I made no answer; but I could not help foreshadowing the scene when he examined the contents of his own trunk.
"Put back your duds, and stand by when all hands are called."
He left me, and I hastily restored my property to the trunk, and locked it. I took up the bag which the mate had examined, and dropped the handkerchief containing the gold into it. I dared not put the treasure into my trunk, and I looked about me for some secure place of deposit for it. An apartment frequented by twenty such men as composed the crew of the Michigan was not a safe place for fifteen hundred dollars in gold; but I had no alternative, and I thrust the bag into a hole under my berth.
"All hands on deck!" shouted the second mate, whose name was Tom York, though nautical courtesy compelled us to call him Mr. York.
The men gathered in the waist, and the captain made a speech to them, which I thought contained buncombe enough for a member of Congress; but the speaker, whose grog had not been stopped, as that of the crew had been, was still boozy. The men were then divided into watches, the mates alternately selecting a hand until all had been stationed.
"Call your man," said the captain to the chief mate.
"Phil Farringford, able seaman," replied Waterford.
"Your turn, Mr. York," added the captain.
"Ned Bilger."
"Jack Sanderson," continued the chief mate.