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

an oil-lamp swinging from the roof, like a murderer swinging in chains; fitted with old carved furniture that might have been oak, but was as black as ebony; and plentifully garnished about the walls with curious weapons of all kinds of antique shapes and workmanship. On the table lay a parchment chart, elaborately drawn in red ink, and yellow with age. The captain silently laid his finger on the very centre of the parchment, and kept his glittering eyes fixed full upon me. I leaned over the chart, silent as himself, and saw two islands, a greater and a less, lying just in the latitude he had named, with a narrow strait between them. The larger was somewhat crescent shaped; the smaller inclined to a triangular form, and lay up to the N.W. of the other, just in this fashion:
     

     
     
    Both were very irregular in the outline. The little island seemed hilly throughout, the large one was scooped into a deep bay on the N.E. side, and was piled up into what appeared like a lofty mountain between the inner shore of the bay and the western coast. Not far from the southern side of this mountain, a small river was seen to take its rise, flow in a north-easterly direction, and empty itself into the bay.
    ‘And these,’ said I, drawing a long breath, ‘are the Treasure Isles?’
    The captain nodded grimly.
    ‘Are they under French or Spanish Government?’
    ‘They are under no government,’ replied the Captain.
    ‘Unclaimed lands?’
    ‘Wholly unclaimed.’
    ‘Are the natives friendly?’
    ‘There are none.’
    ‘None? Then the islands are uninhabited!’
    The captain nodded again. My amazement became more profound every moment.
    ‘Why do you call them the Treasure Isles?’ I asked, unable to keep my eyes from the map.
    The captain of the Adventure stepped back, pulled aside a coarse canvas screen that had till now closed in the farther end of the cabin, and pointed to a symmetrical pile of golden ingots—solid golden ingots—about seven feet high and four deep, built row above row in transverse layers, as a builder might have laid the bricks in a wall.
    I rubbed my eyes. I looked from the gold to the captain, from the captain to the map, from the map back to the gold.
    The captain drew the screen to its place with a hollow laugh, and said:
    ‘There are two hundred and fifty-seven tons weight of silver in the hold, and six chests of precious stones.’
    I put my hand to my head, and leaned against the table. I was dazzled, bewildered, giddy.
    ‘I must go back to my ship,’ said I, still staring covetously at the chart.
    The captain took an odd-looking long-necked bottle, and a couple of quaint beakers with twisted stems from a locker close by; filled out a glassful of some kind of rich amber-coloured cordial, and handed it to me with a nod of invitation. Looking closely at the liquid, I saw that it was full of little sparkling fragments of gold ore.
    ‘It is the genuine Golden Water,’ said the captain.
    His fingers were like ice—the cordial like fire. It blistered my lips and mouth, and ran down my throat like a stream of liquid lava. The glass fell from my hand, and was shattered into a thousand fragments.
    ‘Confound the liquor,’ gasped I, ‘how hot it is!’
    The captain laughed his hollow laugh again, and the cabin echoed to it like a vault.
    ‘Your health,’ said he; and emptied his own beaker as if it had been a glass of water.
    I ran up the cabin stairs with my throat still on fire. The captain followed at a couple of strides.
    ‘Goodnight,’ said I, with one foot already on the chain ladder. ‘Did you not say latitude twenty-two, thirty?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And longitude sixty-three, fifteen?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Thanks, sir, and goodnight.’
    ‘Goodnight,’ replied the captain, his eyes glowing in his head like fiery carbuncles. ‘Goodnight, and a pleasant voyage to you.’
    With this he burst into a laugh louder and more hollow than ever—a laugh which was instantly taken up, echoed, and