Milford chronicle., 1888-09-07
THE OLD HULK.

Ny father was captain Of the English
coast guard service for the district, so Oh
this account, that he might be near his
men, we lived on the waters edge, near
/ the barracks, and when / had been very
! good he would give me in charge Of Bres-
lin, the old pensioner, who would row me
about the barbor 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 harbor
many years before 1 was born. Themasts
were gone long sincei the tall sides were
4 dented with the marks of battle and the
neglect of years, which is still more de-
structive, and Breslin would tell me how
this vessel had been with Nelson and the
1 Victory at Trafalgar. He would hobble
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 / 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 and
hold me over the bows so that l could ad-
mire the fgurehead-a beautiful lady,
with gold eyes and blue hair The nose
had gone years ago, but there seemed a
certain majesty in the look even then.
What a piece Of art it wasl 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 deeadence
Of the English navy with great exactness
at 1940-the year he left it and got his
pension.
Yes, it was pleasant to row about the
old ship and listen to the old sailors
stories Of her-stories of the times when
she sped through the waters like a swan,
with merry crew and her white sails set
In the breeze, 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. Breslin 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 indulged
in by more than one village gossip. There
was some mystery, no doubt an awful
one
Each time I had visited the ship I 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 / could contain myself no
longer and so made known my suspicious
to Breslin as we sat together on the quay
one sunny afternOod.
"Why don't people go on board the
Bellonap l asked. "Is it haunted2 Please
tell me" But the old sailor pulled 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 I never heard the story Of
the Flying Dutchmanp And thereupon
he began to relate tale of such a horri-
BILE and bloodthirsty nature that / 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.
Il seemed to me an awful story, but
Breslin said it was true, for he had sailed
once with a man who had seen the Flying
Dutchman and the,phantom crew. What
more proof could ask
That evening went home in a strange
state Of mind. At dinner my father
noticed my silence and asked me where 1
had been. told him, and he inquired if
Breslin had left his pipe on shore, a ques-
ton which seemed to me at the time to be
most singular, and only strengthened my
belief in the old sailors tale of the
ghosts. Ny father knew the facts, too,
then; but what relation could there be
between ghosts and pipes2 Did he wish
to turn my thoughts from so. terrible a
subject2 Truly, must learn more about
ghosts. Tomorrow l would ask the
cook, who wss 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
1 lay there awake. Eleven-twelve l
arose timidly and approached the window.
There In the moonlight stood the old
ship; a slight mist seemed lowering
around 1t. Ny 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 q hard,
hard tasl1 to see them--so / 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 ghosts9 Faith, why
shouldn't she2 She was q 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" l had sought the
right shrine.
''How did he lay them?" asked.
Faith, dunIio; 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 divil can't un-
derstand9 And if he can't understand
one Latin, how will he know another2"
The logic was irrefutable Any Latin,
then, would do. Iwould get my Caesar"
which proposed to take up soon, and
read that. The great question was at
last solved.
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. My Latin Cesar"
never left my pocket, and one afternoon,
just at dusk, peeped cautiously into the
old Catholic church upon the hill and,
finding no one there, filed small bottle
with holy water from the font near the
door. Now l was perfectly equipped.
For the next two OF three days 1 alter
mated between feelings of doubt and fear,
but at last the Sunday came Oh how tri-
umphant I felt as / looked around in
church and thought of what hero was