I had to see you fine lads again,
eh, boys?" Almost cringing was Lie-lip Canool, and suddenly he recoiled as Moll
Farrell came through the throng. A moment they stood eyeing each
other; then Moll's grim lips bent in a terrible smile. "There's blood on your hand, Canool!" she lashed out suddenly--so
suddenly that Lie-lip started and rubbed his right hand across his
left sleeve. "Stand aside, witch!" he snarled in sudden anger, striding through
the crowd which gave back for him. His admirers followed him to the
tavern. Now, I mind that the next day was even colder; grey fogs came
drifting out of the east and veiled the sea and the beaches. There
would be no sailing that day, and so all the villagers were in their
snug houses or matching tales at the tavern. So it came about that
Joe, my friend, a lad of my own age, and I, were the ones who saw the
first of the strange thing that happened. Being harum-scarum lads of no wisdom, we were sitting in a small
rowboat, floating at the end of the wharfs, each shivering and
wishing the other would suggest leaving, there being no reason
whatever for our being there, save that it was a good place to build
air-castles undisturbed. Suddenly Joe raised his hand. "Say," he said, "d'ye hear? Who can
be out on the bay upon a day like this?" "Nobody. What d'ye hear?" "Oars. Or I'm a lubber. Listen." There was no seeing anything in that fog, and I heard nothing. Yet
Joe swore he did, and suddenly his face assumed a strange look. "Somebody rowing out there, I tell you! The bay is alive with oars
from the sound! A score of boats at the least! Ye dolt, can ye not
hear?" Then, as I shook my head, he leaped and began to undo the painter. "I'm off to see. Name me liar if the bay is not full of boats, all
together like a close fleet. Are you with me?" Yes, I was with him, though I heard nothing. Then out in the
greyness we went, and the fog closed behind and before so that we
drifted in a vague world of smoke, seeing naught and hearing naught. We were lost in no time, and I cursed Joe for leading us upon a wild
goose chase that was like to end with our being swept out to sea. I
thought of Moll Farrell's girl and shuddered. How long we drifted I know not. Minutes faded into hours, hours into
centuries. Still Joe swore he heard the oars, now close at hand, now
far away, and for hours we followed them, steering our course toward
the sound, as the noise grew or receded. This I later thought of,
and could not understand. Then, when my hands were so numb that I could no longer hold the oar,
and the forerunning drowsiness of cold and exhaustion was stealing
over me, bleak white stars broke through the fog which glided
suddenly away, fading like a ghost of smoke, and we found ourselves
afloat just outside the mouth of the bay. The waters lay smooth as a
pond, all dark green and silver in the starlight, and the cold came
crisper than ever. I was swinging the boat about, to put back into
the bay, when Joe gave a shout, and for the first time I heard the
clack of oar-locks. I glanced over my shoulder and my blood went
cold. A great beaked prow loomed above us, a weird, unfamiliar shape
against the stars, and as I caught my breath, sheered sharply and
swept by us, with a curious swishing I never heard any other craft
make. Joe screamed and backed oars frantically, and the boat walled
out of the way just in time; for though the prow had missed us, still
otherwise we had died. For from the sides of the ship stood long
oars, bank upon bank which swept her along. Though I had never seen
such a craft, I knew her for a galley. But what was she doing upon
our coasts? They said, the far-farers, that such ships were still in
use among the heathens of Barbary; but it was many a long, heaving
mile to Barbary, and even so she did not resemble the ships described
by those who had sailed far. We started in pursuit, and this was strange, for though the waters
broke about her prow, and she seemed fairly to fly through the waves,
yet she was making little speed, and it was no time before we caught
up with her. Making our painter fast to a chain far back beyond the
reach of the swishing oars, we hailed those on deck. But there came
no answer, and at last, conquering our fears, we clambered up the
chain and found ourselves upon the strangest deck man has trod for
many a long, roaring century. "This is no Barbary rover!" muttered Joe fearsomely. "Look, how old
it seems! Almost ready to fall to pieces. Why, 'tis fairly rotten!" There was no one on deck, no one at the long sweep with which the
craft was steered. We stole to the hold and looked down the stair. Then and there, if ever men were on the verge of insanity, it was we. For there were rowers there, it is true; they sat upon the rowers'
benches and drove the creaking oars through the gray waters. _And
they that rowed were skeletons!_

Shrieking, we plunged across the deck, to fling ourselves into the
sea. But at the rail I tripped upon something and fell headlong, and
as I lay, I saw a thing which vanquished my fear of the horrors below
for an instant. The thing upon which I had tripped was a human body,
and in the dim gray light that was beginning to steal across the
eastern waves I saw a dagger hilt standing up between his shoulders. Joe was at the rail, urging me to haste, and together we slid down
the chain and cut the painter. Then we stood off into the bay. Straight on kept the grim galley,
and we followed, slowly, wondering. She seemed to be heading
straight for the beach beside the wharfs, and as we approached, we
saw the wharfs thronged with people. They had missed us, no doubt,
and now they stood, there in the early dawn light, struck dumb by the
apparition which had come up out of the night and the grim ocean. Straight on swept the galley, her oars a-swish; then ere she reached
the shallow water--crash!--a terrific reverberation shook the bay. Before our eyes the grim craft seemed to melt away; then she
vanished, and the green waters seethed where she had ridden, but
there floated no driftwood there, nor did there ever float any
ashore. Aye, something floated ashore, but it was grim driftwood! We made the landing amid a hum of excited conversation that stopped
suddenly. Moll Farrell stood before her hut, limned gauntly against
the ghostly dawn, her lean hand pointing seaward. And across the
sighing wet sands, borne by the grey tide, something came floating;
something that the waves dropped at Moll Farrell's feet. And there
looked up at us, as we crowded about, a pair of unseeing eyes set in
a still, white face. John Kulrek had come home. Still and grim he lay, rocked by the tide, and as he lurched
sideways, all saw the dagger hilt that stood from his back--the
dagger all of us had seen a thousand times at the belt of Lie-lip
Canool. "Aye, I killed him!" came Canool's shriek, as he writhed and groveled
before our gaze. "At sea on a still night in a drunken brawl I slew
him and hurled him overboard!