There was nothing unusual in this--perhaps the voice of the fisherman
hauling out his boat, or of some mariner heaving the anchor. But why
such terror betrayed by the irrational brute, and apparently proceeding
from this source? for it was manifest that some connection existed
between the impulses of the sound now undulating on the wind, and the
alarm of my steed. The cause of all this apprehension soon grew more
unequivocal--it was evidently approaching. From the sea there seemed to
come, at short intervals, a low and lengthened shout, like the voice of
one crying out for help or succour. Presently the sounds assumed a more
distinct and definite articulation. "Murder!--Murder!" were the only
words that were uttered, but in a tone and with an expression of agony I
shall never forget. It was not like anything akin to humanity, but an
unearthly, and, if I may so express it, a sepulchral shriek--like a
voice from the grave.
I crept closer to my steed: nature, recoiling from contact with the
approaching phantom, prompted me thus intuitively to cling to anything
that had life. I felt a temporary relief, even from the presence of the
terrified beast, though I could distinctly perceive him shuddering, yet
fixed to the spot.
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