rd to the
fore-scuttle, where one of the seamen relieved me of it and passed it
below. Half a dozen or so of the gang were now on deck, looking very
crestfallen and subdued--to such an extent, indeed, that they actually
knuckled their foreheads to me as I appeared among them. I did not
waste time, however, by attempting to bring home to them the evil of
their ways, but descended at once into the dark, grimy, and
evil-smelling hole where, until a few minutes ago, fourteen men had
lived in such comfort and harmony as go to make pleasant the existence
of forecastle Jack. Heavens! what a filthy place it was! and how
woefully changed for the worse since I had last entered it--which was
before it had received its present tenants. It was bad enough, even
then; but it was infinitely worse now. It was a triangular-shaped
apartment, the apex of the triangle being the "eyes" of the vessel. It
was barely six feet high from the deck to the under side of the beams,
and deck, walls, beams, and roof were all of one uniform tint of greasy
black, the result of a coating of dirt so thick that it could actually
be scraped off with a knife, or with one's fingernail. It was fitted
all round with a double row of bunks, and in addition to them a number
of hammocks swung from the beams. The place was unlighted, save by
means of the scuttle, and by a kettle-shaped slush-lamp that swung,
flaring and emitting a long streamer of fat, black smoke, from the
centre beam. The deck was encumbered with the sea-chests of the
original occupants--which had been taken possession of by O'Gorman and
his gang--and was littered with tin plates, pannikins, fragments of
food, and empty and broken bottles; while its atmosphere was foul with
foetid odours, prominent among which were those of bilge-water and
cockroaches! Three of the bunks in the lower tier were occupied--two of
the occupants lying quiet and still, while the third moved restlessly at
intervals, emitting low moans the while--and four men, evidently hurt,
reclined upon the deck, with their backs propped up against sea-chests.
As for O'Gorman, he stood close by the swaying lamp, holding a dirty,
bloodstained rag to his gashed cheek as his eyes rolled gloomily and
sullenly about the dark and stifling hole.

I gave my attention first to the figures in the bunks, beginning with
the still and silent ones. The one I first approached happened to be
the man named Tom. He was lying on his right side