Helena weekly herald. [volume] (Helena, Mont.) 1867-1900, 1888-08-23
THE OLD HULK.

this account, that ne might be near III:
men, we lived on the waters edge, neal
the barracks, and when l had been verJ
good he would give me in charge of Bres
lin, the old pensioner, who would row me
about the harbor and tell me strange
stories of the sea. Then we would row
over to the old black hulk of the Bellona
which was chained there in the harbol
many years before l was born. The masts
were gone long since; the tall sides were
dented with the marks of battle and the
neglect of years, which is still more de
structive, and Breslin would tel me how
this vessel had been with Nelson and the
Victory at Trafalgar. He would hobblt
up and down the deck, talking loudly and
pointing out to me the beauties of the old
man-o' mar. Here, on this spot, the cap
tain had stood; over there was the place
where the shot came through that killed
him-and 1 would fall on my knees and
begin looking to see if there yet remained
any of the hero's blood that the rain and
time had not washed away.
Breslin would take me forward anG
hold me over the bows so that could ad
mire the igurehead-a beautiful lady,
with gold eyes and blue hair. The nose
had gone years ago, but there seemed 9
certain majesty in the look even then
What a piece of art it was! Breslin
agreed with me fully that there had been
nothing like it since. But, indeed, with
Breslin the good old days were long passed.
and he would have placed the decadence
of the English navy with great eXactness
at 1S40-the year he left it and got his
pension.
y,1aocor,f 70 ohn11f the
old ship and listen to the old sailors
she sped through the waters like swan,
with a merry crew and her white sails set
in the breeze, a terror to the enemies OF
England wherever met-poor thing! she
was so helpless now.
But even now there was some mystery
connected with the Bellona, as she lay, a
broken and useless old hulk, chained in
the harbor. Breshn limited strange things.
It was known throughout the town that
my father had given strict orders that no
one should 60 on board except Breslin and
myself. Vague conjectures were INDUCED
in by more than one village gossip. There
was some mystery, no doubt an awful
one.
Each time l had visited the ship had
noticed the hold full of long black bones,
all stamped with the government seal.
What the cargo was I would have given
my ears to find out.
At length I could contain myself no
longer and so made known my suspicious
to Breslin as we sat together on the quay
one sunny afternpod.
''Why don't people go on board the
Bellona?' l asked. "Is it haunted? Please
tell me-" But the old sailor puffed at his
pipe very sagely for moment or two and
ventured his opinion that he had no doubt
that there were ghosts there, no doubt
whatever, such things were natural, most
natural Had l never heard the story of
the Flying Dutchman?" And thereupon
he began to relate tale Of such horri-
BILE and bloodthirsty nature that l was
frightened near to death of the phantom
ship and the ghosts who had to appear by
night and as misty forms set the airy
sails and clear the deck for action and act
over the fight again until some kind NOR
tai would release them from their dread
full task.
1t seemed to me an awful story, but
Breslin said it was true, for he had sailed
once with man who had seen the Flying
OuCSOlAdI allA bhCs ktLdItOAh SAS"s w AdU
more proof could l ask?
That evening l went home in strange
state of mind. At dinner my father
noticed my silence and asked me where I
had been. told him, and he inquired if
Breslin had left his pipe on shore, a ques-
tion which seemed to me at the time to be
most singular, and only strengthened my
belief in the old sailors tale of the
ghosts. My father knew the facts, too,
then; but what relation could there be
between ghosts and pipes? Did he wish
to turn my thoughts from so terrible a
subject? Truly, l must learn more about
ghosts. Tomorrow l would ask the
cook, who was an authority on the sub
ject.
That night went to bed early, but not
to sleep; visions Of cloudy spirits
haunted me continually. All the terrible
stories Of Breslin came unbidden to my
mind. began to count hundred in hopes
of bringing on sleep; it was useless. The
village clock began striking the hours as
I lay there awake. Eleven-twelvel I
arose timidly and approached the window.
There in the moonlight stood the old
ship; a slight mist seemed lowering
around it. My breathing on the window
pane had hid it moment. l looked
again. No; I could make out nothing.
Perhaps the clock was not right; perhaps
the spirits were invisible except from the
deck of the ship, Truly, it was hard,
hard task to see them-so l went to bed
full of great ideas for the morrow.
Next morning arose rather early and
Immediately sought the cave of the sibyl
or, in palmer words, the kitchen. The
cook seemed rather astonished at my
question.
"Did she know of ghosts? Faith, why
shouldn't she? She was lowly Chris
tian woman, and her own sisters hus-
band, Mike Doogan, had seen ghosts
often, till Father Tom McGonigle wint
out and laid them" / had sought the
right shrine.
"How did he lay them?" asked.
"Faith, dunno; but he TUX two blissid
candles an some howly wather and spake
in Latin, and they just were laid and
nivir throubled the family from that
day."
"What did he say in Latin?"
"Begorrahl I'm no schollard. Shure,
isn't Latin Latin, and isn't it all the
same, the only thing the divl can't un-
derstand3 And if he can't understand
one Latin, how will he know anotherT
The logic was irrefutable. Any Latin,
then, would do. Iwould get my Cesar,
which l proposed to take up soon, and
read that. The great question was at
last solved. cos aa
Now had some idea, don't know from
what source it rose, that Sunday, being .
day of holiness, would be better fitted for
my undertaking, so made my preparations
accordingly, but with great secrecy and
care. Two wax candles stole from my
adviser, the cook. NJ Latin Cesar"
never left my pocket, and one afternoon,
Just at dusk. peeped cautiously into the
old Catholic church upon the hill and,