THE "FLYING DUTCHMAN" UP TO DATE.

ONE OF THE OLD SAILOR'S YARNS.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.

It was the day before a great storm. Any one familiar with the face of the sea could have told that. The sky was a dead, dull sheet of cold leaden-gray cloud, and the color of it was reflected in a darker shade in the vast expanse of heaving waters. From the southward and eastward long, broad, oily swells were rolling in a formidable procession. As each one swept into the shallow water close to the shore it reared itself in a curving pinnacle of gray shot with green. Then it whitened in a quivering, broken line along its crest, and rushing forward, hurled itself upon the beach in a crashing swirl of snowy foam. Not a breath of air was stirring. The atmosphere was damp and heavy, and it seemed to clog the lungs. Sounds along the shore were preternaturally clear in the intervals between the thunder-bursts of the surf, and the crowing of a cock at a farm-house half a mile away could be distinctly heard. Not a sail was to be seen except far away in the northeast, where the light canvas of a schooner showed above the wavering line of the horizon. Nearer at hand a south-bound steamer was ploughing her way seaward, rolling so perilously that the yawning throat of her fuming black smokestack lay wide open toward the land at every starboard lurch of her. The Old Sailor was sitting in his accustomed place on the pier, gazing around the horizon and shaking his head. There was no doubt that the day or the ship in sight had aroused in his mind some reminiscent train of thought. So Henry and George, who had caught sight of him, determined to join him. They walked quickly out on the pier, but before they reached their friend, he turned his head and called out,

"Wot d'ye think of 't?"

"Of what?" asked Henry, as they paused beside him.

"O' the weather."

"It looks as if we were going to have a severe storm," said Henry.

"Werry good; werry good indeed," declared the Old Sailor, gazing around the horizon once more and indulging in one of his silent laughs. "An' s'posin'," he continued, "I was to go fur to ax you wot quarter would the wind come in, wot'd ye say?"

"Southeast," answered George, confidently.

"Not so werry good," commented the Old Sailor. "Ye can't allus say that the wind are a-goin' fur to come from the same quarter as the swells is a-comin' from. I reckon we'll git this fust o' the no'theast, an' then east, an' then southeast, an' so on around to nor'west, w'ere it'll clear off. It are a-goin' to be one o' them there cycloons wot ye read about. An' w'en it comes, w'y, gimme plenty o' sea-room an' a good stout main-torps'l; that's wot."

The Old Sailor relapsed into a deep silence, and the boys waited patiently for several minutes, knowing that if there was any memory at work within him it would surely work its way out. In about five minutes the old man suddenly broke out thus:

"Ye may paral and sarve me with fish bones ef this ain't the werry identical kind o' day wot it happened on, 'ceptin' as how it didn't really happen till night, an' it are now not more'n five bells in the arternoon watch. I were a-takin' the brig Banana Peel out from St. Paul de Loanda to Delagoa Bay with a cargo of frankfurter sausages, condensed milk, leather shoelaces, an' beeswax. The Cap'n, Jerubabel Moxon, were took sick o' coast-fever in St. Paul, an' had to be left there. So bein' I were the fust mate an' it were my dooty fur to take command an' perceed with the woyidge aroun' the Cape an' into Delagoa Bay, I called at Cape Town fur some fresh purwisions an' water, and we laid at anchor in Table Bay fur two days. W'en I were a-gittin' ready fur to git under way a old boatman sez to me, sez he, 'Ef I was you, I'd wait a day or two longer. It are a-goin' to blow putty fresh from the east'rd, an' ye won't be able fur to double the Cape.' But seein' as how there weren't no other signs o' weather 'ceptin' his talk, I reckoned I'd go ahead, an' I did.

"Waal, boys, we hadn't no more'n got clean out to sea nor she come on in stiff puffs onto the east'rd, an' in about three hours it were blowing half a gale. I laid the brig close-hauled on the port tack, but she made leeway by the rood, and I knowed I were a-headin' a good deal nigher fur the antarctic continent than fur the Cape o' Good Hope. Fur three days an' nights that easter blowed. It warn't never a whole gale, but it kep' us under short canvas, an' riz enough sea fur to keep us way down to leeward all the time, an' when it bruk we was two hundred miles sou'west o' the Cape. Now we got a southerly wind, an' in twenty-four hours we doubled the Cape o' Good Hope, and I laid the course to weather Cape Agulhas. Blow me fur pickles, ef it didn't fall a flat calm w'en we was off that cape, jess like this one to-day, with a mos' disorganizin' swell a-runnin' in from the southeast. I seed that it were a-goin fur to come on to blow, but wot could I do? We was about ten miles off the land, an' them swells a-settin' us in toward it all the time at a mos' amazin' pace. I wished as how I were back on the other side o' Good Hope, w'ere them same swells would 'a' bin a-settin' us off shore. Howsumever, it warn't no use wishin'; 'cos w'y, wishes ain't steam-engines or perpellers, an' won't make ships go w'en there ain't no wind.

"Waal, there we was, a-buggaluggin' aroun' in the mos' permiskous fashion, like a fly in a plate o' butter. Night come on darker'n the inside o' an empty mess-chest with the lid shut down. We was a-rollin' an' a-rollin' so that I were more'n half afeard as how we'd roll the masts out o' the bloomin' hooker, an' most o' the men was on deck hangin' on fur dear life, an' waitin' to hear the wind begin fur to howl. But I kinder b'lieved myself that we wouldn't get it afore mornin'. Waal, all on a suddent down to the south'ard an' west'ard, on our stabboard quarter, there comes one o' the mos' awful ear-splittin' screeches I ever heerd in all my life. We all held our breath, an' I reckon most on us turned white. 'Cos w'y, none on us ever heerd any sich sound afore. In about three minutes we heerd it ag'in. Then the whole sky down there lit up with a big green flash, as ef all the green fireworks on 'arth'd gone off at oncet.

"'Wot in bloomin' Africa are it?' sez I to Hiram Sink, my mate, sez I.

"'Ghosts, sure,' sez he to me, sez he.

"I were jess a-goin' to tell him that ghosts didn't walk aroun' at sea an' set off fireworks, w'en a shout from the hands forrad stopped me. There, broad off our stabboard quarter, about a mile away, were a brig lined out against the sky in a reg'lar skellington o' waverin' fire. It were the palest greenest sort o' fire, an' she looked like the ghost o' a brig.

"'The Flyin' Dutchman!' sez Hiram Sink, sez he.

"'By the great anchor flukes, them's it!' sez I.

"An' at that werry identical minute there were another one o' them awful screeches, an', pst! that there brig jess went out, like as ef ye'd turned off the gas.

"'We 'ain't got no show to git out o' this,' sez Hiram Sink, sez he.

"'Nary show. We got to go on them rocks sure,' sez I to he, sez I.

"A werry few minutes arter that a hand forrard yells, 'Steamer on the stabboard bow!'

"An', sure 'nuff, we could see the lights in her cabin. Nex' thing I knowed, there were a launch off our quarter, an' a voice hailed us,

"'Aboard the brig there!'

"'Hello!' sez I. 'Who on 'arth are you?'

"'I'm the owner o' that steam-yacht up there, an' I want to come aboard you,' sez he.

"'Come on, then,' sez I.

"So the launch come alongside, an' the man comes aboard. He sartinly were a pikooliar pusson. His face were so full o' wrinkles it looked like it were made o' rope, an' he had a stiff mustache as white as chalk. His eyes was little an' black an' piercin'. But he were dressed in the swellest kind o' yachtin' toggery ye ever seed, an' spite o' his lookin' a hundred years old, he skipped over the side like a midshipman. He come up to me with a jolly laugh, slapped me on the back, an' sez he to me, sez he,

"'How'd ye like the show?'

"'Wot show?' sez I to he, sez I.

"'W'y, my show down yonder—shrieks, lightnin', ghost ship, an' all them—eh?'

"'W'y,' sez I to he, sez I, 'we thort it were the Flyin' Dutchman.'

"'So it were,' sez he to me, sez he, jess like that, me bein' Cap'n o' the brig, an' him a grinnin' Methuselah in yachtin' togs.

"'Wot d'ye mean?' sez I.

"'I'm the Flyin' Dutchman, the only one in the business, Cap'n G. W. Vanderdecken,' sez he.

"'But it ain't reg'lar at all,' sez I. 'Wot are you a-doin' of with a steam-yacht an' them clothes?'

"'Wot did ye expect? W'y, I'm up to date, I am,' sez he, laffin' like he'd bust hisself. 'I ain't no old moth-eaten barnacle-covered, worn-out spook. I'm a real, live, wide-awake Flyin' Dutchman, right down here in my own partikler latitoods, an' out an' 'tendin' to business w'en there's thick weather a-brewin'. It'll blow a livin' gale by mornin'.'

"An' with that he went into sech a fit o' laffin' I thort he'd putty well choke hisself to death, an' I 'mos' wished he would, him a-comin' aroun' scarin' sailor-men, an' makin' fun o' 'em w'en they was in danger o' shipwrack an' death.

"'Waal,' sez I to he, sez I, 'ef you be the Flyin' Dutchman, you'd better go back to wherever you come from, an' let us get wracked in peace. We ain't in no humor to be laffed at,' sez I to he, sez I, jess like that.

"'W'y,' sez he, 'ye might jess as well laff as cry, 'cos w'y, arter ye're all dead ye can't do nothin'.'

"'Waal,' sez I, gittin' putty mad, 'there's one thing I can do afore I goes to Davy Jones's locker; I can throw you overboard.'

"I made a move toward him, an' he jumped back an' pulled a whistle out o' his pocket an' blowed it. The nex' second the air jess shook with them awful screams ag'in, an' the yacht blazed up in streaks o' fire. I stopped like I were shot.

"'Good show, ain't it?' sez he. 'There ain't nothin' like it a-scourin' the high seas.'

"With that he dances aroun' on one leg an' laffs ag'in like a crazy hyena.

"'Look here,' sez I to he, sez I, 'I don't see wot business you got with a steam-yacht, anyhow.'

"'W'y,' sez he to me, sez he, 'you made one kick about that already. Wot d'ye s'pose? D'ye think I'm goin' to be behind the times? 'Ain't I got as good a right to have all the modern improvements as any other man afloat?'

"'But the last time I seed you,' sez I, 'were about ten year ago, an' you had a old-fashioned sailin'-vessel then.'

"'An' wot good were she?' sez he, speakin' kind o' mad like. 'I couldn't git to wind'ard in her in any sort o' weather at all.'

"'O' course not,' sez I to he, sez I. 'Ye ain't expected to git to wind'ard. You're expected to be down here a-tryin' to double this 'ere cape in a gale o' wind an' gittin' blowed back.'

"'Waal, my son,' sez he to me, sez he, 'we got all that old story changed now. That's wot used to happen to me, but it don't happen no more. I got a steamer now, an' I can git to wind'ard in putty poor weather. An' as for doublin' this 'ere cape, I jess do that two or three times a year fur my health, an' to keep up my repitation. It wouldn't do fur me never to be seed down here at all; 'cos w'y, a lot o' you ignerent sailor-men'd git so ye wouldn't b'lieve in me, an' then my occupation'd be gone. I jess showed up fur you as a matter o' business, an' I'm sure I give you a mighty good show, too. An' now here you are a-grumblin' an' a-kickin' an' a-talkin' about throwin' me overboard. Not as I'd mind bein' in the sea werry much, 'cos ye can't drown me, ye know. But I got feelin's, I have, an' I don't like to be treated bad by nobody at all, I don't.'

"An' blow me fur pickles ef the old willain didn't pull out his hankercher an' wipe his eyes jess like he were a-cryin'.

"'Ef you don't want to hear hard words from sailor-men,' sez I to he, sez I, 'don't go fur to come fur to appear to 'em off this 'ere cape an' bring on foul weather an' shipwrack.'

"'Ah, say,' sez he, takin' the hankercher from his eyes and commencin' fur to laff ag'in, 'd' you b'lieve that tommy-rot?'

"'Wot!' sez I, 'ain't you the cause o' this 'ere weather?'

"'Naw-w-w,' sez he, disgusted like.

"'Waal,' sez I, 'you're the sign o' 't.'

"'Not edzackly,' sez he. 'I allers turn on my show w'en there's bad weather comin'. I got to. I got to keep up my repitation. W'y, wot'd Herne the Hunter, the Erl-King, the Headless Horseman, an' old Mother Erda think o' me ef I didn't attend to business? I'd git kicked out o' respectable spook society, an' w'ere in goodness'd I go then?'

"There not seemin' to be no fittin' answer to that there inquiry, I didn't make none. No more did Hiram Sink, him havin' lost his breath w'en Vanderdecken first came aboard, an' not bein' able to speak.

"'But I want to tell you one thing,' sez the Flyin' Dutchman, sez he; 'ef it's the weather an' the lee shore you're a-worrin' about, I can prove to ye that I 'ain't got no sort o' interest in it.'

"'How can ye do that?' sez I to he, sez I.

"'I'll tow ye round the cape,' sez he.

"Waal, my sons, ye could 'a' knocked me down with a compass-card. Who ever heard o' the Flyin' Dutchman doin' sich a thing?

"'All right,' sez I to he, sez I. 'Will you give us a line?'

"'Sure,' sez he; 'look out there forrad.'

"He blowed that whistle o' his a couple o' times, an' the end o' a heavin'-line lit onto my fo'k's'le deck. The hands was 'mos' afraid to touch it, but bime-by Hiram Sink got the hawser aboard an' made fast. The Flyin' Dutchman's launch were dropped astern, an' his bloomin' steam-yacht went ahead, towin' us along at about seven knots an hour. As fur him he walked up an' down the deck mumblin' to hisself like he were puffickly disgusted with the entire perceedin's. Arter he'd towed us putty well past the cape, an' I commenced fur to feel a leetle easier in my mind, I walked up to him, an' sez I to he, sez I,

"'Look here, Mr. Flyin' Dutchman.'

"'Waal, Mr. Sailin' American, wot are it?'

"'I'd like fur to have the privilege o' axin' you a fair question.'

"'Heave ahead,' sez he, 'an' I'll answer 't ef I likes.'

"'What brought ye aboard o' my vessel, anyhow?'

"'Waal,' sez he, 'I'm out o' baccy, an' I thort as how ye might let me have a little.'

"'Oho!' sez I to he, sez I, 'I s'pose ye can't lay in a cargo 'cos ye kin only land once in seven years.'

"'Aw, gammon!' sez he, 'I can land w'enever I wants to.'

"'But how about keepin' up yer repitation?' sez I.

"'That's all right,' sez he. 'Who's goin' to know me in broad daylight with a steam-yacht an' in these togs? W'y, I'm goin' up to Calcutta as quick as I can get there.'

"I told him to wait a minute, an' I went an' got him a box o' smokin' baccy, an' he were werry grateful fur 't, too.

"'Now,' sez I to he, sez I, 'I got to tell ye somethin' afore ye go.'

"'Waal,' sez he, 'wot are it?'

"'I can't jess edzackly b'lieve,' sez I, 'that you're ginuwine.'

"'Ginuwine wot?' sez he.

"'Genuwine Flyin' Dutchman.'

"'Wot!' sez he. 'Waal, jess you wait a few minutes an' I'll show ye.'

"With that he jumped over the rail. I thort he were in the sea, but I seed him in his launch goin' out ahead o' us. At the same time the tow-line gave a jerk an' parted right under our fore-stay. The nex' minute them awful screams bruk out ag'in, an' then the Flyin' Dutchman's yacht came down past us at a twenty-knot gait. She were red hot all over, an' steam hissed from the sea as she passed. Her masts and spars looked to be all afire, an' on the bridge in a cloud o' smoke stood the Flyin' Dutchman hisself, smokin' a pipe o' the baccy I give him. An' he looked like he were a sheet o' white fire.

"'Ha, ha, ha, ha!' he yelled. 'Ye don't believe I'm genuwine, eh? I'll show ye!'

"An', pst! him an' the yacht an' the fire an' the steam was gone, jess like that, leaving the sea blacker'n ink. An' the nex' minute whee-oop come the gale, not out o' the southeast, but out o' the no'theast. An' it blowed us back two hundred mile, dismasted us, an' generally used us up. An' I don't want to be towed by the Flyin' Dutchman ag'in."