Not contenting himself with having ordered Stubbs below, he ran forward at full speed, calling loudly for a lantern as he dropped through the forecastle hatch.
I doubt if a single member of the watch followed him.
There had been so much talk of omens and signs since the first Friday that the minds of the men were in good condition to believe whatsoever smacked of the superstitious, and at the moment—ay, for many a long day afterward—I was firmly convinced that the form which had risen through the hatchway was not of this earth.
What with the shouting of the mate, his rapid footsteps on the deck as he ran forward, and the muttering of the men, no little disturbance was created, thanks to the stillness of the night, and while Simon and I crouched abaft the mizzenmast, not daring to so much as speak, we heard Captain Ropes’s voice as he came up from the cabin:
“What’s goin’ on here?” he asked of the helmsman, and the latter replied, as if giving the most commonplace information:
“There’s a bloomin’ ghost for’ard, sir, an’ the second officer’s gone to catch him.”
The captain gave vent to an exclamation of impatience, and striding to the break of the quarter-deck, he shouted:
“Forward there!”
“Ay, ay, sir,” came from a dozen voices.
“What’s the cause of this disturbance?”