The Motor Boat Club in Florida: or, Laying the Ghost of Alligator Swamp

In the meantime, up on the bridge deck, Joe Dawson at first waited for the return of his chum without any feeling of curiosity. Yet, after many minutes had passed the young fleet engineer of the Motor Boat Club began to wonder what his comrade was doing below.

“Ham,” ordered Joe, at last, “go below and find Captain Halstead. See if anything has happened.”

Glad enough to get away from the deck, where the billows were pouring over and threatening to carry him overboard, the colored steward made his way, clutching at the life-lines, to the motor room door.

“Get that hatch shut!” roared Joe. “Don’t leave it open for a five-ton wave to get down in there at the motors!”

Ham shut the hatch with a bang, then ran through the passageway to the cabin door.

“’Scuse me, ladies an’ gemmen,” begged Ham, poking his head through the doorway. “Any ob yo’ done seen Cap’n Halstead?”

“Why, no,” replied Mr. Tremaine, looking up. “He hasn’t been through this cabin – at least, not within the last hour. Isn’t he on deck?”

“No, sah. Marse Dawson, he-um up at de wheel. He gwine sent me heah to look fo’ de cap’n.”

“You were forward, a while ago, Dixon,” spoke Mr. Tremaine. “Did you see Halstead?”

“Not even a glimpse of him,” replied that young man.

“Is the captain lost?” demanded Mrs. Tremaine, a tremor in her tone.

“I’se spec he must be,” declared Ham, solemnly. “He-um ain’ forrard, an’ he-um ain’ on de bridge. He-um ain’ here, neider.”

“Don’t alarm the ladies, Ham,” spoke Mr. Tremaine, sharply. “If Captain Halstead came below, then of course he didn’t go overboard. Look forward. If you don’t find the captain promptly, come back for me, and I’ll help you.”

Ham departed, going back through the passageway. Then, emitting a frenzied yell, shaking in every limb, Ham half lurched, half tottered back into the cabin. His appearance of utter fright was such as to cause the ladies to rise, holding to the table for support while the boat rocked and dipped.

As for Ham, he fell against the sideboard, holding on there, his eyes rolling wildly, until little more than the scared whites of them could be seen.

“What do you mean, you black idiot?” roared Mr. Tremaine, darting at the steward and clutching him, administering a sound shaking.

“Cap’n Halstead, he ain’ on board!” wailed Ham Mockus. Then, in a greater outburst of terror, he screamed hoarsely:

“Dat ain’ de worst! De Ghost ob Alligator Swamp am on board – Ah done seen it so close dat Ah s’pec it reach out an’ grab me!”

Though none of the passengers believed in ghosts, this information, at such a time, was enough to make them gasp.

“Wut Ah done tell yo’?” roared Ham, his voice deepening in the frenzy of his terror. “Ah tole yo’-all dat ole Marse Satan gwine ride on dis great wind ter-night! He sho’ is doin’ dat. Oh, Lawdy!”

Slipping from the grasp of Henry Tremaine, Ham Mockus sank groveling to the floor.

CHAPTER III

THE MYSTERY OF THE NIGHT

“COME, get up, you imp!” roared Mr. Tremaine, angrily, as he bent over. He seized the steward by the collar, and dragged that frightened individual to his feet.

“Ham, you simpleton, there’s no such thing as a ghost,” uttered Mr. Tremaine, sharply.

“Oh, ain’ dere, den?” demanded Ham, in high disgust at such ignorance. “Yo’ go out an’ meet it, den!”

“I will,” agreed Henry Tremaine, gripping the negro tightly by the arm. “Where did you see that ghost?”

“In de passageway, sah.”

“Then come along and show it to me.”

Mr. Tremaine spoke with such an air of disbelief and firmness that Ham Mockus began to gather some courage from such leadership.

“But, den, sah, mebbe dat ghos’ don’ show himself to white folks ob de quality kind,” suggested the steward.

“If we don’t see the ghost, then you’ve all the less reason to be afraid,” retorted Henry Tremaine. “But come along and see whether you can show the ghost to me.”

As Tremaine marched the badly scared steward out into the passageway, the ladies started to follow, out of sheer curiosity. So badly was the yacht rolling that Dixon went with them, to steady them and save them from being pitched headlong.

“It was right erlong in dis passageway, sah,” Ham offered solemn assurance. “An’ Ah done heard a feahful sound – o-o-o-oh!”

Ham suddenly gave a bound that took him out of Tremaine’s clutch. He darted to the forward end of the passageway, then halted, crouching, his eyes rolling almost as fast as the propeller shafts could revolve.

Unquestionably there had been a sound. Henry Tremaine, far from superstitious, thought he had heard the same sound. As he halted, rooted to the spot, he heard a distinct knocking.

“There’s something at the other side of this closet door,” spoke Tremaine, with a positive air. Reaching out, he drew out the hook by which the door was secured in place. As he pulled the door open, Tom Halstead, looking more than half dead, lurched out of the little compartment in which he had been a prisoner. Tremaine caught him and steadied him.

“What’s the matter, lad?” demanded the charter-man.

“Air,” whispered Halstead, hoarsely. “Nearly died in there!”

“Your fans – quick, ladies,” cried Mr. Tremaine.

Out where the ventilators were working, the youthful sailing master was quickly revived. Then Mr. Tremaine led him back to the cabin, and dropped him into a seat, while the ladies plied their fans vigorously.

“Oh, I guess I’m all right, now,” protested Skipper Tom, looking up with a smile.

“But how came you in that place?” questioned Mr. Tremaine.

“Why, one of our air compartments is in that place,” muttered Tom. “I stepped in there, just to make sure that all was right. While I was there the yacht lurched and the door slammed to. The hook on the outside must have been standing up. Then it dropped, fitting just into place. I made an awful racket, hoping to attract someone’s attention. Then I began to get dizzy for lack of air.”

“That was what that idiot, Ham, thought was the noise the ghost made,” grimaced Mr. Tremaine. “But, good heavens, Halstead! What a fearful accident to have happened. And, here in the cabin, we couldn’t hear your clatter on this night of all nights.”

“Joe could have brought you through, I guess, sir,” Tom smiled. “Yet I’m glad I didn’t smother in there to-night. It’s much safer, in a gale like this, to have two men on the bridge deck. I’m going back there now.”

“Are you steady enough?” asked Mrs. Tremaine.

“Oh, I’m all right,” vaunted Halstead. “I’ll go up on deck, now, and feel better for the air.”

Mr. Tremaine insisted on going forward with him as far as the motor room hatch, seeing the young skipper safe out on deck. Then the charter-man turned upon Ham, whose eyes were rolling at a more furious rate than ever, and dragged him back to the cabin.

“Ham, you infernal scared-cat!” roared Tremaine, as he stood the steward up by the sideboard. Then the charter-man explained what really had happened.