A Knocking in the Hold

Our original crew had numbered nine--with the cook and Williams,
eleven. But the two Negroes were not seamen, and were frightened
into a state bordering on collapse. Of the men actually useful,
there were left only five: Clarke, McNamara, Charlie Jones, Burns,
and myself; and I was a negligible quantity as regarded the working
of the ship.

With Burns and myself on guard duty, the burden fell on Clarke,
McNamara, and Jones. A suggestion of mine that we release Singleton
was instantly vetoed by the men. It was arranged, finally, that
Clarke and McNamara take alternate watches at the wheel, and Jones
be given the lookout for the night, to be relieved by either Burns
or myself.

I watched the weather anxiously. We were too short-handed to manage
any sort of a gale; and yet, the urgency of our return made it unwise
to shorten canvas too much. It was as well, perhaps, that I had so
much to distract my mind from the situation in the after house.

The second of the series of curious incidents that complicated our
return voyage occurred that night. I was on watch from eight bells
midnight until four in the morning. Jones was in the crow's-nest,
McNamara at the wheel. I was at the starboard forward corner of
the after house, looking over the rail. I thought that I had seen
the lights of a steamer.

The rain had ceased, but the night was still very dark. I heard a
sort of rapping from the forward house, and took a step toward it,
listening. Jones heard it, too, and called down to me, nervously,
to see what was wrong.