Ghost Stories Read online

  “It’s a ship!” Joe exclaimed exultantly. “And someone saw us!” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted back, “We’re Frank and Joe Hardy! We’re marooned! Can you take us aboard?”

  “Aye, we can do that!” came the reply.

  The black mass moved closer and stopped beside the Sleuth. A lantern swaying in the wind revealed the curving bow of a large ship. On the bow were painted in white letters the words Samoa Queen.

  A rope ladder fell down the side of the vessel until it dangled over the Sleuth. Frank gripped the ropes on either side, got his foot onto the bottom rung, and quickly climbed up. Joe tied the launch to the ladder and followed.

  The Hardys vaulted over the railing and came down on a deck of massive oak planks. In the dim light of old-fashioned lanterns they saw they were on a sailboat. The sails billowed in the wind and the mainmast pointed high into the dark sky. A flight of wooden steps led up to the wheelhouse.

  A crew of rough-looking sailors were on deck. They wore old-fashioned work clothes and stood silently, glowering at the newcomers. One held a harpoon in his hand and waved it menacingly.

  “This must be some sort of training ship,” Frank said to Joe in a low tone.

  “Well, it’s the spookiest training ship I’ve ever seen,” his brother whispered back.

  A man in a salty pea jacket strode toward them. He was tall and gaunt with a black beard and piercing black eyes. When he spoke, they recognized the harsh voice that had hailed them over the water.

  “So you are Frank and Joe Hardy, are you?” he growled. “Those names mean nothing on my ship!”

  Joe spoke up boldly. “Who are you?”

  “Captain Jonathan Parker. The Samoa Queen is a whaler from Nantucket. And I need more able-bodied seamen for a voyage to the Pacific. You two will do. You will be members of my crew until we get back to Nantucket.”

  Frank and Joe stared at one another in the murky light of the ship’s lanterns. They were thinking the same thing. Sailing ships had not made whaling voyages since the nineteenth century!

  He must be kidding, Joe thought. Aloud he said, “Captain Parker, there’s no reason for us to stay aboard the Samoa Queen. All we need is help with our engine.”

  “‘Engine’? What is an ‘engine’?” Parker snarled.

  That’s got to be a joke, Frank told himself. To the captain he said, “Well, you need power to drive a ship, don’t you?”

  “Aye. The power of wind and sail!” Parker thundered. “What other kind of power is there to drive a ship across the ocean? Or maybe you paddle across!”

  The sailors behind him burst into wild laughter. Parker joined in the laughter, which rose to a high-pitched cackle in the moaning of the wind across the deck.

  “These guys are weirdos!” Frank exploded. “Let’s go back over the side—we’ll be better off drifting in the Sleuth!”

  The Hardys ran to the railing where they had climbed up the rope ladder. But when they peered down, they froze. The Sleuth was gone!

  “Grab them!” Parker ordered his crew.

  The sailors rushed forward and seized Frank and Joe, who were forced back into the middle of the deck. Captain Parker confronted them furiously.

  “I know your game.” he rasped. “You want to sign on another whaler. Well, it is too late. You will stay aboard the Samoa Queen. We are headed around Cape Horn into the Pacific, and on our trip I will make whalers of you or throw you to the sharks!”

  The Hardys felt cold chills as they listened to Parker’s tirade. To Frank it seemed as if they had fallen into the hands of lunatics. Joe wondered if they were living a nightmare.

  Abruptly Parker turned toward the wheelhouse, and yelled, “Amos Langton, come down here!”

  A burly sailor emerged and descended the steps to the deck. Parker ordered him to take the Hardys below and get them ready for sea duty. Langton led the boys across the heaving ship. Behind them, they heard the eerie laughter of the captain and his strange crew.

  “I am the first mate,” Langton said as they went down the stairs. “I will show you where you will stay when you are off duty.”

  “But what’s this all about?” Joe inquired.

  “You know very well what this is about,” the first mate reproached him sternly.

  “No, we don’t!” Frank protested.

  Langton turned and confronted them at the bottom of the stairs. “Then you had better learn fast. Follow orders, always! Sailors who disobey orders on this ship get thrown to the sharks!”

  The Hardys shuddered as they remembered Captain Parker’s threat.

  Langton took them into the living quarters of the crew. They saw a large, spare room with bunks along the walls. Beneath each bunk hung a harpoon, and next to it were oilskins to be worn over pea jackets and a sou’wester for use as a hat during bad weather.

  “Take those two empty bunks and get ready for duty on deck,” the first mate ordered. Then he turned and left.

  The ship began to move, forcing Frank and Joe to shift their feet to keep their balance. The timbers creaked and swayed from side to side. A lantern on a chain overhead threw a flickering light across the room. It gave off a greasy smell.

  “That’s whale oil,” Joe said.

  Frank nodded. The brothers had experimented with all kinds of fuel in their detective work, and recognized whale oil as easily as wood smoke.

  “Trouble is,” Frank went on, “that stuff went out when kerosene came in. What’s happening here?”

  “I have no idea,” Joe replied. “But we’d better be careful until we find out.”

  He called a greeting to the sailors who were lounging in several of the bunks.

  They stared at him somberly without answering.

  “We’re new here,” Joe went on in a friendly tone.

  The men still said nothing.

  “They’re a cheerful lot!” the boy muttered. “Silent as the grave.”

  “And what about this ship?” Frank said. “It’s a phantom, just like these guys!”

  “I hope we don’t have to sail on the Samoa Queen forever,” Joe said with a shudder.

  Near them, an evil-looking sailor was working on his harpoon. He polished the wooden shaft and oiled the long steel blade. Then he took a file and sharpened the point, which had a tong curving backward like that of an enormous fish hook.

  Joe decided to make conversation. “That looks like a dangerous weapon,” he observed.

  “Dangerous to whales, or my name is not John Corkin!” the man snapped. “And dangerous to landlubbers who think they are whalers!”

  Corkin was so hostile that Joe made no reply.

  Frank turned to the sailor on the other side, a grizzled veteran who looked friendlier. “What’s your name?”

  “Orne. I come from New Bedford. We are an old whaling family, we are.”

  Encouraged by Orne’s amiable demeanor, Frank continued the conversation. “What’s the real story of the Samoa Queen?”

  Orne looked surprised. “Why, she is a whaling ship from Nantucket.”

  “Where’s she bound?”

  “Around Cape Horn. If you do not know that, why did you sign aboard?”

  Before Frank cpuld reply, Joe intervened. “Whaling voyages around the Horn go back to the nineteenth century,” he insisted.

  Orne looked puzzled. “Right you are, mate,” he said, “and this is the year 1850!”

  The Hardys were startled by the statement. Corkin, who had been listening, spoke sarcastically. “You two must be stupid if you do not know what year it is!” He laughed loudly.

  The other sailors except Orne joined in one by one until a mad cackle echoed through the ship like a chorus of witches.

  The Hardys were horrified by the grinning faces and weird laughter. They leaped to their feet.

  “We know what time it is!” Joe exploded. “It’s time for us to jump ship!”

  Frank supported Joe wholeheartedly. “You can have the Samoa Queen and the whales!”


  Corkin glared savagely. Raising his harpoon, he hurled it at them.

  Frank and Joe ducked as the sharp weapon zoomed through the air over their heads and slammed into one of the ship’s timbers. The harpoon hung there, quivering under the rise and fall of the waves.

  “That was a close call!” Joe gulped.

  “Get ready,” Frank warned. “Here they come!”

  Led by Corkin, the sailors rushed at the boys, who went into a protective karate stance and prepared to defend themselves. The crowd of grinning faces pressed in on them and a multitude of hands reached out.

  Just then a shout came from the deck. “Thar she blows! Off the starboard bow!”

  Langton appeared in the doorway. “The lookout sighted a whale!” he shouted. “Frank and Joe Hardy, up on deck! And bring your harpoons!”

  The men who had threatened the boys retreated sullenly. Frank and Joe walked through their ranks, reached the door, and hurried upstairs.

  It was still dark, but the sea was calmer and the ship moved slowly across choppy waves.

  With Captain Parker giving orders, a dozen men were getting a whaling boat ready for action. They lifted the vessel from its stanchions by means of chains and pulleys, and swung it over the side, where it hung suspended in the air.

  As the Hardys watched, Frank wondered aloud, “How can there be whaling off Barmet Bay?”

  Captain Parker heard him. “Barmet Bay?” he roared. “We have rounded Cape Horn and are now in the Pacific!”

  Impulsively Joe asked, “How could we reach Cape Horn in one night? Even a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier couldn’t move that fast!”

  “What is an ‘aircraft carrier’?” Parker demanded suspiciously. “And what does ‘nuclear’ mean?”

  Joe shrugged. “Nobody will know for a hundred years.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The twentieth century!”

  “You must be crazy,” Parker muttered. “You make no sense.”

  Frank nudged Joe with his elbow, as if to say, “Easy! We don’t need any more trouble!”

  By now the whaleboat was ready to be manned. Sailors clambered in and took their places at the oars on either side. Langton stepped in amidships.

  “Frank Hardy, you will be the harpooner. Get in the bow,” the first mate said. “Joe Hardy, you will steer the boat, so you get in the stern behind the tiller.”

  When the boys were aboard, the men on the pulleys lowered the whaleboat into the water, and the oarsmen pulled away from the Samoa Queen. Joe followed Langton’s orders and worked the tiller back and forth to keep on course. Frank braced himself in the bow with the harpoon in his hand.

  “There is the whale’s waterspout!” Langton cried. “Joe Hardy, veer to the left!”

  Joe moved the tiller. “I don’t see anything over there,” he declared.

  “Then you are no whaler! Follow my orders or you will walk the plank!”

  The boat continued to the left over the dark water. A single star peeped through the murky clouds overhead. The oars rose and fell rhythmically.

  “This is the place,” Langton declared. “Frank Hardy, throw your harpoon!”

  Frank shook his head. “There’s no whale here!” he protested.

  “Yes, there is! Throw your harpoon!” the first mate bawled at him.

  Frank hurled his harpoon deep into the water. Then he drew it in by the rope attached to it. Secretly, he was glad he hit nothing.

  Langton shook with fury. “You lost the whale! You let him get away!”

  Joe came to Frank’s support. “I didn’t see any whale, either.”

  “Then you steered the wrong way!” Langton shouted. “I will report you both to Captain Parker when we get back to the Samoa Queen. Circle the area. Maybe I will spot the whale again. And this time, Frank Hardy, you had better catch him!”

  Joe shifted the tiller and the oarsmen strained at the oars. Frank kept scanning the water in the bow. The boat moved around and around.

  Seeing no sign of the whale, Langton finally gave up and ordered a return to the Samoa Queen. The whaleboat was lifted aboard and replaced on its stanchions.

  “We lost the whale!” the first mate reported to the captain. “The Hardys were responsible.”

  Parker was infuriated. “Lock them up!” he commanded.

  The boys were pushed downstairs and put into a barred cell used as the ship’s prison. Then the door banged shut and they were left alone. A whale-oil lantern illuminated two wooden bunks and a small table in the middle of the room. The brothers sat down and looked at each other.

  “This is getting weirder and weirder,” Joe said. “We’re on a phantom ship, being held prisoner by a crew of ghosts!”

  “Done in by a ghost whale,” Frank added morosely.

  Joe pinched his lower lip. “Yet Langton said he saw the whale.”

  “It’s his word against ours, Joe, and you know who Parker will believe. Besides, Langton’s a ghost himself! Why couldn’t he see a whale that isn’t there?”

  “What do you think they’ll do with us?” Joe asked.

  Frank shrugged and the Hardys fell silent. Both were thinking about Parker’s threat to feed them to the sharks.

  “Are there such things as ghost sharks?” Joe went on. “The kind that don’t really eat you?”

  “Let’s hope so,” Frank replied.

  A sound on the stairs interrupted them. They jumped up and listened as footsteps came toward them. Only one man was approaching, so the boys stepped into the middle of the room and waited to see what would happen.

  Corkin appeared, carrying a harpoon in his right hand.

  “So you lost the whale,” he sneered at them. “You do not know how to steer a boat or how to harpoon a fish. I should have been there. No whale ever gets away from me!”

  Frank chuckled. “I believe you’re jealous because I went along as a harpooner instead of you,” he said.

  Corkin raised his weapon and hurled it between the bars. It was aimed directly at Joe, who did not have time to dodge out of the way.

  But Frank had anticipated the attack. He tipped the table up in the air in front of his brother. The harpoon plunged into the top and pierced the wood. Its sharp point came right through on the other side, only inches from Joe! He wiped a trickle of sweat from his face as Frank wrenched the harpoon from the table.

  “Corkin, that’s the second time you’ve thrown this thing at us. Now it’s your turn to be on the wrong end!” the older Hardy cried. He lifted the weapon and rushed forward. Corkin turned pale, backed away, and fled up the stairs to the deck.

  Frank tossed the harpoon into a corner of the cell and laughed. “I wasn’t really going to spear him, just wanted to scare him off. Anyway, he doesn’t have his toy anymore. I wonder how he’ll explain that to the first mate the next time they go after a whale!”

  Suddenly another footfall could be heard on the stairs.

  “Probably Corkin again,” Joe said apprehensively. “Maybe he’s coming for another round with us.”

  “Well, we’ll be ready this time,” Frank vowed and retrieved the harpoon. He held it up defensively, but a moment later he lowered it as he realized the newcomer was Orne.

  The sailer shuffled toward the bars, all the while glancing over his shoulder. “I should not be here, mates,” he whispered. “I am on duty up top. But there is something I wanted to tell you.”

  “What is it?” Joe inquired.

  “Captain Parker has it in for you. He is keeping you locked up because he may need you before the voyage is over. But he will throw you to the sharks before we return to Nantucket.”

  “We’d better get out of here,” Frank said. “Can’t you help us?”

  “All we want is a fighting chance to save ourselves,” Joe added.

  Orne shook his head. “I am just an ordinary deckhand. There is no way I can release you. It would do no good, either. We are in the middle of the ocean. What would you do? Swim a thousand miles to land
?”

  Joe became excited. “Perhaps we could launch a whaleboat and get away.”

  Orne shook his head again. “There is always someone watching the deck from the wheelhouse. You would be spotted. Besides, it takes more than two to launch a whaleboat. Now that you know what to expect, I would like you to tell me something.”

  “Sure,” Joe said. “After all, you took a chance coming down here and warning us.”

  “Why do you talk so strangely?” Orne wanted to know. “Here it is 1850, and you mention the twentieth century and power other than sails. Are you clairvoyant?”

  The boys exchanged baffled glances. How could they make him understand?

  “We can’t tell him we think he’s a ghost,” Joe murmured to Frank.

  “It’s a question of time,” Frank replied loudly to the man’s question. “We cannot tell what time it is. By centuries, anyway.”

  Orne pointed to a calendar on the wall. The numbers 1850 were written on it in large letters.

  “I guess that has to be the year as long as we’re aboard ship,” Joe commented.

  Orne frowned. “You two have not escaped from an asylum, have you?” he asked anxiously.

  “No, we haven’t,” Frank assured him, “But we’d sure like to escape from this ship!”

  Orne nodded. “I will help you later if I can. Now I have to get back on duty.” The sailor vanished up the stairs.

  Frank lay down on his bunk with his hands behind his head. Joe sat on the table with his legs dangling over the edge. They discussed their predicament, using their detective training to analyze the facts.

  “The trouble is,” Frank observed, “we can’t figure out what to do since we’re dealing with phantoms. They kidnapped us, but how do you outwit somebody who lived in 1850?”

  Joe scratched his head. “We’ll have to play it by ear, Frank. I tell you what. If Captain Parker lets us out of here, let’s show him we’re good sailors. If we’re handy enough around the ship, maybe he’ll change his mind about dumping us overboard.”

  “Good thinking. It may be our only chance. But you know something,” Frank added, glancing at his wristwatch. “It’s only a few hours since we were picked up from the Sleuth. How can all these things have happened to us?”