d.

Meanwhile, the captain had come to the ladder leading from the quarter
deck to the main deck, and the tolling came from the darkness, just
beneath his feet. There was a strain of superstition in him, as in all
sailors, and he had heard yarns of ghostly bells on haunted ships that
tolled for the dead about to be. And it shook the old fellow's nerve.
Just then the shepherd's dog began to howl dismally and this put the
seal on matters as far as the captain was concerned.

He could not locate the continued tolling, so he returned to the
bridge and reported the fact to Jim, with his own view of the case.

"I don't wonder at it either, Skipper," he said in tremulous tones.
"This was once a pirate's ship, and I don't need to tell you anything
about its former captain, Bill Broom. There's been many a deed of
blood done aboard this ship." Jim felt generally angry, but not at the
captain, whom he understood, but he hated to have the ship of which he
was fond, given a bad name.

"Take the wheel, sir," said Jim, "and I'll find out in a jiffy what's
wrong. If this ship is harboring any ghosts, I'll fumigate them out."

"It's a job for a young man," replied the captain, taking the wheel.
"I wish you good luck, Skipper."

No sooner did the captain take the helm than Jim strode across the
quarter deck in the direction of the tolling sound. It was weird
enough to give almost anyone the creeps. Just imagine for yourself how
it would be, with that metallic sound coming out of the stormy
darkness. Fortunately for him, Jim was not imaginative, and did not
see things unless he was shown. He reached the top of the ladder, and
the tolling was just beneath his feet. He started down and then
something happened.

Let us return to the two desperate characters, to wit: Tom and Jo,
whose malign efforts had started all this trouble. When we left them,
they were in the steep ladder-way leading down into the forecastle.
They stopped there for a minute, panting both with excitement and from
the dash they had made. It was as dark as pitch below them, but they
could hear the stentorian snore of Pete and the sturdy Irish lad, who
did the most of the stoking.

"Give me some more matches, Jo," whispered Tom.

"Don't you laugh and give us away," warned Jo.

Here they proceeded to rub the sulphur on their faces until their
countenances took on a ghostly greenish-white hue. Then they crept
down the steps into the dark forecastle.

"Who's that?