The Ship That Saw A Ghost
Very much of this story must remain untold, for the reason that if it were definitely
known what business I had aboard the tramp steam-freighter Glarus, three hundred miles
off the South American coast on a certain summer's day, some few years ago, I would
very likely be obliged to answer a great many personal and direct questions put by fussy
and impertinent experts in maritime law--who are paid to be inquisitive. Also, I would get
"Ally Bazan," Strokher and Hardenberg into trouble.
Suppose on that certain summer's day, you had asked of Lloyds' agency where the Glarus
was, and what was her destination and cargo. You would have been told that she was
twenty days out from Callao, bound north to San Francisco in ballast; that she had been
spoken by the bark Medea and the steamer Benevento; that she was reported to have
blown out a cylinder head, but being manageable was proceeding on her way under sail.
That is what Lloyds would have answered.
If you know something of the ways of ships and what is expected of them, you will
understand that the Glarus, to be some half a dozen hundred miles south of where Lloyds'
would have her, and to be still going south, under full steam, was a scandal that would
have made her brothers and sisters ostracize her finally and forever.
And that is curious, too. Humans may indulge in vagaries innumerable, and may go far
afield in the way of lying; but a ship may not so much as quibble without suspicion. The
least lapse of "regularity," the least difficulty in squaring performance with intuition, and
behold she is on the black list, and her captain, owners, officers, agents and consignors,
and even supercargoes, are asked to explain.
And the Glarus was already on the black list. From the beginning her stars had been
malign. As the Breda, she had first lost her reputation, seduced into a filibustering
escapade down the South American coast, where in the end a plain-clothes United States
detective--that is to say, a revenue cutter--arrested her off Buenos Ayres and brought her
home, a prodigal daughter, besmirched and disgraced.
After that she was in some dreadful black-birding business in a far quarter of the South
Pacific; and after that--her name changed finally to the Glarus--poached seals for a
syndicate of Dutchmen who lived in Tacoma, and who afterward built a club-house out
of what she earned.
And after that we got her.
We got her, I say, through Ryder's South Pacific Exploitation Company. The "President"
had picked out a lovely little deal for Hardenberg, Strokher and Ally Bazan (the Three
Black Crows), which he swore would make them "independent rich" the rest of their
respective lives. It is a promising deal (B. 300 it is on Ryder's map), and if you want to
