AN ENCHANTED SHIP; OR, THE DUTCH CAPTAIN'S DEVICE.

BY DAVID KER.

"Sail on the starboard bow!"

"What is she?" asked Captain Martin Pieterszoon, looking anxiously in that direction; for in the Eastern seas, two hundred years ago, every strange sail was a terror to the captain of a well-laden Dutch merchantman.

"Can't quite make her out yet," answered the look-out at the mast-head; "looks like a brigantine—very rakish cut altogether."

The Captain's face darkened, and his lips tightened. They tightened still more a few minutes later, when the look-out hailed again, "She's an armed brigantine, bearing right down upon us."

Every face among the crew seemed to harden suddenly, but no one spoke. Indeed, what need was there of words? All on board understood in a moment what was before them. They were about to be attacked by pirates, and there was not a single cannon—not even an old musket—aboard the vessel.

It was a terrible moment for them all—more terrible still for the poor Captain. For years he had been toiling and saving, bearing every kind of hardship, and facing every kind of danger, until he made enough money to become part owner of the ship that he commanded. He had made three successful trips in her, and was now going home for good, to settle himself in a snug little house on the great canal at Amsterdam, with rosy-cheeked Gredel Voort, his old neighbor's only daughter, for his wife. And now, all in a moment, he found himself face to face with a hideous peril, which threatened him with the loss of all he had in the world, and his life to boot.

The crew stood looking moodily at the approaching vessel, which came sweeping over the bright blue sea with its huge white sails outspread like the wings of a swan—a perfect picture of beauty, though it brought death along with it. Some of the bolder spirits were already beginning to mutter to each other that it would be better to set fire to their own ship, and die like men, than be flung into the sea like dogs, when the Captain's gloomy face suddenly lighted up as nobody had ever seen it light up yet, and he burst into such a loud, hearty laugh that the doomed men stood amazed to hear him.

"Cheer up, lads," he cried, still laughing; "all's not over with us yet. Come, knock the head out of that cask of butter, and smear the deck with it—sharp, now!"

The men only stared blankly at him, thinking he had gone mad, and even the stolid mate opened his heavy mouth in amazement.

"Do you hear?" shouted the Captain. "Look sharp, will you? there's no time to lose. Grease the whole deck fore and aft, and the rigging too as high as you can reach. We'll give these rascals a slippery job of it, anyhow."

Then the sailors began to understand, and the shout of laughter that broke forth would have mightily astonished the pirates had they been within hearing. In a twinkling the deck was greased until it fairly shone, bulwarks and all.

"Now, boys," cried the Captain, "on with your sea-boots, and put sand on the soles to keep you from slipping, and then each of you take a handspike, and be ready."

The pirate was now so near that they could see quite plainly the rabble of gaunt, sinewy Malays, woolly-headed negroes, and sallow, black-haired Portuguese that crowded her decks. A few minutes more, and she ran alongside, and almost before the two vessels had touched, three wild figures leaped from the pirate's rigging upon the merchantman's deck.

But it was a very unlucky jump for all three. The first man spun across the slippery deck as if it had been a skating rink, and went right out into the sea on the other side. The second tumbled head-foremost down the hatchway into the cook's galley, where the black cook considerately piled a heap of iron pans on him to keep him quiet.

"Aha, Massa Pirate," said he, grinning, "dis ship no de Flying Dutchman, him de Sliding Dutchman!"

The third pirate had leaped on board as fiercely as if he meant to kill the whole crew at one blow; but the only man he hurt was himself, for he hit his head such a whack against the mast that he almost knocked his brains out, and fell down roaring with pain. All this so frightened the other pirates that they thought the ship must be bewitched, and rushing back to their own vessel with a howl of dismay, made off as fast as possible.

For many years after, one of the familiar sights of Amsterdam was a portly old gentleman with a jolly red face, at sight of whom the boys used to begin singing,

"Captain Martin Pieterszoon Made his ship a buttered bun,"

and his wife was never tired of showing the huge silver butter-dish presented to him in honor of his repulse of the pirate with a cask of butter.