There's no dead body about, so ghost et were. I were
a-thinkin', wi' your lave, sir, I'd go down to Troy to church this
mornin'; I wants to be exercised a bit arter all this witchcraf'."
Mr. Fogo wondered at this proposal to go to church for exercise, but
readily granted leave. Nor was it until Caleb had departed that
"exorcised" occurred to him as a _varia lectio_.
Left to himself, Mr. Fogo spent a tranquil hour among his roses; and
then, remembering his determination, unmoored his boat and prepared
to satisfy his doubts.
The tide was low--so low that on the further side of the old wreck
his paddles plunged once or twice into mud. Nor was it easy to swing
himself on board; but a rusty chain helped him, and after one or two
failures he stood upon deck.
All was desolation. He peered down into the hold, where the water
lay deep and still; crawled forward, and peeped through a shattered
deadlight into the forecastle. The water was here, too, though it
had drained somewhat, owing to the depression amidships; but nothing
to explain the mystery.
Mr. Fogo crept aft with better hopes of success, gained the poop, and
peered down the companion. The light was too dim to reveal anything.
Nothing daunted, he crawled down the ladder and into the captain's
cabin.
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