James Botterell, one of the St. Just family of that name, after having
served many years aboard a privateer when he was a young man, in
Bonaparte’s time, settled in Zennor, about fifty years ago. Shortly
after he left sea, he was much troubled with a drowned shipmate’s
ghost. Towards the morning part of a stormy winter’s night, he was
aroused by three loud raps on his chamber window; and, on raising his
head, he saw standing by his bedside the apparition of one John Jones,
who had been his favourite comrade—looking pale and sad, and,
apparently, dripping wet. In a few minutes it disappeared with the
misty light which surrounded it.
Next day James tried to persuade himself that the vision might be
merely a troubled dream, but the apparition continued to come on each
succeeding night, stopping longer than at first. There was also much
noise and disturbance in and around his dwelling, by day as well as by
night.
Over a week or so the ghost, often casting an angry look at the man,
followed him about in broad daylight, so that James became weary of his
life. His friends advised him to speak to the ghost and have
confidence, as they had always been good friends; they told him that a
spirit would never speak until spoken to; and they believed that his
shipmate merely wanted him to do something that the ghost was unable to
perform. Moreover, they warned him that there was danger to be
apprehended when a spirit was angered by delay in speaking to it.
At length James plucked up courage, and one day, being at work in a
field, when his old mate’s ghost stood by him—as usual, looking sad and
angry by turns—he spoke, and said, “Tell me, John Jones, what shall I
do to give thee rest?” The spirit replied, “It is well thou hast
spoken, for I should have been the death of thee if thou hadst much
longer refused to speak! What grieved and vexed me most was to see that
thou seemedst to fear thy old comrade, who always liked thee the best
of all his shipmates.”
“I no longer fear thee, Jack,” replied James; “and wish I could grasp
that hand of thine as in times gone by.” Indeed, he now felt no more
dread of his messmate’s ghost than if he were still a living man. The
spirit, looking pleased, said, “Now I see thee art like thyself again,
staunch and true to thy comrade in life and death. Listen and learn why
I am come to seek thy aid. The other stormy night, a few minutes before
I first appeared at thy bedside, I was on board a good ship in the Bay
of Biscay, with a strong gale and a rolling sea. In clewing up a
topsail, the ship gave a lurch: I lost my hold, fell overboard, and was
drowned before anybody noticed my mishap. When sinking I thought of
thee. Now much of my prize-money is in a chest, left in Plymouth at a
public-house well-known to thee—the one we used most to frequent, when
everything was in common between us. My son, I want thee to go thither;
take my chest to another house; pay what I owe to various people in
Plymouth, and keep what remains for thyself. I’ll meet thee there and
direct thee how to act.”
Jim having promised to do all that was required, Jack’s ghost looked
happy, and a moment after said, “I wish thee well, mate, till we meet
again,” and disappeared.
Early next morning James took a strong young horse and rode away to
Plymouth. It was after candlelighting of the second night when he
arrived there, and put up at an inn—a short distance from the one where
the chest was left.
Whilst he lay awake, thinking how he should proceed on the morrow,
Jones appeared by his bedside, and, as if knowing what passed in the
man’s mind, said, “Don’t ’e think, my son, that the landlady will make
any difficulty about taking away the chest, for she don’t know, d’ye
see, that it contains valuables, nor that I shipped aboard an Indiaman
and got drowned a few weeks ago. But she remembers how—not long
since—we wore each other’s clothes and shared each other’s rhino, just
as brothers should. Tell her I’m in town and will see her before I
leave! To-morrow bring here the chest and I’ll direct ’e how to deal
with my creditors; and now good night, mate.” Saying this he vanished.
The landlady was very glad to see James, and more so to have the
sailor’s chest taken out of her way; told him to give her love to
Captain Jones (as she called him), and to say she hoped he wouldn’t
fail to call before he left port. The chest being opened, there was
nothing to be seen in it but the seaman’s best clothing; for all the
money was concealed in secret drawers of the skibbet, and under a false
bottom. The ghost accompanied James—though invisible to others—all the
time, until the business was settled. Then it left him—without saying
good bye, however.
James went over to Dock. Whilst he was there admiring the shipping, on
turning around he saw Jones close beside him. If he had been visible to
other people they would have taken him for an able seaman in his prime,
for he appeared rigged out in brand new sailor’s garb and looked hale
and hearty as when alive. “I’ve just passed by the old inn,” said he,
“showed myself as I now appear, and kissed my hand to our old hostess,
who was at her work near an open window; but, before she could reach
her door to welcome home the man she used to admire, lo! I’m here. So
you see it’s convenient to be a ghost!”
James didn’t think so, however; and they walked on in silence till they
came near a fine ship ready to sail on a long voyage. Then the spirit
stopped, and, looking sorrowfully in the man’s face said, “My dear Jim,
I will now bid thee farewell. I’m off to sea again, for, with an
occasional trip to the Green, I know no way of passing the time that
better suits me. Thou wilt nevermore see me whilst thou art alive, but
if thou thinkest of me at the hour of thy death we shall meet, as soon
as the breath leaves thy body. My poor clay lies deep in the Bay of
Biscay, and when thine is laid in Zennor churchyard we will rove the
seas together. A truehearted tar has nothing to fear, and now my son
adieu.” A moment after James saw him glide aboard the ship, and in the
twinkling of an eye he vanished.
James returned to the inn, feeling very wisht, and his sadness
continued till he came in sight of Zennor Hills. Then he felt in pretty
good heart; and well he might, for hadn’t he brought home a bundle of
capital clothes that he found in his comrade’s chest and many more
pounds in his pocket than when he left Zennor? But the horse was never
fit for anything again, from having been ridden to and from Plymouth in
less than a week.
Sailors say that ships are often haunted with drowned seamen’s ghosts,
and they believe that such vessels are seldom wrecked, for the friendly
spirits give warning of approaching tempests, and tokens of other
dangers to their craft.
Cornish Sailors’ Isle of Avalon. — It is known to most persons who have
mixed much with Cornish sailors that they often speak of the “Green,”
which they frequently call Fiddler’s Green amongst themselves. They
describe this place as an “Isle of the Blest,” in which honest Tars,
after the toils of this life, are to enjoy unmixed bliss with their old
comrades and favourite fair ones. In orchards of fruit, ever ripe, they
are to be entertained with music, dancing, and everything else in which
they delighted in their lifetime. The idea of this Fairy Land is
probably derived from Celtic mythology, as well as that of
“The island valley of Avilion,
Where falls not hail, or rain, or snow;
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadow’d, happy, fair with orchard lawns,
And bowery hollows crown’d with summer seas.”
Thither King Arthur was wafted in a barge with three fair queens when
his table, man by man,
“Had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord.”
Breton and Welsh sailors have similar notions.