“It may be possible,” said he, aloud. “I did not think of that. Come on, men; I’ll soon get at the bottom of the matter.”
The captain led the way into the forecastle, and the sailors flocked down the ladder after him, Guy bringing up the rear.
“Now fetch on your ghosts,” said the skipper, seating himself on one of the bunks.
“Avast heaving a minute, cap’n, and you’ll see ’em,” said Upham.
The silence that followed continued so long that the sailors began to get impatient, but not so the captain. The few words the second mate whispered in his ear had aroused some suspicions in his mind, and he was resolved that they should either be confirmed or entirely set at rest before he left the forecastle.
Ten minutes passed, and then the groans that had startled the crew the night before were distinctly heard, followed by the low murmur of conversation. The captain seemed very much annoyed. He arose from his seat, and placing his ear close against the bulk-head, stood there listening intently until the sounds ceased.
“They’re there sure enough, cap’n,” said Upham. “You see that we wasn’t complaining of nothing.”
“I am satisfied of it now,” was the reply. “Get lanterns, a couple of you, and all the port watch come with me into the hold. Bring handspikes every mother’s son of you.”
“Handspikes won’t do no good,” growled Flint, after the captain had ascended from the forecastle.
“No,” assented Upham. “I never yet heard of a ghost being knocked down and put in irons.”