween-decks--"
"Aye, I've overheard some such!" I nodded. "But, look ye, I've haunted the ship myself of late."
"And yet you've seen nowt o' this thing, pal?"
"No. What thing should I see?"
"Who knows, Martin? But the sea aren't the land, and here on these wild wastes o' waters there's chancy things beyond any man's wisdom as any mariner'll--ha, what's yon?" says he under his breath and whipping round, knife in hand. "'Twas like a shoeless foot, Mart'n ... creeping murder ... 'Tis there again!" Speaking, he tore open the door and I saw his knife flash as he sprang into the darkness beyond; as for me I quaffed my ale. Presently back he comes, claps to the door (mighty careful) and sinking upon the upturned cask, mops at his brow.
"Content you, Godby," says I, "here be no ghosts--"
"Soft, lad--speak soft!" he whispered. "For--Lord love you, Mart'n, 'tis worse than ghosts as I do fear! Dog bite me, pal, here's been black and bloody doings aboard us this last two nights."
"How so, Godby?" I questioned, lowering my voice in turn as I met his look.
"I mean, lad, as this thing--call it ghost or what ye will--has took three men these last two nights. There's Perks o' Deptford, McLean as hails from Leith, and Treliving the Cornishman--three good men, Mart'n--lost, vanished, gone! And, O pal, wi' never a mark or trace to tell how!"
"Lost! D'ye mean--overboard?"
"No, Mart'n, I mean--lost! And each of them i' the middle watch--the sleepy hour, Mart'n, just afore dawn. In a fair night, pal, wi' a calm sea--these men vanish and none to see 'em go. And all of 'em prime sailor-men and trusty. The which, Mart'n, sets a cove to wondering who'll be next."