The Ghost of the Liverpool Run

Jack Carter and I shipped on a voyage to Liverpool on the old bark 'Myanma.' Jack was never over-fond of work, though when it came to a blow, he would do his duty like a man. Three days out, a squall hit us from the eastward. Royals and topgallants were taken in, and as it continued to breeze, topsails were reefed. After the watch, I asked, 'Where’s Jack Carter?' He was nowhere to be found. The ship was hove to, but it was no good; we were miles from the spot. It was put down that Jack Carter had 'lost the number of his mess.' A few nights later, the second mate heard someone singing 'Hunt the Buffalo'—a favorite song of Carter's—from below. The ship was carrying American knick-knacks and wine. The captain had friends aboard who were living like fighting cocks, and the champagne was suffering. One night, the crew heard Carter's voice singing 'Rolling Home in the Morning, Boys.' The captain made a dive below with a handspike, but saw nothing. We became convinced the ship was haunted. In the Liverpool docks, the noise ceased. One night, Bill Jones and I stepped into a tavern and saw Jack Carter's ghost talking to the landlady. It turned out to be Jack himself. He hadn't fallen overboard; he’d simply slid down the halyards and lived in the ship’s bulkhead, feasting on the cargo’s wine and supplies for the entire crossing.