THE RUYTOR GHOST.

Press, Volume LVIII, Issue 10999, 24 June 1901, Page 3

THE RUYTOR GHOST.

Bt O. T. Weeks. When the wreck of the old side-wheelei Pontiac was raised from the bottom oi Lake Michigan, near Fort Sheridan, where it had reposed in ths mud for some years, the Chicago papers devoted long articles to her history and description. There was little of value or importance in the craft herself to warrant so much attention, foi she was small and antiquated, and» had been in her time nothing but a lake trader. But her rotten hulk possessed a charm unrivalled by any modern craft a weird and dreadful. charm, to be sure, yet sufficient to assure her of the respectful consideration of every sailor on the Lakes, and of thousands of landlubbers. For the Pontiac was the famous Haunted Ship whose remarkable career once startled and amazed the people of the North-West, 'and ended by her going to pieces in the ice off Fort Sheridan, at a time within the memory of many people now living in Chicago. When it was reported that the Pontiac would be raised (for the second time) from the bottom of 'the lake, the reporters begun a search among shipowners, even among the lake sailers, for some one who from personal experience could tell something of her history. John Bartlett and Bob Alden, sailors, were in the greatest demand, for Alden had been on board the Pontiac when she was wrecked' in the ice, and Bartlett had saved him by cxne of the most gallant rescues ever known on the Lakes. It was said,*too, that Bartlett knew more than any other man about the supernatural character, of the pontiac. In the beginning the wiso-"Ohee had scoffed at his stories. The erratic dualities of mir.d which had led him, with an excellent education, to find employment as a lake sailor, were held responsible for the visions he described. But as one event after another brought him conspicuously before the public, and people learned of his courage, inlelligence, and unimpeachable veracity, his statements were received with respect, at least, by all. - But Bartlett did not court notoriety. After the rescue of Alden he disappeared. When the public wanted him again, to tell what he had seen and heard on.bqard the Haunted Ship, the reporters searched everywhere for him without success. At last, purely by accident, the representative of a morning paper found him in a small hotel on South Water street. Bartlett knew that,the newspapers were after him, and was much disinclined to tnlk ior publication. But he is a poor reporter who cares whether a man wishes to talk or nob. After the usual preliminaries the scribbler sat beside a table, armed with tablet and pencils; Bartlett sat opposite him, armed with a schooner; and the interview began.

Soon after the first wreck of the Pontiac, I, John BarUett. was employed by her owner to help in the work of repairing the ship. Her buildrr and first owner. Cornelius Jtuyter, had been drowned (so the papers said), together with a- small party of friends and the crew, in the storm which wrecked the Pontiac near St. Ignaee on her trial trip. There was a report that Ruj'ter and his friends had had a large sum of money with them, an<l murder was darkly hinted at, as it was known that some of the worst characters on the Lakes were amchg the crew. The newspaper story, however, was generally accepted. That Buyter and his party were murdered by the crew, and that the murderers met a richly merited death with the blood of" th«ir victims still warm upon their hands, was first demonstrated to mc, and in ■ a manner so marvellous that I shall never forget the slightest detail of the scene.

But I shan't tell you about it. I have been laughed at for telling what I saw and beard that night until I am eick and tired of it. I started l to tell about Bob Alden. Come to think. I can't tell you tha/t without tellintr the other, too. But I'll be as brief as I can about it, and you may assume in advance that it is a lie. My friends can tell you that I never speak the truth. As for mc, I remember what I saw that night.. Remember it! I never can forget it for a single minute, waking or sleeping. I remember how the police picked mc up on,the shore the ,next morning I know whether lam lying or not That is sufficient.

After the Pontiac had been raised and towed into Chicago, I used to sleep on board. I was to go with the crew after the repairs were finished. One night I" was awakened by the sound of several voices whispering. ~ I listened a few minutes to make sure; then, as they seemed to be on board the boat, I reached for my pistol— for I am no coward —Isffc my berth, and started in search of the intruders. Outside the door I stopped and listened, but the sound had ceased.

Just as I started #r> go ahead, a shadow ■ —a greyish, glowing, animated human shadows-appeared before mc. What I did then heaven only knows. I only remember what. I saw. It glided towards mc, and seven others followed it. Each carried a knife. Then there came from the room which I had just quitted anotiber, a venerable, grey-bearded shadow, clothed in white. 1 heard a shivering cry. From the berths on either side there glided other shadowy forms, and the air quivered with a chorus of ghostly shrieks. Like so many devils the armed ones darted in among those that were unarmed. The unearthl.v mass surged towards the spot where I stood. -. I saw one of them approach mc. I tried to say a prayer, but my lips would not move. In another moment it was upon mc and seemed to pass through mc, though I did not feel it.

I remembered no more until I found my?eK in the boat, which I had fastened to the side of the Pontiac, pulling desperately for shore. , I ted nothing on but my underclothes. The cries I had heard still came to my ears from tie haunted ship. Presently the whole ghostly crew appeared on the upper deck. Upraised knives gleamed with a phosphorescent light, and, descending, were buried in imcao&y breasts. One by one the death ciiea of the ghosts

trembled ont upon the night, as one by one they tumbled over tsie> rail into the water of Lake Michigan, Only the armed ones were left. , , i.

As ttis last one disappeared I saw the apparition of a boat- alongside the Pontiac. The spectres went inside and presently came out again) carrying handfuls of gold and bills. They .descended, all eight of them, into the spectral boat. It was rocking violently, though the lake was quite calm. They left the steamer's side, and I believed that they were following mc. But no sooner had they started than the boat lunged to one turned half over, and slowly went down. The spectres struggled and shrieked for a moment on the surface, and then the vision was gone, and with it consciousness. The next- day I spent in the Chicago Avenue police station, charged with drunken and disorderly conduct, by a policeman who patrolled the lake front. At the trial I explained the cause of my actions to the judge, and he answered by saying that such an experience must have - been worth at least five dollars to mc, and he would add the amount to my fine. . But, though the word of one man may be doubted, it is not so easy to deny the concurrent evidence of dozens of veracious lake sailors; and as the months passed, and one after another testified to having witnessed the same phenomena on the Pontiac at different times, the "public began to realise that there was something more than drunk-and-disorderlhi'ess at the bottom of it, and she gradually came to be known as the "haunted ship." The owner had to get some one in my place after that night. I would not go near her again. It was getting pretty well into the middle of the winter when I rea-d in the papers one morning that the Pontiac was smashed in the ice, and that the crew'kwl "barely escaped" to Fort Sheridan. My old mate, Bob Alden, had just shipped with her, and I was expecting to meet him on his arrival in Chicago. The papers gave the names of the crew, and I read them through, but Bob was not among them. I was aiitle worried about him at first , , but on , thinking it over I conohided that he had changed his mind, and had not come' on by the haunted ship. The same day, however, a strange story came down from the scene of the wreck. The Pontiac had settled, down by her stern until only the pilot house and a little of the upper deck were above water. Early in the morning persons on siore declared that they caw ghosts out ■on • the lake. This did not surprise • mc, but there was another report which did fill mc with anxiety. . One man declared - that he. had rowed out towar&s -the/ wreck- Iμ a small boat, and baing, considerably nearer than any point on shore, hie had heaati a human voice calling for .help. ' I thought at ooc& of poor BobV and' took. the first train for Fort Sheridan. ' ■ ; Hurrying through the town, I reached the lake shore and turned in the direction of tha wreck. Ugh! It was'the worst night I ever saw. Perhaps the surroundings discomposed my nerves; .or perhaps my nerves discomposed the surroundings. .But everything along the. shore behaved as if meditating some" triokof witchcraft, and the elements themselves seemed to 'be plotting mischief. There was something super-, natural in the very wind that groaned among the trees, and'raised 'myriads of indefinable whispers from the "restless bosom of the lake; in the murky ' clouds that • flitted through the sky, now hiding the moon and stars, now filtering their light in fantastic shapes and fitful hues; in- the- winter air, whose breath seemed charged wi.th mystery xnd terror ; and, aibove all,' in the dark mass just coming into view out on the lake, reaiinding mc of that other night. ■ As I walked on I felt more and more inclined to turn back to the town and try to ?et help to rescue poor- Bob, who I now elt sure was a, prisoner on the haunted ship. The sound of something falling on the ice attracted my attention from the wreck, and ooking along the shore I saw a heavy surf joat there 6u the edge of the lake, and a i»n standing over it. I feLt my heart give ■ >ne jump, bue perceiving in a moment uiat ie was of this world, I hurried toward him. Ef-e turned and saw mc for the first time. V wiry young fellow, he was, well dressed, tnd with a quick, abrupt motion, like one vho is always wide awake. "Where's the owner of thh' boat?" he tsked.

"I don't know, sir," I answered. "I have just come from the city." •'Who ;ire you?" "John Bartlett is my name—a sailor." "So? Mine's Will" Harris—a reporter. Can you row?' , "I should think I could," I answered, drawing myself up. "I'll give you a live-spot to go out to that wreck with mc." "I see," said I. wish, to write a description of the ghosts." "No, wrote them up on'my way out. I wish to get the man, if thfTe's one on the boat.' , "There are ghosts on the boat," I said. "Nonsense! You'll find no ghosts except in kindergarten stories. Will you go? , ' "I wanted to go,"' said I, "for I' think there's a man on the boat, and I think it's my old mate. Bob Aiden." "Is tfiat what .brought you out here?" "Yes."

"Good! You're just the man I -want." "It's very dangerous," I said. "I know it. But I know how to handle a boat—better, I think, than you do, even though you are a sailor. I'll risk it. Will you?* * "Yes," I said. "But it is not the danger I dread." "What, then?" "The ghosts." "Of course. Every sailor dreads ghosts. Come on. "But there are ghosts on the boat,' , I persisted, though I saw that lie was one of

those unreasonable people;who never will believe in.ghosts, no matter how strong the evidence may be. "I've seen them-" "All right. We'll take them for granted. Take hold, here, and help push her off the ice, will you?" I took hold of the boat, "I'd rather walk into a den of rattlesnakes than go on that accursed haunted ship," I muttered, "it it wasn't for my mate."

"All right," he said, as the boat slipped off the ice. "I'll take the oars."

It was rough work going out, but we made the trip all right, and on the way he asked mc all about Bob .Allen.

The Pontiac was pn-cked in ice on all sides,, and her upper deck was just above the water. We managed to draw our boat up on the ice, and fastened it to the rail. Harris climbed up to the deck, and I followed him.

"Do you smoke?" he said, cool as ice, while he handed mc a cigar and lit one for himself.

I thought I would try to smoke, just to show my nerve, so I took the cigar and lit it.

"It was here," said I, "that Ruyter stood when he was murdered and thrown into the lake. Right here on deck, between where you stand and where J, stand, I saw his. ghost, the old, grey-bearded one, when the other ghost stabbed it and tossed it overboard. Right here-—." Harris turned toward the pilot house. "We may have to break in there to find your mate." he said. "Stow your ghoat story, John. I have a better one in my notebook —wrote it on the way out here,." v "But mine is a "true one," I' faltered. "Pooh! I cat*—-" "Look there!" I shouted. ■The ghost of Cornelius Ruyter stood right there before us, with wild eyes glaring, out upon - the lake. '' Harris turned and looked at it. Then I saw him rub his eyes and take a step toward it. "Beat® the devil!" ha muttered. Before I realised what I was doing, I was at our boat, struggling to loosen it from the Pontiac's rail. I didn't look at Harris again until I felt him.grasp my arm. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Going to take the boat and leave ine to swim back?" ' • . ''Come away, for. God's sake!" I cried. "We haven't looked for your mate yet." I must confess that I was utterly helpless, and Harris absolutely carried mc back. My legs gave way, and I sat down on the deck; and as I. looked up the ghost, reappeared. "What do you "call it?" said Harris, fcurning tome. "Ruyter—is that the name?" . "Yes,"- I said with, a mighty effort* ; Harris pulled out his cigar caseAagain. Then, as I am a'living man, I swear he walked right up to' the ghost. "Have a cigar, Mr Ruyter?" he said, just as if 'he were speaking to a mortal man. The ghost pointed on of its transparent arms toward him, and such a groan it uttered I had never heard* and pray I may never hear again. Harris .stopped and looked at it, and then looked at mc. "How do you account for it?" he asiked mc.

"Come away! Gome away, in the name of Heaven!" I groaned. ■- ■• \::

"In the name of nonsense!" he said, and looked back afc mc with a puzzled expression on his face. The ghost stood there like the shadow of a statue, and never moved. I saw Harris reaching.in his pocket, and what I saw next brought from my lips a yell of frenzied laughter. , It was his infernal notebook and fountain pen! "I wonder if. I can sketch the blanked thing," he said., "Perhaps you don't know, John, that I arii something of a pen artist. I frequently find it convenient to do a little sketching. . Then a new idea seemed to take him, and he turned to the ghost. 'rHuve you anything to say for publication, Mr Ruyter2" he asked with a grin. It opened its mouth a« if to speak, and a steamy vapour seemed to flow forth and surround the sacrilegious reporter. I ex- ,- pected to see him drop dead or vanish into thin air, but he only stood there and sketched and sketched.

"Ought to have my ipen filled "with dishwater," I heard him mutter," "to the right, shade for His Celeitial Nibs."

I felt my senses giving way. I was slipping down to the deck in "a faint, when turned and saw mc. . He came to my side at once.

"•You're nervous, old man," lie said, "and the cold affects you, too. Take.a pull at this." He held out a bottle of brandy. I grapj>ed it from him, put it to my lips and pointed it straight up at zenith; but Harris was watching mc. "You must not drink it all,", he said, placing his hand on the bottle. "I want you sober enough to help row mc back. I wonder if it will drink," he added, turning toward the ghost "Don't! Don't!" I begged. "It will blast you, kill you, maybe!" "That's what I want—another blast. I didn't get the first one sketched ritrht " "But it will kill you." °

"It will take something more substantial than a ghost to do that. Have a drop of brandy, Mr Ruyter? You must find it cold work posing out here.' . Another cloud of vapor; another groan; once more the shadowy arm was extended. Harris sketched like mad.

"That'll do,'" he said, presently, sticking the notebook in his pocket. "You are dismissed: I must look after the living man." It took a step toward him and groaned again. Harris drew a pistol from his pocket and said musingly: "I've a notion to take a shot at it."

"Brandy!" I cried. "Give mc brandy! Oh,/sir, what are you—a man or a devil?" "A newspaper reporter—no more, no less," said Hairin, as he passed mc the flask. As replaced it to my mouth he deliber-

aiely aimed the pistol at Ruyter'e ghost and fired. There was another groan, and a fieryred spot appeared on the ghost's forehead. But it stood there' the same as before.

"Stay here a minutes" said Harris "I'll look alter your mate." 1 nervously grasped the brandy bottle, but did not speak. Indeed, I could notBrandy and fright had done their "work, and I became unconscious. When I recovered I saw Bob Alden lying in our boat, and Harris was forcing some brandy into his mouth., "The poor fellow was almost beyond help," he said. "But you can bring him around all right, if you will carry him up to the fort. I must hurry bads to town. It must be that the crew left him behind in the hurry, and then kept still about him for fear of being held responsible for his death." I managed to get over the rail and climbed into the boat.

''There's that thing again," Harris said, pointing behind us; and, sure enough, there stood tihe ghost. ■" "I think there will be two other reporters out here to-night," he went on. ■ "I wonder if I can't lay the ghost." He took careful arm at at' again, and fired three shota. Three new fiery spots on its forehead: three fierce groans; that was all. Harris climbed on deck again and walked up to it. I had closed my jaws together, and would not have uttered another sound for my life.

"Get out!" he eaid. "Break away, I. tell you!" It took a step towards him and pointed a finger at him. Harris stood where he was, but turned to mc. "It's trying to bluff mc," he eaid; and taking the cigar , from his mouth, he thrust it right into the ghost's face. The light at once went out "It affects the fire a little like carbon dioxide," he said to .mc. "Couldn't contain any mixture of that gas,-could it? No, that is out of the question." "Come back," , ! managed to say.

'Qlh just a minute. I must lay the ghost, so the other fellows will not get it. Ah! Dynamite's' the thing;" Hβ drew two small tubes from bis pocket. They were dynamite oartridgos. "I caa'fc light the fuse* here,", he said thoughtfully. "Tnia thing will put it- out. I'll put one here tmd aaiother against the side* of the boat, Marbe one will explode the other." Hβ pub one of them, down on the deck, and placed the other on the ioe against tfce steamer. Thea he lit the fuse and quickly pushed our boat off into the lake. Two minutes later the explosion came. Masses of ioe and timber were hurled into the air. ■ The haunted ship rolled for a while upon the water and slowly settled down, and- ; when we looked, for the* ghost it was gone. ■ ■ . . "Nasty work!", Harris remarked. Td like to. get.back to town'and'get my snipper. 'What do you suppose the blanked thing was? It couldn't be a ghost. That is contrary to science »nd reason. I don't know how to account for' it."

"What will yon say about it in the paper?" I asked. , "Oh, nothing. The story I wrote coming out is a better one, and I don't care to write , I'll use the siiqtah, though. Put horns and a forked tail on it, and it will fit my first story to perfection. Hei% we are. •Wβ were lucky not to capsize.' " Take, your friend up town, and you can-bring him around all right. If you see any other reporters, tell t&em he's one of the victims of a horrible railroad wreck up at Lake Forest. Goodnight."