On a December evening of the year 17--, ten men sat together in the
parlour of "The Haunted Man." Without, upon the desolate moorland, a
windless stricture of frost had bound the air as though in boards, but
within, the tongues were loosened, and the talk flowed merrily, and
the clink of steaming tumblers filled the room. Dr. DEADEYE sat with
the rest at the long deal table, puffing mightily at the brown old
Broseley church-warden, whom the heat and the comfort of his evening
meal had so far conquered, that he resented the doctor's treatment of
him only by an occasional splutter. For myself, I sat where the warmth
of the cheerful fire could reach my chilled toes, close by the side
of the good doctor. I was a mere lad, and even now, as I search in my
memory for these long-forgotten scenes, I am prone to marvel at my
own heedlessness in thus affronting these lawless men. But, indeed, I
knew them not to be lawless, or I doubt not but that my prudence had
counselled me to withdraw ere the events befell which I am now about
to narrate.
As I remember, the Doctor and Captain JAWKINS were seated opposite to
one another, and, as their wont was, they were in high debate upon
a question of navigation, on which the Doctor held and expressed an
emphatic opinion.
"Never tell me," he said, with flaming aspect, "that the common
term, 'Port your helm,' implies aught but what a man, not otherwise
foolish, would gather from the word. Port means port, and starboard is
starboard, and all the d----d sea-captains in the world cannot move
me from that." With that the Doctor beat his fist upon the table until
the glasses rattled again and glared into the Captain's weather-beaten
face.[1]
"Hear the man," said the Captain--"hear him. A man would think he had
spent his days and nights upon the sea, instead of mixing pills and
powders all his life in a snuffy village dispensary."
The quarrel seemed like to be fierce, when a sudden sound struck upon
our ears, and stopped all tongues. I cannot call it a song. Rather,
it was like the moon-struck wailing of some unhappy dog, low, and
unearthly; and yet not that, either, for there were words to it. That
much we all heard distinctly.
"Fifteen two and a pair make four,
Two for his heels, and that makes six."
We listened, awestruck, with blanched faces, scarce daring to look at
one another. For myself, I am bold to confess that I crept under the
sheltering table and hid my head in my hands. Again the mournful notes
were moaned forth--
"Fifteen two and a pair make four,
Two for his heels, and--"
But ere it was ended, Captain JAWKINS had sprung forward, and rushed
into the further corner of the parlour. "I know that voice," he cried
aloud; "I know it amid a thousand!" And even as he spoke, a strange
light dispelled the shadows, and by its rays we could see the
crouching form of BILL BLUENOSE, with the red seam across his face
where the devil had long since done his work.