The lost hunter: A tale of early timesAdams, John Turvill
General
The lost hunter: A tale of early times
Adams, John Turvill
Adventure stories; Indians of North America -- Fiction; New England -- Fiction
speak so, my flesh began to kind o' crawl, though I didn't know but it
might be some fellow who had stole the shad out of the shanty, for I
never heard of ghosts carrying fish afore. So says I, 'What are you
doing with them fish?' Then, says he, 'Them ain't any real fish; see
if you can touch 'em.' And then he swung 'em round and round in the
moonlight, and I did my best to catch 'em, but I might just as well
have snatched at the moonshine, for my hands went right through 'em
agin and agin, till I stubbed my toe, and fell somehow, and when I got
up, the sperit was gone. Then I knew it was Jim Lanfear's sperit,
who was murdered years ago right opposite the spot where I asked you,
Prime, if you knew where you was; and I was sartin the luck was all up
for that season, and sure enough it was, for we didn't make more'n two
or three hauls more of any consequence."
"I am sure dere was one sperit dere," said Primus, in a musing way,
and shaking his head.
"Now, Prime, what do you mean by bobbing up and down your wool? Do
you intend to signify, you unbelieving old scamp, you doubt my word? I
tell you I was no more corned than I am now. Why, if you want to, you
can see Jim almost any dark night. Perhaps he's walking along shore
now."
"What dat?" cried Primus, pretending to see something on the land.
Basset started, and strained his eyes through the darkness in the
direction indicated, but could discover nothing. The vision of Primus
and Gladding was better.
"Don't ye see someting," said the former, lowering his voice, "right
under de bank. I can't just see de shape, but it seem as if it swim in
de air widout legs. You eyes is younger, Missa Gladding; guess dey see
furder dan mine."
"I can make him out now," whispered Gladding. "It's a man, sure as
rates Golly!" he exclaimed, suddenly, "if it ain't Jim--look, Basset,
look."
The constable had listened in an agony of terror to the colloquy,
and at the exclamation of Primus, availing himself of his post as
steersman, turned the bow of the boat towards the opposite shore,
to place as great an interval as possible between himself and the
spectre. The action had not passed unnoticed, though neither of his
companions made any remark upon it. Repeatedly his head had flown
round over his shoulder, to catch a glimpse of what he dredded to
see, but, notwithstanding the excitement of his imagination, he could
behold nothing.
"O, Tom! O, Prime!" exclaimed the poor fellow, "let us go home. I wish
we was fairly out of this scrape."
"Why," said Tom, "we're 'most there now. We should be laughed at if
we was to give it up so. Who's afraid o' sperits? They're nothing but
moonshine. I vow," he cried, pointing over the opposite side of the
boat, "if he ain't there agin! Look, Basset."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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