Harper's Round Table, August 18, 1896

"Wot d'ye think of 't?"

"Of what?" asked Henry, as they paused beside him.

"O' the weather."

"It looks as if we were going to have a severe storm," said Henry.

"Werry good; werry good indeed," declared the Old Sailor, gazing around the horizon once more and indulging in one of his silent laughs. "An' s'posin'," he continued, "I was to go fur to ax you wot quarter would the wind come in, wot'd ye say?"

"Southeast," answered George, confidently.

"Not so werry good," commented the Old Sailor. "Ye can't allus say that the wind are a-goin' fur to come from the same quarter as the swells is a-comin' from. I reckon we'll git this fust o' the no'theast, an' then east, an' then southeast, an' so on around to nor'west, w'ere it'll clear off. It are a-goin' to be one o' them there cycloons wot ye read about. An' w'en it comes, w'y, gimme plenty o' sea-room an' a good stout main-torps'l; that's wot."

The Old Sailor relapsed into a deep silence, and the boys waited patiently for several minutes, knowing that if there was any memory at work within him it would surely work its way out. In about five minutes the old man suddenly broke out thus:

"Ye may paral and sarve me with fish bones ef this ain't the werry identical kind o' day wot it happened on, 'ceptin' as how it didn't really happen till night, an' it are now not more'n five bells in the arternoon watch. I were a-takin' the brig Banana Peel out from St. Paul de Loanda to Delagoa Bay with a cargo of frankfurter sausages, condensed milk, leather shoelaces, an' beeswax. The Cap'n, Jerubabel Moxon, were took sick o' coast-fever in St. Paul, an' had to be left there. So bein' I were the fust mate an' it were my dooty fur to take command an' perceed with the woyidge aroun' the Cape an' into Delagoa Bay, I called at Cape Town fur some fresh purwisions an' water, and we laid at anchor in Table Bay fur two days. W'en I were a-gittin' ready fur to git under way a old boatman sez to me, sez he, 'Ef I was you, I'd wait a day or two longer. It are a-goin' to blow putty fresh from the east'rd, an' ye won't be able fur to double the Cape.' But seein' as how there weren't no other signs o' weather 'ceptin' his talk, I reckoned I'd go ahead, an' I did.

"Waal, boys, we hadn't no more'n got clean out to sea nor she come on in stiff puffs onto the east'rd, an' in about three hours it were blowing half a gale. I laid the brig close-hauled on the port tack, but she made leeway by the rood, and I knowed I were a-headin' a good deal nigher fur the antarctic continent than fur the Cape o' Good Hope. Fur three days an' nights that easter blowed. It warn't never a whole gale, but it kep' us under short canvas, an' riz enough sea fur to keep us way down to leeward all the time, an' when it bruk we was two hundred miles sou'west o' the Cape. Now we got a southerly wind, an' in twenty-four hours we doubled the Cape o' Good Hope, and I laid the course to weather Cape Agulhas. Blow me fur pickles, ef it didn't fall a flat calm w'en we was off that cape, jess like this one to-day, with a mos' disorganizin' swell a-runnin' in from the southeast. I seed that it were a-goin fur to come on to blow, but wot could I do? We was about ten miles off the land, an' them swells a-settin' us in toward it all the time at a mos' amazin' pace. I wished as how I were back on the other side o' Good Hope, w'ere them same swells would 'a' bin a-settin' us off shore. Howsumever, it warn't no use wishin'; 'cos w'y, wishes ain't steam-engines or perpellers, an' won't make ships go w'en there ain't no wind.

"Waal, there we was, a-buggaluggin' aroun' in the mos' permiskous fashion, like a fly in a plate o' butter. Night come on darker'n the inside o' an empty mess-chest with the lid shut down. We was a-rollin' an' a-rollin' so that I were more'n half afeard as how we'd roll the masts out o' the bloomin' hooker, an' most o' the men was on deck hangin' on fur dear life, an' waitin' to hear the wind begin fur to howl. But I kinder b'lieved myself that we wouldn't get it afore mornin'. Waal, all on a suddent down to the south'ard an' west'ard, on our stabboard quarter, there comes one o' the mos' awful ear-splittin' screeches I ever heerd in all my life. We all held our breath, an' I reckon most on us turned white. 'Cos w'y, none on us ever heerd any sich sound afore. In about three minutes we heerd it ag'in. Then the whole sky down there lit up with a big green flash, as ef all the green fireworks on 'arth'd gone off at oncet.

"'Wot in bloomin' Africa are it?' sez I to Hiram Sink, my mate, sez I.

"'Ghosts, sure,' sez he to me, sez he.

"I were jess a-goin' to tell him that ghosts didn't walk aroun' at sea an' set off fireworks, w'en a shout from the hands forrad stopped me. There, broad off our stabboard quarter, about a mile away, were a brig lined out against the sky in a reg'lar skellington o' waverin' fire. It were the palest greenest sort o' fire, an' she looked like the ghost o' a brig.

"'The Flyin' Dutchman!' sez Hiram Sink, sez he.

"'By the great anchor flukes, them's it!' sez I.

"An' at that werry identical minute there were another one o' them awful screeches, an', pst! that there brig jess went out, like as ef ye'd turned off the gas.

"'We 'ain't got no show to git out o' this,' sez Hiram Sink, sez he.

"'Nary show. We got to go on them rocks sure,' sez I to he, sez I.

"A werry few minutes arter that a hand forrard yells, 'Steamer on the stabboard bow!'

"An', sure 'nuff, we could see the lights in her cabin. Nex' thing I knowed, there were a launch off our quarter, an' a voice hailed us,

"'Aboard the brig there!'

"'Hello!' sez I. 'Who on 'arth are you?'

"'I'm the owner o' that steam-yacht up there, an' I want to come aboard you,' sez he.

"'Come on, then,' sez I.

"So the launch come alongside, an' the man comes aboard. He sartinly were a pikooliar pusson. His face were so full o' wrinkles it looked like it were made o' rope, an' he had a stiff mustache as white as chalk. His eyes was little an' black an' piercin'. But he were dressed in the swellest kind o' yachtin' toggery ye ever seed, an' spite o' his lookin' a hundred years old, he skipped over the side like a midshipman. He come up to me with a jolly laugh, slapped me on the back, an' sez he to me, sez he,

"'How'd ye like the show?'

"'Wot show?' sez I to he, sez I.

"'W'y, my show down yonder--shrieks, lightnin', ghost ship, an' all them--eh?'

"'W'y,' sez I to he, sez I, 'we thort it were the Flyin' Dutchman.'

"'So it were,' sez he to me, sez he, jess like that, me bein' Cap'n o' the brig, an' him a grinnin' Methuselah in yachtin' togs.

"'Wot d'ye mean?' sez I.

"'I'm the Flyin' Dutchman, the only one in the business, Cap'n G. W. Vanderdecken,' sez he.

"'But it ain't reg'lar at all,' sez I. 'Wot are you a-doin' of with a steam-yacht an' them clothes?'

"'Wot did ye expect? W'y, I'm up to date, I am,' sez he, laffin' like he'd bust hisself. 'I ain't no old moth-eaten barnacle-covered, worn-out spook. I'm a real, live, wide-awake Flyin' Dutchman, right down here in my own partikler latitoods, an' out an' 'tendin' to business w'en there's thick weather a-brewin'. It'll blow a livin' gale by mornin'.'

"An' with that he went into sech a fit o' laffin' I thort he'd putty well choke hisself to death, an' I 'mos' wished he would, him a-comin' aroun' scarin' sailor-men, an' makin' fun o' 'em w'en they was in danger o' shipwrack an' death.

"'Waal,' sez I to he, sez I, 'ef you be the Flyin' Dutchman, you'd better go back to wherever you come from, an' let us get wracked in peace. We ain't in no humor to be laffed at,' sez I to he, sez I, jess like that.

"'W'y,' sez he, 'ye might jess as well laff as cry, 'cos w'y, arter ye're all dead ye can't do nothin'.'

"'Waal,' sez I, gittin' putty mad, 'there's one thing I can do afore I goes to Davy Jones's locker; I can throw you overboard.'

"I made a move toward him, an' he jumped back an' pulled a whistle out o' his pocket an' blowed it. The nex' second the air jess shook with them awful screams ag'in, an' the yacht blazed up in streaks o' fire. I stopped like I were shot.