mentioned that the _Golden Bough_ had a topgallant
forecastle; that is, the crew's quarters were away forward, in the bows
of the ship, beneath the forecastle head. It was a gloomy cavern; the
bright day of outdoors was a muddy light within.

Well, in the floor of the port foc'sle, wherein I was sitting, was the
hatch to the forepeak, below. It was this yard square trap-door which
caused my agitation. My glance fell casually upon it, and I saw it
move! It lifted a hair's breadth, and I heard a slight scraping sound
below.

Aye, I was startled! A rat? But I knew that even a ship rat did not
grow large enough to move a trap-door. The ghost of some dead
sailor-man, haunting the scene of his earthly misery? Well, I had the
superstitions of a foc'sle Jack, but I knew well enough that a proper
ghost would not walk abroad in the noon o' day. I stared fascinated at
that moving piece of wood. It slowly lifted about an inch, and then,
through the narrow slit; I saw an eye regarding me with a fixed glare.
I glared back, my amazement struggling with the conviction that was
oversweeping me; and then, just as I was about to speak, Bucko Lynch's
voice came booming into my retreat.

"_Hey_, you! D'you reckon to spell-o the whole afternoon? If you've
finished your scouse, out on deck with you--and lively about it!"

There was no denying that request, eye or no eye. And at the second
mate's first word, the trap door dropped shut, I clattered out of the
foc'sle, and to work; but I was turning that little matter of the
forepeak hatch over in my mind, you bet!

It was near dusk, well on in the first dog-watch, when the mates let up
with their driving, and herded all hands aft to the main deck. The
forepeak hatch had rested heavily upon my mind all afternoon, and I was
tingling with excitement when I went aft with the rest to face the
ceremony which always concludes the first day out, the choosing and
setting of the watches, and the calling of the muster roll. Something
unexpected was about to happen, I felt sure.

We were a sorry looking crowd gathered there on the main deck, before
the cabin, a tatterdemalion mob, with bruised bodies and sullen faces,
and with hate and fright in our glowering eyes. Those few of us who
were seamen possessed a bitter knowledge of the cruel months ahead, the
rest, the majority, faced a fate all the more dreadful for being dimly
perceived, and of which they had received a fierce foretast