“Why, Solomon,” said Bart, at length, “what do you mean? I don’t see that anything’s happened.” Solomon had been clinging to the outskirts of the party, and at this he. cried out,-- “Dey ain’t out dar! Dey’s inside.” “Inside? Where?” “In dar!” said Solomon, pointing to the door of the forecastle. At this Bart went in, followed by all the boys. A dim lamp was burning, suspended from a beam. The boys looked around, and saw the seamen’s berths, but nothing more. “There isn’t anything here,” said Bruce. At that moment Solomon grasped Bart’s arm, and said, with a gasp,-- “Jes’ you listen to ‘em!” The boys all listened. As they listened, there arose a confused medley of sounds, which seemed to come from the hold of the ship--sounds of pounding, thumping, and grinding, mingled with groanings, gurglings, sobs, choking sighs, squeals, scrapings, rumblings, tumblings, shiverings, and many others of an indefinable character. To these the boys all listened in silence, and for a time there came a solemn feeling of awe over every one of that little band of listeners. “D-d-d-dem’s um!” said Solomon, with a shudder. “D-d-d-dem’s d-d-de g-g-g-ghosts, d-d-d-dem’s d-d-de hobble-bobble-gobblums!” “Nonsense!” said Bart. “Don’t talk that trash just now. This may be something serious.” “The cargo seems moving,” said Bruce. “The leak may be a large one.” “I dare say she’s got a bad strain,” said Phil. “It’s very likely,” said Arthur, solemnly, “that she won’t last very long.” “That’s my own idea,” said Tom. “Come, boys, we may as well look the worst in the face. It’s my opinion that she’s breaking up.” “Well, we’ve got the captain’s gig,” said Pat, “an can take to that, so we can. We’ve got lots of provisions.” “But we’ve no oars,” said Bart. “Well, we can rig up a bit of a sail, so we can, out of thim ould tarpowlines.” “After all, though,” said Bruce, “she may not be breaking up. I’ve heard somewhere that in a water-logged ship the water makes the most extraordinary noises ever heard whenever there is the slightest motion; so these may, after all, be nothing more than the usual noises.” “And besides, what is this sea!” said Bart; “it can’t do anything; it’s nothing. In fact, the more I think of it, the more sure I feel that this ship can’t break up, unless she strikes a rock. I remember what sea captains have told me--that a timber ship may float and drift about for fifty years, and hold together without any trouble, unless it should strike a rock or be driven ashore. So now that I think of it, I don’t believe there’s the slightest danger.” “But, if that is so, why did the captain of the Petrel desert her? He must have known this, if it is so.” This was Tom’s objection, who was not quite inclined to receive Bart’s assertion. “Well, I dare say he hadn’t been in the timber trade,” said Bart. “This was something new for him, and he thought she would go to pieces. That’s what he wrote in the message that he put in the bottle.”