As she lay in plain sight
and almost within earshot, she seemed no more out of the ordinary than any
vessel that we might have passed off the coast of New England. But on her
great foresail, which hung loose now with the wind shaken out of it, there
was a lozenge-shaped patch of clean new canvas.
Soon word passed from mouth to mouth that the captain and Mr. Falk would go
in the gig to learn the stranger's name and port.
To a certain extent we were relieved to find that our phantom ship was
built of solid wood and iron; yet we were decidedly apprehensive as we
watched the men pull away in the bright sun. The boat became smaller and
smaller, and the dipping oars flashed like gold.
With his head out-thrust and his chin sunk below the level of his
shoulders, the cook stood by the galley, in doubt and foreboding, and
watched the boat pull away.
His voice, when he spoke, gave me a start.
"Look dah, boy! Look dah! Dey's sumpin' funny, yass, sah. 'Tain't safe foh
to truck with ha'nts, no sah! You can't make dis yeh nigger think a winkin'
fire-bug of a fly-by-night ship ain't a ha'nt."
"Ha'nts," said Kipping mildly, "ha'nts is bad things for niggers, but they
don't hurt white men.
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