CHAPTER XX.

THE CORPSE-LICHT.

As Morley turned away from the companion, he was confronted by his old friend Morrison, the mate of the defunct _Princess_. The Scotsman's honest face was radiant with pleasure, and grasping Morley's hand, he congratulated him warmly on the sudden change that a few hours had made in all his plans and prospects.

"No use in thinking of Tasmania now, or calculating the chances of finding a ship for the Isle of France, and all that, Mr. Ashton, eh?" said Morrison, laughing.

"Thank Heaven, no," said Morley, as they descended the break of the quarter-deck, and went to windward, near the main-rigging; "so great has been the alteration in all our affairs, that I can scarcely believe I was the poor doomed wretch of a few hours ago. Another night on that wreck would have seen us all dead men, Morrison."

Then Morley thought how strange it would have been if the ship, with Ethel on board, had passed the wreck, on board of which he was lying dead, and there was no voice to inform them of his fate, and the terrible mystery involving it.

"And you will be getting married now, Mr. Ashton," said Morrison, after a pause.

"Married!" repeated Morley, with astonishment; "where--where--here upon the open sea?"

"No; but when we are all landed at the Mauritius, where I shall have to look out for another ship, and, perhaps, may have to work my way home before the mast, for home to Scotland I must get somehow; and before the mast----"

"You shall never go in that fashion, Morrison, if I can help it; but as for my being married to Miss Basset"--Morley felt his cheek flush and his heart flutter at the thought--"that is an event which is somewhat distant yet, and must be so, till fortune--the old story--smiles on me."

"That I am sorry to hear," replied the Scotsman; "what says poor Robbie Burns, in one of the sweetest of his songs?--

"'Oh, why should Fate sic pleasure have, Life's dearest bonds untwining? And why sae sweet a flower as love Depend on fortune's shining?'

Well, Mr. Ashton, hap what may, though our path in life and our homes will aye be far apart, I'll never forget the days we have spent together; and miserable enough some of them have been latterly," continued Morrison, who was a warm-hearted and impulsive fellow, and whose keen gray eyes grew moist as he spoke; "and so, as I said, hap what may, you shall always have the best wishes of poor Bill Morrison, though a sailor has seldom more to give, unless it be a quid from his tobacco-box, or a share of his grog on pay-day."

"Fortune may go and hang herself," said Morley; "she has never favoured me till now."

"Perhaps she thought such a good-looking fellow might be left to shift for himself," replied Morrison, laughing. "I once heard the song I have just quoted sung by a girl, whose story was a very strange one. She was separated from her lover by adverse circumstances, and though they never met again in life, they repose now in the same grave."

"Another of your melancholy yarns, Bill?"

"Well, it isn't lively. Shall I tell it to you?"

"Yes, please. Miss Basset is still below."

"I had entered on board the _Clyde_, a Greenock ship bound for Tasmania. I was but a third mate then, and that post, you know, is only a trifle better than being before the mast. She had several emigrants, and among them was a man named Udny, with his wife and a daughter whom I heard them call Hester.

"There was with them a good-looking young fellow from the shore, a shepherd apparently, for he wore a checked tweed suit with a Border plaid, and a broad blue bonnet. He was evidently not going the voyage; but he continued to hover about Hester Udny with a sad and dreary expression of face, and I could see that the girl's eyes were red and sore with weeping.

"She was a bonnie, fair-haired Scotch lassie. That the pair were lovers we could all see, and we knew that they were about to be separated for ever, perhaps, as her parents, poor and expatriated cotters, were going to find a new home in Tasmania. The lad was poorer still, and had to remain behind in the old country.

"My heart bled for them, and from time to time I could not restrain the inclination to observe them, as they sat, hand in hand, oblivious of the noisy throng about them, and the coarse jests of the cargo-puddlers, dock-porters, and especially of the sailors, each of whom volunteered to replace her sweetheart on the voyage.

"Twilight came on as we began to cast off the warps, and were towed down the river by a tug-steamer, so quickly, that the lights of Greenock soon twinkled out amid the haze and smoke astern.

"The sun had set, but the red flush of the departed day lingered brightly beyond the dark peaks of the Argyleshire mountains that look down on the Gairloch, the Holy Loch, so solemn and still, and many another place that I can see in memory yet, and that I often saw in dreams when we were floating on the wreck.

"The lad was to go back, among a few other shore people, in the tug-steamer. I heard the girl sobbing as if her heart would break when she heard the order given for them to quit the ship, as we were preparing to cast off the towline and loosening the topsails out of the bunt. I was sent forward with a gang to cat and fish the best bower anchor, and hoist it over the bows on board. When again I went aft, sail had been made on the ship; the tug-steamer had disappeared in the obscurity astern, and the sad girl was sitting alone, with her eyes fixed on the lights that glistened in the castle of Dumbarton.

"We had been for some days at sea before the girl came on deck. She looked pale, wan, and thin--worn almost to a shadow with mental suffering and sea-sickness; and the close atmosphere of a crowded steerage was as poison to one accustomed from infancy to the green lanes and wooded hills of Cydesdale. All pitied her forlorn appearance, and even the roughest sailor did not jest with her now.

"One evening she remained longer on deck than usual. I had the wheel; the ship was running before the wind with topgallant-sails, lower and topmast stun'sails set. The air was mild and the stars shone clearly and brightly amid amber to the westward and the blue in the zenith.

"With her head muffled in a plaid, Hester Udny was seated near me; but I had my attention mostly fixed upon the binnacle. There was silence fore and aft, and silence on the sea, when I heard the poor lassie singing to herself in a sweet, low voice, that song of Burns', and the notes became full of pathos fit the lines:

"'Oh why should Fate sic pleasure have, Life's dearest bonds untwining? And why sae sweet a flower as love Depend on fortune's shining?'

"Suddenly she uttered a cry, and springing to me, grasped my arm. Her plaid or shawl had fallen back, and her fine golden-coloured hair was all in disorder; her eyes, which were a deep blue, were unnaturally bright and dilated, and their gaze was fixed wildly upon a part of the deck just aft the mainmast.

"'Sailor--sailor; oh, man, man, do you see that?' she asked, in tones of terror.

"'What?' said I.

"'A flame rising up through the deck, and growing higher every moment.'

"'Flame?' I repeated; 'there is no flame.'

"'Fire--it is not fire; it is the figure of a man--head, shoulders, arms, and hands--flame, all flame, pale blue, wavering, and indistinct!'

"'Nonsense, lassie, you are demented,' said I.

"'And you don't see it, sailor--you don't see it?' she continued, wildly.

"'No, my poor lassie,' said I; 'your eyesight must deceive you.'

"'Oh, heaven!' she shrieked, in a voice that brought all who were below tumbling up the hatches as if the ship were going down. 'Can I be going mad? It is like the figure of my Willie!'

"She fell senseless on the deck, and was carried below.

"This alleged apparition caused great speculation, and, as we had several emigrants from the Western Highlands on board, no small degree of terror, so that part of the deck abaft the mainmast was always watched narrowly and suspiciously; but neither flame nor figure saw we, though Hester afterwards asserted that one of the watch, who heard her cry, and hastened to assist her, passed _through_ the figure, which wavered as he did so, but again resumed its luminous form.

"A fortnight elapsed before she was brought on deck again; and I must own to being shocked at the change in her appearance. Her keen blue eyes seemed unnaturally large and sunken, with dark rings round them, and her poor, thin, transparent hands trembled as she muffled her plaid or shawl over her head, when the watch on deck hastened to make a comfortable seat of old sails for her under the lee of the bulwark.

"Fearing a repetition of what had occurred before, her father and mother insisted on taking her below when twilight approached; but, urged by some undefinable feeling or emotion, she lingered longer than she should have done.

"We were now in latitudes where the sun sets quickly, the dusk comes on as rapidly, and heavily falls the dew.

"Hester Udny, pale as a spectre, was soon observed to fix her eyes upon that portion of the deck abaft the mainmast where she had seen the apparition, with a wild, but steady and deliberate gaze, as if fascinated; and then, in faint and tremulous accents, she declared that the figure of flame was again visible, pale and luminous, sometimes turning from amber to blue, and becoming hazy; that beyond it, or through it, she could see the line of the ship's bulwark, and the shrouds of the mainmast, as if it was transparent.

"To undeceive her, the captain passed and repassed the place, going each time, as she said, amid her cries, completely through the figure, unsinged, unhurt, and all unconscious that he was doing so.

"She swooned, and was carried below again.

"What added greatly to the strangeness of this phenomenon was the circumstance that some of the crew, when standing over the spot where the spectre was alleged to appear, were seized with giddiness, strange qualms, and even sickness, alike by day or night, and were ridiculed by those of a less nervous temperament, who never felt any such sensations, as 'green-horns' and 'fanciful lubbers.'

"Hester Udny never came on deck again--alive, at least.

"She remained in bed during the remainder of our voyage, evidently in a rapid decline, and on the day when we made the south-west cape of Van Diemen's Land--a high, bold, and rocky promontory--she expired.

"We were soon within six miles of the land, and her parents begged so hard that they might be permitted to bury the poor girl ashore, that our skipper acceded to their request. Assisted by the sailmaker, they wrapped her up in blankets, and her body was placed on a grating along the thwarts of the long-boat amidships, with a union-jack spread over it. No other pall had we, nor could we have found a better for a heart so true as that poor lassie once possessed; and there she lay when we entered the mouth of the Derwent river, and worked against a head wind up D'Entrecasteaux's Channel.

"I see that I am tiring you, Morley, with this long yarn; but Miss Basset is still below, and the strangest part is yet to come.

"We got aground on the western side of the channel, but ran an anchor out, manned the capstan, and hove the ship off. At half-past nine that night we came to anchor in thirty-fathom water, off Hobart Town, fired a gun, and furled our canvas, with the ensign at our gaff-peak half hoisted, to show that death had boarded us before the harpies of the custom-house.

"By daybreak next day I was ordered with a gang to prepare for breaking bulk, and proceeded to unship the main-hatch prior to starting the cargo.

"On removing a bale or two, and a few casks, how great was our horror to find, just abaft the mainmast, and under that portion of the deck where Hester Udny had twice seen the figure of flame--a figure perhaps always there, though invisible to us--the skeleton of a man, standing quite erect against the after-bulkhead!

"He was dressed in a gray tweed suit, with a blue bonnet, surmounted by a red tuft, and a checked Border plaid was over his right shoulder. All the flesh had dried upon his bones, so that his clothes hung loosely on him. A few blackened shillings, and a mouldy letter or two, were found in his pockets, so we at once supposed that, being unable to pay his passage, the poor fellow had secreted himself in the hold, little knowing how the cargo would be screwed and stowed up to the beams, and how hermetically the hatches would be closed by battens, tarpaulins, and iron bands; and thus he had perished miserably, unheard, unseen, and unknown--perished of suffocation, and remained there until he dried into a veritable white mummy.

"Our commiseration was greatly increased when we found that the mouldy green letters were written by Hester Udny, and in the poor stowaway her parents recognised her lover, Willie, the lad whom we had all seen hovering about her on the night we hauled out from Greenock to drop down the Clyde.

"They were buried ashore, these two ill-starred and unfortunate lovers, in the burying-ground of the big brick church of Hobart Town, and the whole ship's company attended the funeral. Jack's a rough fellow, Mr. Ashton, but I can assure you that, as we lowered their two plain black coffins into their deep grave, side by side, with a few fathoms of line, there was not a dry eye among us.

"And some of the roughest patted the old father on the back, as he stood dreamily at the head of his daughter's grave, in that far foreign land--sae far frae the Hills o' Campsie, and wondering if it could a' be true, and that she was lying there, while tears streamed down his cheeks, and his white hair waved i' the wind under his auld blue bonnet."

It was a peculiarity of Morrison's, that whenever he became interested, or perhaps more perfectly natural, he always slid into his old Scottish vernacular.

"This is a sad story, Morrison; but the luminous figure which the girl saw--how the deuce do you account for that? She was out of her mind, of course?"

"Out of her mind! not at all!" responded the philosophical Scot; "she was of a delicate temperament, and in a highly nervous and sensitive state, thus she may or must have seen that which was invisible to us of a rougher texture--the gaseous light proceeding from the fermentation, putrescence, and decay of the body beneath the deck--in short, that which we call in Scotland a corpse-Kent." *

* Concerning such appearances, see Baron von Reichenbach's work on the "Dynamics of Magnetism, Electricity," &c. &c., with notes thereto, by Dr. John Ashburner.

But now to return to our own story.

A long consultation ensued concerning what was to be done with Cramply Hawkshaw, and the conclusion come to was simply that he should be kept in the seclusion, or "Coventry," enjoined by Captain Phillips, till the vessel reached the Isle of France; and Morley gave a species of parole, that he would studiously avoid, nor seek in any way to punish him for the outrage he had formerly committed, or that which he had latterly attempted.

So the first day of Morley's re-union with his friends passed merrily and happily away.

In honour of the event, Mr. Basset had a case containing some of his favourite Marcobrumier and sparkling hock hoisted out of the store-room, and in the cabin that night the wine went round so freely, that Captain Phillips's merry eyes shone in his head, Tom Bartelot came out in his favourite drinking-song, and poor Mr. Quail, all unused to such beverages, when he went up to relieve the deck, at eight bells, saw two wheels and two steersmen, and the _Hermione_, tearing through the sea with six masts, and at least seven-and-twenty crossyards upon her.

As it came on to blow about midnight, a reef was taken in the topsails, and forgetting the evil projects broached by his crew on this occasion Captain Phillips gave a double allowance of grog to the watch, with pots of hot coffee to those who preferred them--kindness thrown away, as it proved in the sequel.

Now that our hero and heroine are safely re-united on board the very ship in which they were originally to have sailed together, the reader who is versed in novel-lore may suppose that nothing remains but for Mr. Basset to bestow his paternal benediction no them in the true fashion of the "heavy father," and for Hawkshaw, either at once to be forgiven, no promising to be a good boy for the future, or to receive condign punishment.

But, unfortunately, our story is not fictitious, so it ends not here.

Morley has escaped death, and is again seated by the side of Ethel Basset, gazing into her quiet, deep, and loving eyes as if he could do so for ever, and never, never weary, of course; but storms as yet unthought of, unheard and unseen, are ahead.

The good ship _Hermione_ lies bravely to her course, now east and by north: but she carries with her the growing elements of discord, crime, and misery.