doon, mynheer?”
Scarcely had he uttered this pathetic appeal, when there was a sound
of horses' hoofs in the chimney, and presently a light wagon, drawn by
a little, fat, gray 'Sopus pony, came trundling into the room, loaded
with all sorts of knickknacks. It was driven by a jolly, fat, little
rogue of a fellow, with a round sparkling eye, and a mouth which would
certainly have been laughing had it not been for a glorious Meershaum
pipe, which would have chanced to fall out in that case. The little
rascal had on a three-cornered cocked hat, decked with old gold lace;
a blue Dutch sort of a short pea jacket, red waistcoat, breeks of the
same colour, yellow stockings, and honest thick-soled shoes, ornamented
with a pair of skates. Altogether he was a queer figure—but there was
something so irresistibly jolly and good-natured in his face, that Boss
Boomptie felt his heart incline towards the stranger as soon as he saw
him.
“Orange Boven!” cried the good saint, pulling off his cocked hat, and
making a low bow to Mrs. Boomptie, who sat tonguetied in the chimney
corner.
“Wat donderdag is dat?” said Boss Boomptie, speaking for his wife,
which made the good woman very angry, that he should take the words out
of her mouth.
“You called on Saint Nicholas. Here am I,” quoth the jolly little
saint. “In one word—for I am a saint of few words, and have my hands
full of business to-night—in one word, tell me what you want.”
“I am pewitched,” quoth Boss Boomptie. “The duyvel is in me, my house,
my wife, my Newyear cookies, and my children. What shall I do?”
“When you count a dozen you must count thirteen,” answered the wagon
driver, at the same time cracking his whip, and clattering up the
chimney, more like a little duyvel than a little saint.
“Wat blixum!” muttered Boss Boomptie, “when you count a dozen you must
count dirdeen! je mag even wel met un stokje in de goot roeron! I never
heard of such counting. By Saint Johannes de Dooper, put Saint Nicholas
is a great plockhead!”
Just as he uttered this blasphemy against the excellent Saint Nicholas,
he saw through the pane of glass, in the door leading from the spare
room to the shop, the little ugly old woman, with the sharp eyes, sharp
nose, sharp chin, sharp voice, and leather spectacles, alighting from a
broomstick, at the street door.
“Dere is de duyvel's kint come again,” quoth he, in one of his cross
humours, which was aggravated by his getting just then a great box on
the ear from the invisible hand. However, he went grumbling into the
shop, for it was part of his religion never to neglect a customer, let
the occasion be what it might.
“I want a dozen Newyear cookies,” screamed the old beauty, as usual,
and as usual Boss Boomptie counted out twelve.
“I want another one,” screamed she still louder.
“Aha!” thought Boss Boomptie, doubtless inspired by the jolly little
caitiff, Saint Nicholas—”Aha! Het is goed visschen in troebel
water—when you count dwalf, you must count dirdeen. Ha—ha! ho—ho—ho!”
And he counted out the thirteenth cooky like a brave fellow.
The old woman made him a low courtesy, and laughed till she might have
shown her teeth, if she had had any.
“Friend Boomptie,” said she, in a voice exhibiting the perfection of a
nicely modulated scream—“Friend Boomptie, I love such generous little
fellows as you, in my heart. I salute you,” and she advanced to kiss
him. Boss Boomptie did not at all like the proposition; but, doubtless
inspired by Saint Nicholas, he submitted with indescribable grace.
At that moment, an explosion was heard inside the little glass pane,
and the voice of Mrs. Boomptie crying out,
“You false-hearted villain, have I found out your tricks at last!”
“De Philistyner Onweetende!” cried Boss Boomptie. “She's come to her
speech now!”
“The spell is broken!” screamed the old woman with the sharp eyes,
nose, chin, and voice. “The spell is broken, and henceforward a dozen
is thirteen, and thirteen is a dozen! There shall be thirteen Newyear
cookies to the dozen, as a type of the thirteen mighty states that are
to arise out of the ruins of the government of faderland!”
Thereupon she took a Newyear cake bearing the effigy of the blessed
St. Nicholas, and caused Boss Boomptie to swear upon it, that for ever
afterwards twelve should be thirteen, and thirteen should be twelve.
After which, she mounted her broomstick and disappeared, just as the
little old Dutch clock struck twelve. From that time forward, the
spell that hung over the fortunes of little Boss Boomptie was broken;
and ever after he became illustrious for baking the most glorious
Newyear cookies in our country. Everything became as before: the little
'prentice boys returned, mounted on the batch of bread, and their
adventures may, peradventure, be told some other time. Finally, from
that day forward no baker of New-Amsterdam was ever bewitched, at least
by an ugly old woman, and a bakers dozen has been always counted as
thirteen.
THE GHOST.
Some time in the year 1800 or 1801, I am not certain which, a man of
the name of William Morgan—I don't mean the person whose “abduction”
has made so much noise in the world—enlisted on board the United States
frigate —— for a three years' cruise in the Mediterranean. He was an
awful-looking person, six feet four inches high; a long pale visage
deeply furrowed with wrinkles; sunken eyes far up towards his forehead;
black exuberant hair standing on end as if he was always frightened at
something; a sharp chin of a length proportioned to his height; teeth
white, but very irregular; and the colour of his eyes what the writers
on supernatural affairs call very singular and mysterious. Besides
this, his voice was hollow and sepulchral; on his right arm were
engraved certain mysterious devices, surmounted with the letters E. M.;
and his tobacco box was of iron. His everyday dress was a canvass hat
with a black riband band, a blue jacket, white trousers, and leather
shoes. On Sundays he wore a white beaver, which, among sailors, bespoke
something extraordinary, and on rainy days a pea jacket too short by
half a yard. It is worthy of remark that Morgan entered on Friday;
that the frigate was launched on Friday; that the master carpenter who
built her was born on Friday; and that the squadron went to sea on
Friday. All these singular coincidences, combined with his mysterious
appearance, caused the sailors to look upon Morgan with some little
degree of wonder.
During the voyage to Gibraltar, Morgan's conduct served to increase
the impression his appearance had made on the crew. He sometimes went
without eating for several days together, at least no one ever saw him
eat; and, if he ever slept at all, it was without shutting his eyes or
lying down, for his messmates, one and all, swore that, wake at what
time of the night they would, Morgan was seen sitting upright in his
hammock, with his eyes glaring wide open. When his turn came to take
his watch upon deck, his conduct was equally strange. He would stand
stock still in one place, gazing at the stars, or the ocean, apparently
unconscious of his situation; and when roused by his companions, tumble
on the deck in a swoon. When he revived, he would fall to preaching
the most strange and incomprehensible rhapsodies that ever were heard.
In their idle hours upon the forecastle, Morgan told such stories
about himself, and his strange escapes by sea and land, as caused
the sailors' hair to stand on end, and made the jolly fellows look
upon him as a person gifted with the privilege of living for ever. He
often indeed hinted that he had as many lives as a cat, and several
times offered to let himself be hanged for the gratification of his
messmates. On more than one occasion, he was found lying on his back
in his hammock, apparently without life, his eyes fixed and glassy,
his limbs stiff and rigid, his lower jaw sunk down, and his pulse
motionless, at least so his messmates swore when they went to call the
doctor; though when the latter came he always found Morgan as well as
ever he was in his life, and apparently unconscious of all that had
happened.
As they proceeded on the voyage, which proved for the most part a
succession of calms, the sailors having little else to do, either
imagined or invented new wonders about Morgan. At one time a little
Welsh foretopman swore that as he was going to sit down to dinner, his
canteen was snatched from under him by an invisible hand, and he fell
plump on the deck. A second had his allowance of grog “abducted” in a
mysterious manner, although he was ready to make oath he never had his
eyes off it for a moment. A third had his tobacco box rifled, though it
had never been out of his pocket. A fourth had a crooked sixpence, with
a hole by which it was suspended from his neck by a riband, taken away
without his ever being the wiser for it.
These things at length reached the ears of Captain R————, who, the
next time Morgan got into one of his trances, had him confined for
four-and-twenty hours; and otherwise punished him in various ways
on the recurrence of any one of these wonderful reports. All this
produced no effect whatever either on Morgan or the crew, which at
length had its wonder stretched to the utmost bounds by a singular
adventure of our hero.
One day, the squadron being about halfway across the Atlantic, and
the frigate several leagues ahead with a fine breeze, there was an
alarm of the magazine being on fire. Morgan was just coming on deck
with a spoon in his hand, for some purpose or other, when hearing the
cry of “magazine on fire,” he made one spring overboard. The fire was
extinguished by the daring gallantry of an officer, now living, and
standing in the first rank of our naval heroes. In the confusion and
alarm, it was impossible to make any efforts to save Morgan; and it was
considered a matter of course that he had perished in the ocean. Two
days after, one of the other vessels of the squadron came alongside
the frigate, and sent a boat on board with Billy Morgan. Twelve hours
from the time of his leaping overboard, he had been found swimming away
gallantly, with the spoon in his hand. When asked why he did not let it
go, he replied that he kept it to help himself to salt water when he
was dry. This adventure fixed in the minds of the sailors an obstinate
opinion, that Morgan was either a dead man come to life again, or one
that was not very easy to be killed.
After this, Morgan continued his mysterious pranks. The sailors talked
and wondered, and Captain R———— punished him, until the squadron was
within two or three days' sail of Gibraltar, admitting the wind
continued fair as it then was. Morgan had been punished pretty severely
that morning for stargazing and falling into a swoon on his watch the
night before, and had solemnly assured his messmates, that he intended
to jump overboard and drown himself the first opportunity. He made his
will, dressed himself in his best, and settled all his affairs. He
also replenished his tobacco box, put his allowance of biscuit in his
pocket, and filled a small canteen with water, which he strung about
his neck; saying that perhaps he might take it into his head to live a
day or two in the water, before he finally went to the bottom.
Between twelve and one, the vessel being becalmed, the night a clear
starlight, and the sentinels pacing their rounds, Morgan was distinctly
seen to come up through the hatchway, walk forward, climb the bulwark,
and let himself drop into the sea. A midshipman and two seamen
testified to the facts; and Morgan being missing the next morning,
there was no doubt of his having committed suicide by drowning himself.
This affair occasioned much talk, and various were the opinions of the
ship's crew on the subject. Some swore it was one Davy Jones who had
been playing his pranks; others that it was no man, but a ghost or a
devil that had got among them; and others were in daily expectation of
seeing him come on board again, as much alive as ever he was.
In the mean time, the squadron proceeded but slowly, being detained
several days by calms and head winds, most of which were in some way or
other laid to Billy Morgan by the gallant tars, who fear nothing but
Fridays and men without heads. His fate, however, gradually ceased to
be a subject of discussion, and the wonder was quickly passing away,
when one night, about a week after his jumping overboard, the figure of
Morgan, all pale and ghastly, his clothes hanging wet about him—with
eyes more sunken, hair more upright, and face more thin and cadaverous
than ever, was seen by one of his messmates, who happened to be lying
awake, to emerge slowly from the forepart of the ship, approach one of
the tables where there was a can of water, from which it took a hearty
draught, and disappear in the direction whence it came. The sailor told
the story next morning, but as yet very few believed him.
The next night the same figure appeared, and was seen by a different
person from him by whom it was first observed. It came from the same
quarter again, helped itself to a drink, and disappeared in the same
direction it had done before. The story of Morgan's ghost, in the
course of a day or two, came to the ears of Captain R————, who caused
a search to be made in that part of the vessel whence the ghost had
come; under the impression that the jumping overboard of Morgan had
been a deception, and that he was now secreted on board the ship. The
search ended, however, without any discovery. The calms and head winds
still continued, and not a sailor on board but ascribed them to Billy
Morgan's mysterious influence. The ghost made its appearance again
the following night after the search, when it was seen, by another of
Morgan's messmates, to empty his tobacco box, and seize some of the
fragments of supper, which had been accidentally left on a table, with
which it again vanished in the manner before described. The sailor
swore that when the ghost made free with his tobacco box, he attempted
to lay hold of him, but felt nothing in his hand, except something
exactly like cold water.
Captain R———— was excessively provoked at these stories, and caused
another and still more thorough search to be made, but without any
discovery. He then directed a young midshipman to keep watch between
decks. That night the ghost again made its appearance, and the
courageous young officer sallied out upon it; but the figure darted
away with inconceivable velocity, and disappeared. The midshipman,
as directed, immediately informed Captain R————, who instituted an
immediate search, but with as little success as before. By this time
there was not a sailor on board that was not afraid of his shadow, and
even the officers began to be infected with a superstitious dread. At
length the squadron arrived at Gibraltar, and came to in the bay of
Algesiras, where the ships remained some days waiting the arrival of
those they had come to relieve. About the usual hour that night, the
ghost of Billy Morgan again appeared to one of his messmates, offered
him its hand, and saying “Good-by, Tom,” disappeared as usual.
It was a fortnight or more before the relief squadron sailed up the
Mediterranean, during which time the crews of the ships were permitted
to take their turn to go on shore. On one of these occasions, a
messmate of Billy Morgan, named Tom Brown, was passing through a
tolerably dark lane in the suburbs of Algesiras, when he heard a
well-known voice call out, “Tom, Tom, d—n your eyes, don't you know
your old messmate?” Tom knew the voice, and looking round, recognised
his old messmate Morgan's ghost. But he had no inclination to renew the
acquaintance; he took to his heels, and without looking behind him to
see if the ghost followed, ran to the boat where his companions were
waiting, and told the story as soon as he could find breath for the
purpose. This reached the ear of Captain R————, who, being almost sure
of the existence of Morgan, applied to the governor of the town, who
caused search to be made everywhere without effect. No one had ever
seen such a person. That very night the ghost made its appearance on
board the frigate, and passed its cold wet hand over the face of Tom
Brown, to whom Morgan had left his watch and chest of clothes. The poor
fellow bawled out lustily; but before any pursuit could be made, the
ghost had disappeared in the forward part of the ship as usual. After
this Billy again appeared two or three times alternately to some one
of his old messmates; sometimes in the town, at others on board the
frigate, but always in the dead of night. He seemed desirous to say
something particular, but could never succeed in getting any of the
sailors to listen quietly to the communication. The last time he made
his appearance at Algesiras, on board the frigate, he was heard by one
of the sailors to utter, in a low hollow whisper, “You shall see me at
Malta;” after which he vanished as before.
Caption R—— was excessively perplexed at these strange and
unaccountable visitations, and instituted every possible inquiry
into the circumstances in the hope of finding some clew to explain
the mystery. He again caused the ship to be examined with a view to
the discovery either of the place where Morgan secreted himself, or
the means by which he escaped from the vessel. He questioned every
man on board, and threatened the severest punishment, should he ever
discover that they deceived him in their story, or were accomplices
in the escape of Morgan. He even removed everything in the forward
part of the ship, and rendered it impossible for any human being to
be there without being detected. The whole resulted in leaving the
affair involved in complete mystery, and the squadron proceeded up the
Mediterranean, to cruise along the African coast, and rendezvous at
Malta.
It was some weeks before the frigate came to the latter place, and in
the mean time, as nothing had been seen of the ghost, it was concluded
that the shade of Billy Morgan was appeased, or rather the whole affair
had been gradually forgotten. Two nights after her arrival, a party
of sailors, being ashore at La Vallette, accidentally entered a small
tavern in a remote part of the suburbs, where they commenced a frolic,
after the manner of those amphibious bipeds. Among them was the heir
of Billy Morgan, who about three or four in the morning went to bed,
not quite as clear headed as he might have been. He could not tell how
long he had been asleep, when he was awakened by a voice whispering in
his ear, “Tom, Tom, wake up!” On opening his eyes, he beheld, by the
pale light of the morning, the ghastly figure of Billy Morgan leaning
over his bed and glaring at him with eyes like saucers. Tom cried,
“Murder! ghost! Billy Morgan!” as loud as he could bawl, until he
roused the landlord, who came to know what was the matter. Tom related
the whole affair, and inquired if he had seen anything of the figure
he described. Mine host utterly denied having seen or ever heard of
such a figure as Billy Morgan, and so did all his family. The report
was again alive on board the frigate, that Billy Morgan's ghost had
taken the field once more. “Heaven and earth!” cried Captain R————, “is
Billy Morgan's ghost come again? Shall I never get rid of this infernal
spectre, or whatever else it may be?”
Captain R———— immediately ordered his barge, waited on the governor,
explained the situation of his crew, and begged his assistance in
apprehending the ghost of Billy Morgan, or Billy himself, as the case
might be. That night the governor caused the strictest search to be
made in every hole and corner of the little town of La Vallette; but in
vain. No one had seen that remarkable being, corporeal or spiritual;
and the landlord of the house where the spectre appeared, together with
all his family, utterly denied any knowledge of such a person or thing.
It is little to be wondered at, that the search proved ineffectual,
for that very night Billy took a fancy to appear on board the frigate,
where he again accosted his old friend Tom, to whom he had bequeathed
all his goods and chattels. But Tom had no mind for a confidential
communication with the ghost, and roared out so lustily, as usual, that
it glided away and disappeared as before, without being intercepted in
the confusion which followed.
Captain R———— was in despair; never was man so persecuted by a ghost
in this world before. The ship's crew were in a state of terror and
dismay, insomuch that had an Algerine come across them they might
peradventure have surrendered at discretion. They signed a round robin,
drawn up by one of Billy Morgan's old messmates, representing to
Captain R———— the propriety of running the ship ashore, and abandoning
her entirely to the ghost, which now appeared almost every night,
sometimes between decks, at others on the end of the bowsprit, and
at others cutting capers on the yards and topgallant mast. The story
spread into the town of La Vallette, and nothing was talked of but the
ghost of Billy Morgan, which now began to appear occasionally to the
sentinels of the fort, one of whom had the courage to fire at it, by
which he alarmed the whole island and made matters ten times worse than
ever.
From Malta the squadron, after making a cruise of a few weeks,
proceeded to Syracuse, with the intention of remaining some time. They
were obliged to perform a long quarantine; the ships were strictly
examined by the health officers, and fumigated with brimstone, to
the great satisfaction of the crew of the frigate, who were in great
hopes this would drive away Billy Morgan's ghost. These hopes were
strengthened by their seeing no more of that troublesome visiter during
the whole time the quarantine continued. The very next night after the
expiration of the quarantine, Billy again visited his old messmate
and heir Tom Brown, lank, lean, and dripping wet, as usual, and after
giving him a rousing shake, whispered, “Hush, Tom; I want to speak to
you about my watch and chest of clothes.” But Tom had no inclination
to converse with his old friend, and cried out “Murder” with all his
might; when the ghost vanished as before, muttering, as Tom swore, “You
bloody infernal lubber.”
The reappearance of the ghost occasioned greater consternation than
ever among the crew of the good ship, and it required all the
influence of severe punishments to keep them from deserting on every
occasion. Poor Tom Brown, to whom the devoirs of the spectre seemed
most especially directed, left off swearing and chewing tobacco, and
dwindled to a perfect shadow. He became very serious, and spent almost
all his leisure time in reading chapters in the Bible or singing
psalms. Captain R———— now ordered a constant watch all night between
decks, in hopes of detecting the intruder; but all in vain, although
there was hardly a night passed without Tom's waking and crying out
that the ghost had just paid him a visit. It was, however, thought very
singular, and to afford additional proof of its being a ghost, that on
all these occasions, except two, it was invisible to everybody but Tom
Brown.
In addition to the vexation arising from this persevering and
diabolical persecution of Billy's ghost, various other strange and
unaccountable things happened almost every day on board the frigate.
Tobacco boxes were emptied in the most mysterious manner, and in the
dead of the night; sailors would sometimes be missing a whole day, and
return again without being able to give any account of themselves;
and not a few of them were overtaken with liquor, without their being
ever the wiser for it, for they all swore they had not drunk a drop
beyond their allowance. Sometimes, on going ashore on leave for a
limited time, the sailors would be decoyed, as they solemnly assured
the captain, by some unaccountable influence into strange, out of the
way places, where they could not find their road back, and where they
were found by their officers in a state of mysterious stupefaction,
though not one had tasted a drop of liquor. On these occasions, they
always saw the ghost of Billy Morgan, either flying through the air, or
dancing on the tops of the steeples, with a fiery tail like a comet.
Wonder grew upon wonder every day, until the wonder transcended the
bounds of human credulity.