‘“But who—who, in the devil’s name, is he, uncle?” shouted Ned. ‘“He is a restless phantom—a wandering, unquiet spirit,” says the old seaman, with his voice trembling, and his grey hair all dank with the cold sweat. “He was a cruel captain of Spain, who, holding a high command in Hispaniola, wrought great cruelties to the natives, and even to his fellow-countrymen, amassing thus a great treasure, which he buried in one of the small keys or desert islands of the Western Indies, to wait an opportunity of conveying it to Spain: at length this seemed to have arrived, and in a stout vessel he set sail for the treasure island; but on the voyage a terrible fever fixed upon him, and having partially recovered, he found his memory so gone that he could not recal to his mind any signs by which he knew either the island, or the part of it where the treasure lay. Notwithstanding, however, he would continue to cruize for weeks and weeks among the cluster called the Virgin Isles, to the east of Porto Rico,—never sleeping, so they said who sailed with him, but always standing on the highest yard, gazing wistfully for his treasure he had buried. At length his crew lost patience, and insisted upon returning to Hispaniola; at this he fell into furious fits of rage, but at last, they being obstinate, he swore a solemn oath that, dead or alive, he would sail the sea until his treasure was either found and spent, or placed for ever beyond the reach of men. And then, ordering them to put out a boat, stepped on board, and they left him floating, an hundred years ago, just as we found him this afternoon.” ‘“But he has been seen since,” quoth Ned, after a pause, for he did not know what to think of this story. ‘“Twice that I know of,” said his uncle, “and once, I tell you, I saw him, and he came on board and brought tempest with him; they called him ‘Foul-Weather Don’ and learned men say he must keep his oath, in the spirit, if not in the body, and that he will have no rest till the terms of it be fulfilled.” ‘“So he brought bad weather, did he?” said Ned, musing. ‘“For the three weeks he was on board,” says the old man, “the blast never lulled, and the sea ran higher than the mainyard.” ‘“And what did he do all that time?” cries Ned, again. ‘“He sat in the great cabin,” replied the uncle, “with his back against the rudder-case, and never spoke word nor broke bread.” ‘“How did he leave you?” was Ned’s next question.