"Who was that yelled?"
"Did you hear that? Tell me, did you hear it?"
Some one spoke of ghosts,—none of us laughed,—and Neddie Benson whimpered something about the lady who told fortunes. "She said the light man and the dark man would make no end o' trouble," he cried; "and he—"
"Keep still," another voice exclaimed angrily. "It was Bill Hayden," the voice continued. "He hollered."
Getting out of my bunk, I crossed the forecastle. "Bill," I said, "are you all right?"
He started up wildly. "Don't hit me!" he cried. "That wasn't what I said— it—I don't remember just what I said, because I ain't good at remembering, but it wasn't that—don't-oh! oh!—I know it wasn't that."
Two of the men joined me, moving cautiously for the ship was pitching now in short, heavy seas.
"What's that he's saying?" one of them asked.
Before I could answer, Bill seemed suddenly to get control of himself. "Oh," he moaned. "I've got such a pain in my innards! I've got a rolling, howling old pain in my innards."
There was little that we could do, so we smoothed his blankets and went back to our own. The Island Princess was pitching more fiercely than ever now, and while I watched the lantern swing and toss before I went to sleep, I heard old Blodgett saying something about squalls and cross seas. There was not much rest for us that night. No sooner had I hauled the blankets to my chin and closed my eyes, than a shout came faintly down to us, "All-hands—on deck!"