“If I go down and tell ’em,” he murmured softly, in allusion to the crew, “what’ll they do? Laugh at me.” He glanced behind him again, and, rising hastily to his feet, nearly fell on to the deck below as a dark figure appeared for a moment at the opening and then vanished again. With more alacrity than might have been expected of a man of his figure, he dropped into the rigging and lowered himself on to the schooner. The scuttle was open, and the seamen’s lusty snores fell upon his ears like sweet music. He backed down the ladder, and groped in the darkness towards the bunks with outstretched hand. One snore stopped instantly. “Eh!” said a sleepy voice. “Wot! ’Ere, what the blazes are you up to?” “A’ right, Joe,” said the watchman, cheerfully. “But it ain’t all right,” said the seaman, sharply, “comin’ down in the dark an’ ketchin’ ’old o’ people’s noses. Give me quite a start, you did.” “It’s nothing to the start I’ve ’ad,” said the other, pathetically; “there’s a ghost on the wharf, Joe. I want you to come up with me and see what it is. “Yes, I’m sure to do that,” said Joe, turning over in his bunk till it creaked with his weight. “Go away, and let me get to sleep again. I don’t get a night’s rest like you do, you know.” “What’s the matter?” enquired a sleepy voice. “Old George ’ere ses there’s a ghost on the wharf,” said Joe. “I’ve seen it three times,” said the watchman, eager for sympathy. “I expect it’s a death-warning for you, George,” said the voice, solemnly. “The last watchman died sudden, you remember.” “So he did,” said Joe. “His ’art was wrong,” said George, curtly; “’ad been for years.” “Well, we can’t do nothin’ for you, George,” said Joe, kindly; “it’s no good us going up. _We_ sha’n’t see it. It isn’t meant for us.” “’Ow d’yer know it’s a ghost,” said a third voice, impatiently; “very likely while you’re all jawing about it down ’ere it’s a-burglin’ the offis.” Joe gave a startled grunt, and, rolling out of his bunk, grabbed his trousers, and began to dress. Three other shadowy forms followed suit, and, hastily dressing, followed the watchman on deck and gained the wharf. They went through the gloomy ground floor in a body, yawning sleepily. “I shouldn’t like to be a watchman,” said a young ordinary seaman named Tim, with a shiver; “a ghost might easy do anything with you while you was all alone. P’r’aps it walks up an’ down behind you, George, makin’ faces. We shall be gorn in another hour, George.” The office, when they reached it, was undisturbed, and, staying only long enough to drink the watchman’s coffee, which was heating on a gas-jet, they left it and began to search the wharf, Joe leading with a small lantern. “Are we all ’ere?” demanded Tim, suddenly. “_I_ am,” said the cook, emphatically. “’Cos I see su’thing right behind them bags o’ sugar,” said the youth, clutching hold of the cook on one side and the watchman on the other. “Spread out a bit, chaps.”