Jack curled himself down under the lee of the main fife-rail, and, when the watch changed, returned there, preferring the open sky above him on such a perfect night to the frousy bad air of the foc's'le. Just as he was falling asleep, he noticed the small figure of the kid squeezing itself in behind the pump wheels. The first hour of the middle watch passed without incident. Black Davis paced moodily to windward on the poop, the helmsman nodded sleepily over the wheel, and the look-out, trusting to luck in not being found out, was taking a nap on the foc's'le head. Of the whole ship's company, perhaps the ragged urchin time-keeping was the only one thoroughly awake besides the mate. But two bells had not been struck five minutes before every sleeper was aroused into wakefulness. Suddenly a long, deep, wailing groan reverberated through the ship. Dusky forms crouching under the lee of the bulwarks roused themselves, sat up, and looked round inquiringly. The mate stopped in his walk and listened, the look-out sprang startled to his feet, and a hoarse murmur of gruff whispers broke out. Again came the deep, mournful groan. It seemed to come from somewhere about the midshiphouse. "What's thet noise forrard?" called the mate. "Some one a-groanin' in the midshiphouse, sir!" hailed back the look-out. The men nudged each other significantly. "Poor Pedro!" came a loud voice from somewhere forward. The mate frowned but said nothing, and the explanation evidently satisfied him, for he resumed his tramp. Again the groan broke the stillness of the night. There was something uncanny about the dismal sound. Full of superstition, like all deep-water Jacks, the men did not like it; several of the watch sprang to their feet, and there was a deep hissing of awe-filled voices amongst the dark groups of clustering men. Suddenly a voice called from forward: "It ain't the dago, sir; he says it weren't him." "Who's that speaking?" roared the mate. "Green, sir!" "Come aft, yew; what yew doin' forrard in yer watch on deck?" The man came running aft at a heavy, ungainly trot. "Wall?" snapped the bucko venomously. "Hearin' them groans, sir, I went an' listened at the door of the bosun's locker." "Yes; wall? Go on, go on!" broke in the mate impatiently. "I listens a while, sir, an' hears nothin'; then there comes a groan again, wery image o' Mister Barker's voice." There was a renewed nudging and whispering amongst the group of men listening. "Told ye so!" growled one. "Just wot I said!" "By golly! dem is ghost groans, dis chile tell dat easy. No libing coon eber make dem noises, not on your life," grunted the coloured man, his voice shaking with fright. "Silence there!" thundered the mate. "Go on, Green, spit it out 'fore y'r throat gits sore," he continued. "Then I asks Pedro, sir, if it was 'im, an' he sez he ain't opened his mouth all night."