landlord's field. Her portholes and her bay-window were blazing with
lights, and there was a noise of singing and fiddling on her decks.
"He's gone," shouted landlord above the storm, "and he's taken half
the village with him!" I could only nod in answer, not having lungs
like bellows of leather.

In the morning we were able to measure the strength of the storm, and
over and above my pigsty there was damage enough wrought in the
village to keep us busy. True it is that the children had to break
down no branches for the firing that autumn, since the wind had
strewn the woods with more than they could carry away. Many of our
ghosts were scattered abroad, but this time very few came back, all
the young men having sailed with Captain; and not only ghosts, for a
poor half-witted lad was missing, and we reckoned that he had stowed
himself away or perhaps shipped as cabin-boy, not knowing any better.

What with the lamentations of the ghost-girls and the grumbling of
families who had lost an ancestor, the village was upset for a while,
and the funny thing was that it was the folk who had complained most
of the carryings-on of the youngsters, who made most noise now that
they were gone. I hadn't any sympathy with shoemaker or butcher, who
ran about saying how much they missed their lads, but it made me
grieve to hear the poor bereaved girls calling their lovers by name
on the village green at nightfall. It didn't seem fair to me that
they should have lost their men a second time, after giving up life
in order to join them, as like as not. Still, not even a spirit can
be sorry for ever, and after a few months we made up our mind that
the folk who had sailed in the ship were never coming back, and we
didn't talk about it any more.