Beezley extended his arms, and Weedle and Penny went to his side like monkeys to an organ grinder. Boggis didn’t join them, and little Midge just turned away and wandered off. He sat by the mainmast, not quite facing us. “You can steer where you like, Mr. Beezley,” he said. “But it won’t do you no good. This ship, she’s a phantom.” I could see the gray crescents of his eyes, like old stones in his skull. “She’s the Flying Dutchman. That’s why everyone’s gone,” he said. “The captain beat too long against the storms. The face of God appeared in the clouds on Christmas day, and the carpenter fell to his knees.” Beezley and Moyle might have frozen back into ice. They stood staring. “What humbug!” said Mr. Beezley. “It ain’t humbug! The captain put four men in a boat and cast them away,” said Midge. “They begged to be taken back, but he wouldn’t listen.” “Who’s been telling you this?” said Mr. Moyle. “You says you weren’t on the ship, but—”
