Free THE PHANTOM COACH: Collected Ghost Stories by Amelia B. Edwards

ship a return cargo of cotton, indigo, rum, and other West Indian products. Perhaps it may be as well to add, that the Mary-Jane carried about a hundred tons burthen, that my name is William Barlow, and my mate’s name was Aaron Taylor.
    The Mary-Jane was not a quick sailer, as I soon discovered; but she was a good, sound, steady little craft, and I consoled myself by remembering that safety was better than speed. It was dusk before we reached Lundy Island, and almost daylight next morning when we passed the Land’s-End. This was slow work; but as the wind had shifted a point or two during the night, I made the best of matters, and tried to hope we should do better by-and-by. After tossing about somewhat roughly off the Bay of Biscay, we made Cape Finisterre on the 4 th  of November; and on the 18 th  put in at Terceira for water. Having remained here for the best part of two days, we put to sea again on the evening of the 20 th . The wind now began to set in more and more against us, and ended by blowing steadily from the South; so that, although we had glorious weather over head, we made almost as little way as if we had had storms to contend against. At length, after a week of ineffectual beating about, just as I was going to turn the ship’s head and run back to Terceira, the breeze shifted suddenly to the North. The N.W. would have suited us better; but if we could not get exactly the wind we most wanted, we were thankful, at all events, to tack about, and make such progress as was possible.
    Thus we went forward slowly towards the tropics, attended by perpetual sunshine and cloudless skies, and enjoying a climate that grew milder and more delicious every day. The incidents of our voyage, up to this time, had been few and unimportant. A Dutch merchantman seen one morning in the offing—a porpoise caught by one of the crew—a flight of swallows on the wing—a shark following the ship. These, and similar trifles, were all the events that befell us for many a week; events which are nothing when related, and yet afford matter for vivid interest to those on shipboard. At length, on the 15 th  of December, we entered the tropic of Cancer; and on the 19 th  sailed into a light sea-fog, which surprised us very much at such a season, and in such a latitude; but which was welcome, nevertheless, for the sun’s heat was now becoming intense, and seemed as if it would burn the very deck beneath our feet. All that day the fog hung low upon the sea, the wind fell, and the waters were lulled almost to a calm. My mate predicted a hurricane; but no hurricane came. On the contrary, sea and air stagnated more and more; and the last breath of wind died away as the sun went down. Then the sudden tropical night closed in, and the heat grew more oppressive than before.
    I went to my cabin to write, as was my custom in the evening; but, though I wore only a thin linen suit, and kept every port-hole open, I felt as if the cabin was a coffin, and would suffocate me. Having borne it till I could bear it no longer, I threw the pen aside and went on deck again. There I found Aaron Taylor keeping the first watch; and our youngest seaman, Joshua Dunn, at the helm.
    ‘Close night, mate,’ said I.
    ‘Queerest night I ever saw, sir, in these latitudes,’ replied Aaron.
    ‘What way do we make?’
    ‘None, sir, hardly: scarce one knot an hour.’
    ‘Have the men all turned in?’
    ‘All, sir, except Dunn and me.’
    ‘Then you may turn in too, mate,’ said I. ‘I’ll keep this watch and the next myself.’
    The mate touched his hat, and with a glad ‘Ay, ay, sir,’ disappeared down the companion-ladder. We were so small a crew that I always took my turn at the watch, and tonight, feeling it impossible to stay below, willingly charged myself with the double duty.
    It was now about ten o’clock. There was something almost awful in the heavy stillness of the night, and in the thin, white, ghastly fog that folded round us on all sides,