ut the
muster roll from a paper he had drawn out of his pocket--all, that is,
save those that had fallen, eight in number, including poor Stoddart,
our energetic second engineer, and one of his firemen who had
volunteered to swell the boarding party, as well as six of our best
sailors amongst the foremast hands.

Of the rest of the crew four were badly hurt and a few slightly wounded.
Spokeshave was one of these latter, having, unfortunately, the end of
his nose--that prominent feature of his--cut clean off by a slash from a
cutlass; but the majority, we were glad to find, mostly escaped
unscathed.

Seeing old Masters all right, I thought of his morbid forebodings before
we came up with the ship, and determined to take a rise out of him.

"I'm awfully sorry about the old bo'sun," I said with a wink to Garry,
right behind his back. "He wasn't a bad seaman, but an awful old
grumbler, and so superstitious that he funked his own shadow and daren't
walk up a hatchway in the dark. Poor old chap, though, it's a pity he's
dead; I shall miss him if only from not hearing his continued growling
over things that _might_ happen."

"Well I'm blessed!" cried old Masters, completely flabbergasted at this
exordium of mine; "I never thought, Mister Haldane, to hear you speak
ag'in me like that. I allays believed you was a friend, that I did."

I pretended not to see him, and so too did Garry O'Neil, "tumbling to my
game," as the saying goes, while I went on with my chaff.

"How did he die?" I asked. "Was he killed at the first rush?"

"Faith, I can't say corrictly," replied Garry in a very melancholy tone
of voice. "I'm afeard care carried him off, somehow or other, as it
killed the cat, for he war the most disconsolate, doleful, down-hearted
chap I ivver saw piping the hands to dinner. An' so he's d'id! Poor
old bo'sun! we'll nivver see his loike ag'in."

"Lord bless you!" cried old Masters angrily, stepping up nearer and
confronting us, "I'm not dead at all, I tell you--I tell you I'm not--
I'm blessed if I am. Can't you see me here alive and hearty afore you?
Look at me."

"Ah, it's his ghost!" I said, with an affected and tremulous start.
"He told me, poor fellow, he felt himself doomed, and nothing could save
him; and I suppose his spirit wants to prove to me he wasn't a liar, as
I always thought he was, the old sinner!"

This was too much for Garry, and he couldn't hold in any longer, and
both of us roared at