The Ghost Ship | Page 7

dare say you won't believe me, it seems a bit tall even to me,
but the wind had lifted the thatch of my pigsty into the widow's garden
a second time. I thought I wouldn't wait to hear what widow had to say
about it, so I went across the green to the "Fox and Grapes", and the
wind was so strong that I danced along on tiptoe like a girl at the fair.
When I got to the inn landlord had to help me shut the door; it seemed
as though a dozen goats were pushing against it to come in out of the
storm.
"It's a powerful tempest," he said, drawing the beer. "I hear there's a
chimney down at Dickory End."
"It's a funny thing how these sailors know about the weather," I
answered. "When Captain said he was going tonight, I was thinking it
would take a capful of wind to carry the ship back to sea, but now
here's more than a capful."
"Ah, yes," said landlord, "it's tonight he goes true enough, and, mind
you, though he treated me handsome over the rent, I'm not sure it's a
loss to the village. I don't hold with gentrice who fetch their drink from
London instead of helping local traders to get their living."
"But you haven't got any rum like his," I said, to draw him out.
His neck grew red above his collar, and I was afraid I'd gone too far;
but after a while he got his breath with a grunt.
"John Simmons," he said, "if you've come down here this windy night
to talk a lot of fool's talk, you've wasted a journey."
Well, of course, then I had to smooth him down with praising his rum,

and Heaven forgive me for swearing it was better than Captain's. For
the like of that rum no living lips have tasted save mine and parson's.
But somehow or other I brought landlord round, and presently we must
have a glass of his best to prove its quality.
"Beat that if you can!" he cried, and we both raised our glasses to our
mouths, only to stop half-way and look at each other in amaze. For the
wind that had been howling outside like an outrageous dog had all of a
sudden turned as melodious as the carol-boys of a Christmas Eve.
"Surely that's not my Martha," whispered landlord; Martha being his
great-aunt that lived in the loft overhead.
We went to the door, and the wind burst it open so that the handle was
driven clean into the plaster of the wall. But we didn't think about that
at the time; for over our heads, sailing very comfortably through the
windy stars, was the ship that had passed the summer in landlord's field.
Her portholes and her bay-window were blazing with lights, and there
was a noise of singing and fiddling on her decks. "He's gone," shouted
landlord above the storm, "and he's taken half the village with him!" I
could only nod in answer, not having lungs like bellows of leather.
In the morning we were able to measure the strength of the storm, and
over and above my pigsty there was damage enough wrought in the
village to keep us busy. True it is that the children had to break down
no branches for the firing that autumn, since the wind had strewn the
woods with more than they could carry away. Many of our ghosts were
scattered abroad, but this time very few came back, all the young men
having sailed with Captain; and not only ghosts, for a poor half-witted
lad was missing, and we reckoned that he had stowed himself away or
perhaps shipped as cabin-boy, not knowing any better.
What with the lamentations of the ghost-girls and the grumbling of
families who had lost an ancestor, the village was upset for a while, and
the funny thing was that it was the folk who had complained most of
the carryings-on of the youngsters, who made most noise now that they
were gone. I hadn't any sympathy with shoemaker or butcher, who ran
about saying how much they missed their lads, but it made me grieve to
hear the poor bereaved girls calling their lovers by name on the village
green at nightfall. It didn't seem fair to me that they should have lost
their men a second time, after giving up life in order to join them, as
like as not. Still, not even a spirit can be sorry for ever, and after a few

months we made up our mind that the folk who had sailed in the ship
were never coming back, and we didn't talk about it any more.
And then one day, I dare say it