‘Well, you tumbled down the companion-way and were insensible when the stewards picked you up. You fainted, I suppose, with fright, eh?’ ‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ I murmured. ‘It’s all a dream.’ ‘Now tell me and speak the truth?’ she said, in a commanding tone. ‘Did you see anything?’ ‘Yes’ ‘What?’ ‘The vision of a bleeding man.’ ‘Ah!’ she exclaimed triumphantly, ‘how about your scepticism now, eh?’ I had to confess that, according to my belief, I had seen the spectre of a man bleeding from several wounds; but still I thought it was nothing more than a delusion. ‘But the captain was with you?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And he saw it?’ ‘I have reason to think so.’ ‘Then were you both deluded? Anyway, poor fellow, he was deluded to his death. For he has perished.’ I could not enter into any argument. I felt too ill and distressed. I thanked her for her attention, and begged that she would leave me, as I thought I could sleep. She complied with this request, but I tossed and dreamed nightmare dreams, and dreamed and tossed for hours. It took me several days to recover from that awful shock to the nerves; indeed, I don’t think I have ever quite recovered, or that I ever shall. I need scarcely say that from the moment the poor demented captain took that flying leap into the sea nothing more was ever seen of him, and an entry of his suicide was made in the log-book, and I signed it. On our arrival at Havana an inquiry was held by the British Consul, and I was called upon to state what I knew. I confined myself to saying that the captain believed himself that he saw a vision occasionally. He was very greatly affected, and I presume his brain gave way. I did not attempt to speak of my own awful experience. It was not necessary. Even if I had done so how could I have hoped to be believed? And yet I had seen with my own eyes. I, a scoffer in such matters, had been convinced, and what I have written here I solemnly declare to be true. Perhaps somebody cleverer than I, and more learned than I, may be able to explain away the mystery, but for me it will remain an awful, appalling mystery until I cease to breathe. Then, perhaps--who knows?--I may be able to solve it. PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON [Illustration] TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Perceived typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. On page 181, the sentence "There was but one person at all disposed to rebel against the despotic sovereignty which John Morgan--" appears. The transcriber believes that the name should be William Morgan, but has retained the text as printed. On page 222, the sentence "Morgan, as was remembered, had gambled his fortune away..." appears. The transcriber believes that the name should be Jones, but has retained the text as printed.