uilt just alike. There are lucky and unlucky
ships, and ships that almost steer themselves, while others need a whole
watch at the tiller in a dead calm. But I think that you are mistaken as
to the 'Flying Dutchman' being the only other 'flyer,' as the sailors
call them, for they are often seen in the Pacific, in the 'Trades.'"

"I can't swear to the truth of Mr. Lund's story, but I can affirm that
the 'fire ship' is a myth, universally recognized among the sea-going
population of our coast, from the Florida Keys to the mouth of the St.
Lawrence. Off the coral reefs, the crime-accursed slaver or pirate
haunts the scene of her terrible deeds. Amid the breakers of Block
Island, the ship wrecked, a generation ago, by the cruel avarice of men
long since dead, still revisits the fatal spot when the storm is again
on the eve of breaking forth in resistless fury. The waters of Boston
harbor, two centuries ago, presented to the wondering eyes of 'divers
sober and godly' persons, apparitions similar to those narrated by our
veracious friend, the captain. The lumberers of the St. John tell, with
bated breath, of an antique French caravel, which sails up the Carleton
Falls, where no mortal vessel or steamer can follow. And the farmers and
fishermen of Chester Bay still see the weird, unearthly beacon which
marks the spot where the privateer Teaser, chased by an overwhelming
English fleet, was hurled heavenward by the desperate act of one of her
officers, who had broken his parole. As for the Gulf, the myth exists in
a half dozen diverse forms, and all equally well authenticated by
hundreds of eye-witnesses, if you can believe the narrators."

"Well, La Salle, I see you don't put much more faith in my story than in
the thing I saw the night you came here. Now, I hope it won't be so, for
it is borne in my mind, and I can't get over it, that I shall see some
of you vanish into mist, as I saw those men. So, gentlemen, be very
careful, for I fear that some of us are very near their fate."

* * * * *

There is a cord of fear in every man's heart which throbs more or less
responsively to the relation of the wonders of that "debatable land,"
which, by some, is believed to lie "on the boundaries of another world."
La Salle felt impressed in spite of himself, and the whole party seemed
grave and unwilling to pursue the subject. The silence was, however,
broken by Kennedy.

"I am going home to-morrow," said