There was a combined yell of horror, the rush of frightened feet, and, reaching their boats, they rowed with all speed for the schooner, leaving behind them the body of their dead comrade.
Robert, awed a little by his own success in demonology, watched until they climbed on board the ship, drawing the boats after them.

Then they hoisted the anchor, made sail, and presently he saw the schooner tacking in the wind, obviously intending to leave in all haste that terrible place.
She became a ghost ship, a companion to the _Flying Dutchman_, outlined in red by the crimson lightning that still played at swift intervals.
Now she turned to the color of blood, and the sea on which she swam was a sea of blood.

Robert watched her until at last, a dim, red haze, she passed out of sight.

Then he turned and looked at the body of the man whom he had slain.
He shuddered.

He had never intended to take the leader's life.