‘A what?’ cried the captain.
‘I ’splained it to the second officer as a woice, sir,’ said the man, speaking very respectfully, but emphatically, as one talking out of a conviction.
‘What did this voice say?’ said the captain.
‘I was mounting the topmast rigging,’ replied the man, ‘and my head was on a level with the tawps’l yard, when a woice broke into a sort of raw “haw-haw,” and says, “What d’ye want?” it says. “Hook it!” it says. “I know you.” So down I come.’
‘Anybody skylarking up there, Mr. Cocker?’
The mate looked up with his hand to the side of his mouth. ‘Aloft there!’ he bawled; ‘anybody on the topsail yard?’
We all strained our ears, staring intently, but no response came, and there was nothing to be seen. Dark as the shadow of the night was up in the loom of the squares of canvas, it was not so black but that a human figure might have been seen up in it after some searching with the gaze.
‘It’s your imagination, my man,’ said the captain, half-turning as though to walk aft.
‘Up aloft with you again, now!’ exclaimed the second-mate.
‘By thunder, then,’ cried the man, smiting the ratline with his fist, whilst he clipped hold of it with the other, swinging out and staring up, ‘I’d rather go into irons for the rest of the woyage!’