I gave him no heed, but went to my work as usual, and presently wanting water walked to the forecastle for a bucketful instead of to the after-pump, as I wished to see what was going on forward. I took a bucket from the rack near the mainmast and went along the alley; a gang of convicts were scrubbing the main-deck and waist, and another gang were washing themselves in a row near the fore-and-aft barricade. The doctor, who always rose very early, almost as soon as the convicts turned out, stood at the quarter-deck gate looking at the prisoners cleaning the planks. The last man in the line of those who were washing themselves was Barney Abram; on catching my eye as he lifted his ugly face out of the bucket he smiled, winked and made a singular gesture, the significance of which I could not gather. His back was upon the captains or warders, and the look he gave me was unobserved. I faintly smiled as if I understood him, though I did not, and went on to the forecastle. The head pump was worked by one or two ordinary seamen; the others were passing buckets along to the boatswain and his mates on the main-deck. I delayed to press forward and fill my bucket, as I wished to look around me, and made as though I waited for a chance, in case I should be watched. The sun was up; the eastern sky was full of pink splendour. I saw no clouds, and the light wind was almost directly aft. The ship floated along very slowly. I had an eye by this time for sea-signs and guessed we should have a calm presently by the glassy appearance of the horizon. I heard men calling out on high, and, directing my eyes aloft, perceived that the main-topgallantmast had been wrecked to the height of the masthead--that is to say, the royal yard still lay across, but the mast had been splintered just above it and showed a foot or two of ragged fangs. One of the seamen near me said that a hot morning’s job lay before them. Would they make an all-hand business of sending a new topgallantmast aloft? The other answered: ‘A brimstone hot job it’s going to be, you take your haffidavy, matey! All hands or no hands, a bleedin’ hot job’s afore some of us, roastin’ as the lightning that’s blasted that spar!’ He laughed low and spat and wiped his lips on his wrist. I knew the speaker by his voice as one of the two seamen whose talk I had overheard. The other stared up at the splintered topgallantmast. It was clear that he was not in the secret.