I was in the midst of a pleasant yarn with Mr. Prance, whilst we hung over the rail, half watching the jigging chap forward, and half listening to each other. He was recounting some of his early experiences at sea, with a hint in his manner of lapsing anon into a sentimental mood on his lighting upon the name of a girl whom he had been betrothed to. All on a sudden the music forward ceased. The fiddler that was working away upon the booms jumped up and peered downwards in the posture of a man snuffling up some strange smell. The fellow who was dancing came to a halt and looked too, walking to the forecastle edge and inclining his ear towards the fore-hatch, as it seemed. He stared round to the crowd of his shipmates who had been watching him, and said something, and a body of them came to where he was and stood gazing. The weather clew of the mainsail being lifted, all that happened forward lay plain in sight to those who were aft. ‘What is wrong there?’ exclaimed Mr. Prance abruptly, breaking off from what he was saying, and sending one of his falcon looks at the forecastle. ‘The pose of that fiddling chap might make one believe he was tasting cholera somewhere about.’ A boatswain’s mate came down the forecastle ladder and went to the fore-hatch, where he paused. Then, with a glance aft, he came right along to the quarter-deck with hurried steps, and mounted the poop ladder, coming to a stand when his head was on a level with the upper deck. ‘What is it?’ cried Mr. Prance. The fellow answered in a low voice, audible only to the chief officer and myself: ‘There’s a smell of fire forwards, sir, and a sound as of some one knocking inside of the hatch.’ ‘A smell of fire!’ ejaculated the mate; and swiftly, though preserving his quiet bearing, he descended to the quarter-deck and walked forward. I had long ago made myself free of all parts of the ship, and guessed, therefore, that, my following in the wake of the mate would attract no attention, nor give significance to a business which might prove a false alarm. By the time he had reached the hatch, I was at his side. The boatswain and sailmaker came out of their cabins, a number of seamen quitted the forecastle to join us, and the rest gathered at the edge of the raised deck, looking down. The fore-hatch was a great square protected by a cover that was to be lifted in pieces. A tarpaulin was stretched over it with battening irons to keep it fixed, for this was a hatch there was seldom or never any occasion to enter at sea, the cargo in all probability coming flush to it.