Catching up the
paddles again, he pulled madly out of the creek, and away for the
opposite bank of the river; ran his boat in; and, seizing the
portmanteau, without attempt to ship the oars or fasten the painter,
leapt out; climbed, slipped, and staggered over the slippery stones;
and fled up the hill as though a thousand fiends were at his heels.
CHAPTER XIX.
THAT A SILVER BULLET HAS VIRTUE: WITH A WARNING TO COMMODORES.
"Well, sir," remarked Caleb at ten o'clock that evening, after an
hour's watching had passed and brought no sign of a ghost, "I wish
this 'ere sperrit, ef sperrit et be, wud put hissel' out to be
punkshal. They do say as the Queen must wait while her beer's
a-drawin'; but et strikes me ghost-seein' es apt to be like Boscas'le
Fair, which begins twelve an' ends at noon."
Caleb caressed a huge blunderbuss which lay across his knee, and
caused Mr. Fogo no slight apprehension.
"Et puts me i' mind," he went on, as his master was silent, "o' th'
ould lidden [1] as us used to sing when us was tiny mites:--"
Riddle me, riddle me, riddle me right,
Where was I last Sat'rday night?
I seed a chimp-champ champin' at his bridle,
I seed an ould fox workin' hissel' idle.
The trees did shever, an' I did shake,
To see what a hole thic' fox did make.
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