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

like a shroud. Pacing to and fro along the solitary deck, with no other sounds to break the silence than the murmuring of the water along the ship’s side, and the creaking of the wheel in the hands of the steersman, I fell into a profound reverie. I thought of my friends far away; of my old home among the Mendip hills; of Bessie Robinson, who had promised to become my wife when I went back after this voyage; of a thousand hopes and projects, far enough removed from the schooner Mary-Jane , or any soul on board. From these dreams I was suddenly roused by the voice of Joshua Dunn shouting in a quick, startled tone—‘Ship ahoy!’
    I was alive in a moment at this cry, for we were at war with both France and Spain at the time, and it would have been no pleasant matter to fall in with an enemy; especially as there had been some fierce fights more than once in these very waters since the war began. So I pulled up in my walk, looked sharply round on all sides, and saw nothing but fog.
    ‘Whereabouts, Josh?’ I cried.
    ‘Coming right up, sir, under our weather-bow,’ replied the steersman.
    I stepped aft, and, staring steadily in the direction indicated, saw, sure enough, the faint glimmer of a couple of lanthorns, coming up through the fog. To dash down into my cabin, seize a brace of pistols and my speaking-trumpet, and spring up again on deck, just as the spectral outline of a large brig loomed up almost within a stone’s throw of the ship’s side, was the work of a moment. I then stood silent, and waited, ready to answer if hailed, and willing enough to slip along unobserved in the fog, if our formidable neighbour passed us by. I had scarcely waited a moment, however, before a loud voice, made louder by the use of the trumpet, rang through the thick air, crying:
    ‘Ship ahoy! What name? Where from? Whither bound?’
    To which I replied:
    ‘Trading schooner Mary-Jane— from Bristol to Jamaica. What ship? Where from? Whither bound?’
    There was a moment’s silence. Then the same voice replied:
    ‘The Adventure . Homeward bound.’
    The reply was informal. ‘Where from?’ I repeated. ‘What cargo?’
    Again there seemed some hesitation on the part of the stranger; and again, after an instant’s pause, he answered:
    ‘From the Treasure Isles, with gold and jewels.’
    From the Treasure Isles, with gold and jewels! I could not credit my ears. I had never heard of the Treasure Isles in my life. I had never seen them on any chart. I did not believe that any such islands existed.
    ‘What Isles?’ I shouted, the question springing to my lips as the doubt flashed on my mind.
    ‘The Treasure Isles.’
    ‘What bearings?’
    ‘Latitude twenty-two, thirty. Longitude sixty-three, fifteen.’
    ‘Have you any chart?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Will you show it?’
    ‘Ay, ay. Come aboard, and see.’
    I bade the steersman lay to. The stranger did the same. Presently her great hull towered up beside us like a huge rock; a rope was thrown; a chain ladder lowered; and I stepped on deck. I looked round for the captain. A tall, gaunt man stood before me, with his belt full of pistols, and a speaking-trumpet under his arm. Beside him stood a sailor with a torch, the light from which flickered redly through the thick air, and showed some twenty men, or more, gathered round the binnacle. All were as silent as ghosts, and, seen through the mist, looked as unsubstantial.
    The captain put his hand to his hat, looked at me with eyes that glittered like live coals, and said:
    ‘You want to see the chart of the islands?’
    ‘I do, sir.’
    ‘Follow me.’
    The sailor lighted us down, the captain went first, and I followed. As I passed down the cabin-stairs I eased the pistols in my belt, ready for use if necessary; for there was something strange about the captain and his crew—something strange in the very build and aspect of the ship, that puzzled me, and put me on my guard.
    The captain’s cabin was large, low, and gloomy, lighted by