ed; for I suspected
that the men had been working on each other's imagination till all
fancied they had seen what perhaps only one had dreamed of.

"Why, sir," replied Tom Barlow, with a hitch to his waistband, "we
knowed it was him, because it was as like him as he could stare, only a
good deal blacker and dirtier even than he was in his lifetime. It had
just gone two bells in the middle watch, when three or four of us who
was awake saw him as plainly as we do you, sir, now--creeping about for
all the world like a serpent, in and out among the hammocks. It was
more, just then, than any one of us wished to do, to speak to him; but,
thinks I, there can't be any harm telling him to cut his stick, just
civilly like; so I lifts up my head, and sings out, `Be off, you dirty
son of a sea cook!' But scarcely was the words out of my mouth, than he
was away like a shot up the main-hatchway, and through one of the ports,
or right through the bottom of the ship, for what I knowed; for I
couldn't see, you may suppose. All the others who saw him said, too,
there was a strong smell of sulphur, wherever he'd been, and that he
vanished away in a flame of fire; but I can't 'xactly swear to that
myself."

I laughed outright at the absurdity of the story, and was more convinced
than ever that the men had allowed their imaginations to be worked up to
a pitch which would make them believe anything.

Dicky Sharpe and I talked the matter over, and agreed not to say
anything about it, as were the circumstances to get to the ears of the
captain, it would certainly make him very angry.

I thought we should hear no more about the matter; but two days after
this I found the people more busy than ever talking about Bobby Smudge's
ghost. Numbers declared they had seen it. Some described it as having
one shape, some another. Not a few gave it a tail, and horns, and fiery
eyes. All described it as black; and several were ready to affirm on
oath that it smelt strongly of sulphur and other horrible odours. At
length many of the men showed a great unwillingness to go below, and to
turn into their hammocks.

Old Chissel had become a completely altered character. His conscience
told him that he was the cause of poor Bobby's death. He grew thin and
pale; his voice was no longer heard in loud dispute with his brother
officer, the boatswain; and even his manner was softened towards his
inferiors. The men remarked the change; and all argued th