The whole sky was aglow with the light of the aurora borealis--or the Merry Dancers, as we call the phenomenon in Orkney. A beautiful crimson curtain, fringed with flickering streamers, spanned the northern sky. From east to west there passed a succession of trembling waves of light, many coloured, from faint rose to palest yellow and delicate green. A heavy cloud of inky blackness hung high above, and from its upper margin rays of fiery light flashed far across the sky, casting their reflections upon the sea. Two ghostly icebergs, floating about a mile apart, reared their snowy peaks on high, and in the channel between them--most welcome sight of all--there sailed a ship. The vessel's sails were hanging stiff about the spars and her timbers were coated with ice and snow. I steered the schooner towards her, and we slowly approached. When I was near enough I hailed her and waited, listening for an answer to my call. No answer came. A feeling of awe crept over me. There was something strangely desolate about her. No hand seemed to be guiding her helm. Not a man was to be seen on her snow-covered decks. She sailed aimlessly along, as though all on board had ceased to care when or how she reached her destination. I brought the schooner close in to the stranger's side until we touched, and then I got the large boat hook out and fixed it in her chains. None of the ship's crew appeared to have remarked my approach. What could they be doing? Perhaps, I thought, they were all below decks. I climbed upon the Falcon's gunwale and looked through an open porthole into the vessel's after cabin. I saw there a man seated at a table, with his back towards me, apparently writing. "Hello in there! D'ye keep no watch aboard?" I cried. He appeared not to hear me, but held the pen in his hand as though in deep meditation. I clambered up the vessel's side and got over the quarter rail, taking with me the end of a stout rope with which to secure the two ships together. The snow was deep on the stranger's decks, and bore no trace of footsteps. All was quiet. . I crossed over to the companion ladder, and found my way down to the door of the cabin. I knocked with my knuckles, but no voice answered, and I went within. The man still sat at the table, without turning at my entrance. The atmosphere was cold and musty; there was no fire in the stove, although yet another man sat crouched before it. I went behind the man at the table and touched him on the shoulder. "D'ye not hear me, sir?" I said. "Are ye deaf? or what has gone wrong?" He did not move. I looked down into his face. "Heavens!" I exclaimed, drawing back in horror at the grim sight. What did it mean? I made bold to look again, though I felt myself trembling. A green damp mould covered his cheek and forehead, and hung in a ghastly fringe over his open eyes. The man was a frozen corpse!