LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume V, Issue 534, 4 March 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE GHOST ON BOARD SHIP. (Bom Bells Annual.) ( Concluded .) I tried to cry out, but I couldn’t; but if my tongue couldn’t chatter, my teeth could. If the big skeleton’s bones had been put in an empty cask, and well shuck up by a couple of strong min, they couldn’t have made a bigger noise than my jaws did. I tried my hardest to remimber and reharse a prayer, but sorrow the taste of one would come into my head. Shure, everything dacent was frightened clane out of it. The only good thing I could call to mind was what my mother taught me to say before males. I thought that was better than nothing, so I whispered out, while I was shivering with the fear that was upon me, * For what I am going to recave, may the Lord make me truly thankful!’ Whin I had done, the ghost’s jaws moved, and in a voice so hoarse and hollow that it might have come from the bottom of a churchyard vault, half-moaned, half-groaned, * It’s grace you’re saying, you imperint young blaggard!’ ‘lt is,’ says I, trimbling all over ; * that is, if it’s not displasing to your honour’s lordship.’ ‘That depinds,’ says he, ‘upon what you are going to give me to ate after it.’ ‘Ate !’ says I. ‘Why, thin, be good to us ! can you ate ?’ ‘ Tliry me,’ says he, ‘ and you’ll see whether I can or not; and make haste, for my time’s short! I must go down agin almost irnmadiately, and it isn’t the bit or sup I’ve had for near onto five days ; and by rason of that, though I was a strong man once, it’s nearly gone I am !’ * Gone where V

* To my grave,’ cays he. * Bad cess to them, whoever they were, that ought to have done it, and didn’t ! Haven’t they buried you yet ?’ I inquired. * What would they bury me for ?’ says he. * It’s customary with corpses where I come from,’ I answered. ‘ I come from the same place,’ says he. * They are bad enough there, in all conscience—more particularly, by the same token, the middlemen, tithe-proctors, and excisemen ; but they didn’t bury live min in my time,’ says he. ‘ But they did dead ones,’ says I. ‘Of course,’ he assented. ‘ And it’s you that will have to bury me, mighty soon, unless—— ’

* Unless what ?’ I demanded, in a bigger fright than ever at the thought of having to turn sexton to a sperrit. ‘ Well, unless you give me something to ate and drink,’ says he. * Take all there is in that locker,’ says I, ‘ and welcome—and be off out of this.’

‘Don’t say it agin,’ says he; and he opened the locker, and walked into the cook’s store like a shark that had been kaping a six weeks’ fast. It was wonderful to see how the tears stood in the poor ghost’s eyes, how his jaws worked, and his throat swelled, as he swallowed mouthful after mouthful, the bigness of a big man’s fist. In a few minutes he turned to me, and said, ‘ Take my blessing for this, Phil !’ j I was startled to hear the ghost call me by my own name, but as I 'didn’t want to encourage him to kape on visiting terms, I thought it wouldn’t do to let him become too familiar, so I said, mighty stiff like, ‘Fill yourself, honest spirit, as much as you plase, but don’t be Phil-mg me—l don’t like such freedom on a short acquaintance—and you are no friend of mine,’ says I. I I was onct,’ he replied. ‘ When ?’ asked I. ‘ When we were in the ould counthry, says he. ‘ When you tuck the purse from

me for Mary Sheean, and promised to spake the last words 1 spoke to her.’ When I heard him say that, all my ould fears came over me fifty times stronger *han ever, for hadn’t I broken my promise to O’Rourke ? And I could see now, from the family likeness, this was his spirit; and instead of telling her all he said, only given half his message to poor Mary. ‘ Oh, be me sowl, good ghost I’ ‘ If I’m a ghost, I’m ’ He made a long pause, so I spoke, * Never mind what,’ says I. ‘ I don’t want to ax any post mortem questions ’ * Blest!’ says he. ‘That’s a great relief entirely,’ says I. ‘ But if you are blessed, I’m no fit company for you ; so never mind your manners—don’t stay to bid me good-bye, but go at onct.’

‘ You don’t want me to stay ?’ says he. * I don’t,’ I replied. ‘You are more changed than lam,’ he added.

* I wouldn’t wonder,’ says I, * seeing the sort of company I am in.’ ‘Do you find fault with my company ?’ asked he.

* I do,’ says I. ‘And you wish me to go—down below again ?’

‘As soon as couvanient,’ says I. ‘Well, Philip Donovan,’ says he, ‘either I or you are mortially changed.’ ‘ It’s you,’ says I. *My turn hasn’t come yet, but it will, all in good time.’ * Phil Donovan, do you know who you are spaking to ?’ ‘Faix I do, to my sorrow,’ says 1; *to' Miles O’Rourke’s ghost!’ !, ‘ Miles O’Rourke’s ghost ?’ ‘Dickens a doubt of it!’ says L ‘Didn’t I see his body lying stark and di?ad, wid the blood welling out in gallons from his heart ?’ *lt wasn’t my heart, man alive—it was my shoulder : and shure it was the loss of that same that made me faint! Take a hould of my hand, if you doubt me. There’s little left of it but skin and bone ; but it’s human still.’ It was moightily against my own wish, and wid a cowld shiver running down my back, I did as he asked ; but when I did catch a hould of his fist, ghost or no ghost, he nearly made mine into a jelly wid the squeeze he gave it. * Murther alive !’ says I. ‘ Hould your whist. Remember, I’m a ghost! 1 says he. ‘ That’s thrue for you !’ says I; ‘ and you must continue one fer the rest of the voyage, or maybe you will be trated as something worse !’ ‘ What’s that?’ he asked.

* A stowaway!’ says I. ‘The skipper’s a good man enough ; but if he discovers you, the way he’ll sarve you will be awful.’ * What will he do ?’ inquired he. * Give you thirty-nine and land you,’ says

* Land me where ?’ * In the middle of the say !’ says I. ‘Murther!’ says he. ‘Moighty like it,’ says I; * but he’ll doit.’ ‘l’d have to give up the ghost, then !’ says he.

* You would, in aimest!’ I tould him. ‘ But you musn’t do it yet. Tell me how did you come on boord V ‘ I will,’ says he. * When the boys found me, I had only a flesh wound, and had fainted from loss of blood. They got a car, and smuggled me down to Cork. I had scarcely set my fut on deck, as the peelers came rowing up the side. When the order was given to muster all hands, I made my way to the hould, and hid myself in the straw in an empty crate in the darkest corner of the place. The men searched pretty closely, but as good luck would have it, they passed by my hiding place. * You must go back to it. But now Miles O’Rourke, answer me one question, and, as you are a man, answer truly !’ ‘ What is it ?’

* Did you kill the agent ?’ Wake as was O’Rourke, he stood grandly up ; the ould honest, proud look came in his pale, wasted, but still handsome face, and pointing his long, thin finger to heaven, he said, in a deep, low tone, the earnestness of which I shall never forget to my dying day, ‘As I hope for justice some day here, And mercy hereafter, I did not I 1 The hug I gave him would have broken many a strong man’s ribs, let al ne a ghost’s; but I couldn’t help it. Bedad, if I had been a Roosian bear itself, that hug would have been a credit to me.

* What on earth am I to do ?’ asked Miles. * Anything you plase,’ says I, ‘ when you get there ! But you are on the water now, worse luck—and that’s what bothers me. I wouldn’t give a thrawneen for your life, if you are discovered and recognised as Miles O’Rourke. There’s two hundred pounds reward offered for you, and the evidence seems pretty strong against you.’ ‘How would they know me?’ says he ‘You didn’t—and no wonder ! Shure whin I came on boord I weighed fourteen stone, and now, ten stone in the one scale would pitch me up to the ceiling out of the other !’ ‘ That’s three enough,’ says I; * but you must bear in mind I tuk you for somebody else’s ghost, and didn’t make any allowance for the starving you have had, which, par* ticularly as a stowaway, they would be sure to do. But now you must get back to the hould. I’ll' contrive to drop half my rations and a trifle of grog down every day—see Mary, and consult with her. Shure, one woman’s wit is worth a dozen men’s in a case like this.’

‘But —’ says he. ‘Hush !’ says I ; ‘I hear footsteps. We are in a tight place now! There’s only one chance for us ; I’m aslape, and you’re a ghost again !’ I fell back in my bunk, and began snoring like a porker wid the influenzy, just as the door opened, and the ould nagur poked in in his black woolly mop. Miles stood up to his full height, and raised his hands above his head, as if he was going to pounce upon him. The poor cook, terrified beyond measure, fell down as flat as £ flounder on his face, shrieking out at the top of his voice, ‘ The ghost!—the ghost!’ O’Rourke stepped over his body, and hurried back to his hiding place, unseen by the bewildered sailors.

I pretended to awake from a sound slapo, and had the pleasure of hearing the toughest yarn that was ever spun, from Sam, in which he gave a soul thrilling description of his encounter and hand-to-hand fight witßr the dreadful apparition.

I saw Mary the next morning, and broke the news of O’Rourke’s being on board as gently as I could. Our plans were soon laid. By the time we came to an anchor off Hew

York, I contrived to drop, unseen by anyone, a bundle, containing a suit of O’Rourke’s clothes, shaving materials, and a small look-ing-glass, down the hold. When the passengers were paraded, the police-officer, who had remained on board, was too much engaged reading the following description of a supposed murderer to pay much attention to pretty Mary Sheean, or the poor, pale, stooping invalid she was supporting : * Two hundred pounds reward for the apprehension of Miles O’Rourke. Description florid face, curling brown hair, large and muscular limbs, finely-developed chest. Height, about six feet; weight, rather under fourteen stone.’ Unlike as the half-starved wreck was to what he had been when he came on board, I was in an agony of fear, until I saw Mary safely landed on the Battery, convulsively grasping the hand of the ship’s ghost.

A French gentleman, who supposed he had mastered the English language, was sadly puzzled one day when a friend looked at him and said, ‘ How do you do ?’ *Do vat ?’ * I mean how do you find yourself ?’ * Saire, I never loses myself.’ ‘But how do you feel ?’ * Smoot—just you feel me. ’ According to the news from Callao to the 27th of October the elections for the Presidency of Peru had ended in favour of General Pardo. At Lima the polling booths were taken possession of by the Opposition at first, bnt shortly after the Pardo party opened fire. For three hours firing was kept up steadily by both parties. It is believed that not less than 20,000 cartridges were burned. Twenty-four persons are known to have been killed, but the exact number of killed or wounded is not known. The Monteristas had to retreat, and they attribute their retreat to this violence.