“A tremendous gale had ceased, but still the mountainous swellings of the sea burst violently on the shore, when the boat of Swan Jervoise came into the Brighton roadstead, having weathered the storm. The night was pitchy dark; scarcely could the outline of the horizon be perceived, and not a light illumed the blank. The surprise of Jervoise and his crew was therefore great when they beheld a stream of meteor-like splendour burst from every window of the ‘Rising Sun’ Inn, and as suddenly all was again involved in utter darkness. This terrific appearance was repeated many times. Swan Jervoise was one of those men who never conjecture, but proceeded at once to ascertain a cause. He therefore, with two of his men, went ashore; but proceeded alone to the ‘Rising Sun,’ expecting to find the people up. After knocking and bawling loud enough to rouse all the dead in the Bartholomew’s Chapel, without wakening the landlord, he was about to force the door, when the light again burst from the windows, and he distinctly heard a ticking as of a person striking a light with a flint and steel, each stroke producing this supernatural blaze of light. In a moment afterwards the door was opened, and a being seven feet high, wrapped in a large black cloak, with a high conical white hat, issued forth. He noticed not the poor drenched fisherman, but he strode on until he disappeared in the darkness. Jervois’s hair stood, stiff on his head; his limbs trembled with fear; and he shrieked aloud with terror. The landlord heard his cry, and came down with his torch. Seeing his neighbour in such a plight, he bade him come in, roused up a fire, made him take a seat in the capacious chimney, and—having comforted him with good words—placed a rushlight on the table, and then retired to procure a jug of ale. Jervoise, scarcely recovered from his fright, was thus again left alone. As he sat musing by the crackling fire, the dim rush throwing a fitful light around the room, he chanced to turn his head; when, from over the back of the settle, he beheld the deathlike features—pallid as a sear cloth—of the tall man in the conical hat. His countenance was most ghastly, and he fixed his grey-glazed eyes full on Jervoise, and pointed to the hearth. This was more than he could bear,—he uttered one loud scream, and fell senseless to the ground. He was thus found by the landlord, who conveyed him to bed; and the next day Jervoise related the particulars to Father Anselm, of St. Bartholomew, and then expired. But the blessed Virgin and Saint Nicholas oft-times bring good out of evil; for on examining the hearth to which ‘Old Strike-a-Light’ (as the apparition has since been called) pointed, a vast treasure was found, which is still safely deposited with the