"Heard er voice!" howled the mate. "W'y, the swab called me by me name."
"It were Mister Barker's voice!" put in some one in an undertone.
"It were de voice ob de debble!" declared the darkey. "By gorry, dis bleedin' hooker am doomed!"
"Hell!" roared the mate. "If thet coffee-coloured Jamaica slush-bucket shoots off his bazoo again, I'll jump down an' whang his hide off."
This snuffed out any further assertions by Sam.
In vain the bosun searched aloft; he even shinned on to the skysail yard, and the fore and main were likewise searched, but without success.
There were no further utterances of the ghostly voice, and the matter remained an unexplained mystery.
Black Davis and the bosun did their best to thrash the matter out, but at last gave it up as hopeless.
"Must a' been some one foolin' on deck," suggested the bosun.
"But the voice came from aloft, man; the whole watch was hyeh with me. It weren't none er my crowd; I'll lay a hundred dollars thar's none o' them got the nerve to go monkeyin' with me like that," replied the mate impatiently.