The mate stopped in his walk and listened, the look-out sprang startled to his feet, and a hoarse murmur of gruff whispers broke out.
Again came the deep, mournful groan. It seemed to come from somewhere about the midshiphouse.
"What's thet noise forrard?" called the mate.
"Some one a-groanin' in the midshiphouse, sir!" hailed back the look-out.
The men nudged each other significantly.
"Poor Pedro!" came a loud voice from somewhere forward.
The mate frowned but said nothing, and the explanation evidently satisfied him, for he resumed his tramp.
Again the groan broke the stillness of the night.
There was something uncanny about the dismal sound. Full of superstition, like all deep-water Jacks, the men did not like it; several of the watch sprang to their feet, and there was a deep hissing of awe-filled voices amongst the dark groups of clustering men.
Suddenly a voice called from forward: