He finished the breakfast in silence, and then went on deck again. It was still blowing hard, and he went over to superintend the men who were attempting to lash together some empties which were rolling about in all directions amidships. A violent roll set them free again, and at the same time separated two chests in the fo’c’sle, which were standing one on top of the other. This enabled Satan, who was crouching in the lower one, half crazed with terror, to come flying madly up on deck and give his feelings full vent. Three times in full view of the horrified skipper he circled the deck at racing speed, and had just started on the fourth when a heavy packing-case, which had been temporarily set on end and abandoned by the men at his sudden appearance, fell over and caught him by the tail. Sam rushed to the rescue. “Stop!” yelled the skipper. “Won’t I put it up, sir?” inquired Sam. “Do you see what’s beneath it?” said the skipper, in a husky voice. “Beneath it, sir?” said Sam, whose ideas were in a whirl. “The cat, can’t you see the cat?” said the skipper, whose eyes had been riveted on the animal since its first appearance on deck. Sam hesitated a moment, and then shook his head. “The case has fallen on the cat,” said the skipper. “I can see it distinctly.” He might have said heard it, too, for Satan was making frenzied appeals to his sympathetic friends for assistance. “Let me put the case back, sir,” said one of the men, “then p’raps the wision ’ll disappear.” “No, stop where you are,” said the skipper. “I can stand it better by daylight. It’s the most wonderful and extraordinary thing I’ve ever seen. Do you mean to say you can’t see anything, Sam?” “I can see a case, sir,” said Sam, speaking slowly and carefully, “with a bit of rusty iron band sticking out from it. That’s what you’re mistaking for the cat, p’raps, sir.” “Can’t you see anything, cook?” demanded the skipper. “It may be fancy, sir,” faltered the cook, lowering his eyes, “but it does seem to me as though I can see a little misty sort o’ thing there. Ah, now it’s gone.” “No, it ain’t,” said the skipper. “The ghost of Satan’s sitting there. The case seems to have fallen on its tail. It appears to be howling something dreadful.” The men made a desperate effort to display the astonishment suitable to such a marvel, whilst Satan, who was trying all he knew to get his tail out, cursed freely. How long the superstitious captain of the _Skylark_ would have let him remain there will never be known, for just then the mate came on deck and caught sight of it before he was quite aware of the part he was expected to play. “Why the devil don’t you lift the thing off the poor brute,” he yelled, hurrying up towards the case. “What, can _you_ see it, Dick?” said the skipper impressively, laying his hand on his arm. “_See_ it?” retorted the mate. “D’ye think I’m blind. Listen to the poor brute. I should—Oh!”