ccor the crews of wrecked vessels, none could be found to accept the
post; and even at the period when I visited these seas, and after a long
lapse of years since the Black Boatswain had been seen, no one would
venture.

The story went that his ghost still wandered there, and that at night,
when the storm was high, and the waves of the Gulf sent the spray over
that low and dreary island, his cries could* be heard, calling aloud to
"shorten sail," to "brace round the yards, close the hatchways," mingled
with blasphemies that made the very hair stand on end.

If the reader, armed with the triple mail of incredulity, so snugly
ensconced in his easy-chair, before a sea-coal fire, can afford to
scoff at such perils, not so did I, as I sat in a corner of the galley,
gathering with greedy ears the horrors that fell on every side, and now
and then stealing out to cast a glance over the bulwarks at the long low
bank of sand, which seemed more like an exhalation from the water than a
solid mass of rock and shingle.

I have said that a feeling of rivalry existed between the Moorish boy,
El Jarasch, and myself; and although I endured the scoffs and sneers
at first with a humility my own humble garb and anomalous position
enforced, I soon began to feel more confidence in myself, and that
species of assurance a becoming dress seems somehow to inspire; for
I was now attired like the rest of the crew, and wore the name of
the yacht in gold letters on my cap, as well as on the breast of my
waistcoat.

The hatred of El Jarasch increased with every day, and mutual scoffs and
gibes were the only intercourse between us. More than once, Halkett,
who had always befriended me, warned me of the boy, and said that his
Moorish blood was sure to make his vengeance felt; but I only laughed at
his caution, and avowed myself ready to confront him when and however he
pleased. Generosity was little wasted on either side, so that when one
day, in a fierce encounter with the lions, El Jarasch received a fall
which broke one of his ribs, and was carried in a state of insensibility
to his berth, I neither pitied him nor regretted his misfortune. I
affected even to say that his own cowardice had rendered the creatures
more daring, and that had he preserved a bolder front the mischance
would have never occurred. These vauntings of mine, coupled with an
avowed willingness to take his place, came to Sir Dudley's ears on the
third evening after the accident