Imagine, he says, some ghostly ship, some Flying Dutchman transported in time from the year 1600 to the present.

Out in the water enormous things were floating, glimmering like ghostly ships but more immense than any man-made object.

The fishermen went then out of their houses and led the dead to their goal in ghostly ships.

In the middle of the vast lake a vertical black line floated above the mist like the mast of a ghostly ship.

Behind him, two pulsing Drive plumes looked for all the world like the wake from a ghostly oceangoing ship.

Without a backward glance, he swung over the rail and shinnied down the anchor chain, vastly relieved at departing the ghostly ship.

A ghostly white ship appeared in the middle of the Cardassian debris.

The man on the shore entertained no doubts as to the reality of the ghostly ship.

A ghostly ship breaking up, collapsing sedately, then disappearing amidst a cloud of ash dust.

A line from an old seaman's poem ran through his head: "A ghostly ship, with a ghostly crew, with no place to go."