I allude to his Spectre-Ship
bound to Dead-man's Isle.]
* * * * *
"Such," said Antony Vander Heyden, "are a few of the stories written
down by Selyne the poet concerning this storm-ship; which he affirms
to have brought this colony of mischievous imps into the province,
from some old ghost-ridden country of Europe. I could give you a host
more, if necessary; for all the accidents that so often befall the
river craft in the highlands, are said to be tricks played off by
these imps of the Dunderberg; but I see that you are nodding, so let
us turn in for the night."
The moon had just raised her silver horns above the round back of old
Bull-Hill, and lit up the gray rocks and shagged forests, and
glittered on the waving bosom of the river. The night-dew was falling,
and the late gloomy mountains began to soften, and put on a gray
aerial tint in the dewy light. The hunters stirred the fire, and threw
on fresh fuel to qualify the damp of the night air. They then prepared
a bed of branches and dry leaves under a ledge of rocks, for Dolph;
while Antony Vander Heyden, wrapping himself up in a huge coat made of
skins, stretched himself before the fire. It was some time, however,
before Dolph could close his eyes.
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