captain of the foretop. He was one of the finest men in the ship. He
could dance a hornpipe, sing a good song, make a splendid showing with
the gloves or single-sticks; was something of a wag, and when he
laughed the deck trembled. His promotion was not wholly a thing of
joy, for the superstition of the sea gripped him tight. He was the
third man, and to most of us the number had an evil omen. Within an
hour after his promotion, the red flush had gone from his cheeks. He
was silent and managed to be alone most of the afternoon and evening
of that day. He had been a signal boy and was an expert in the
language of flags and in flashing the electric light. He was unable
to sleep and passed most of the night on deck with the sentries. It
was noticed that he begged permission to "monkey" with the
electric-light signalling apparatus aft on the poop. When we began the
sail drill the following day, the attention of every man on the ship
was focused on the captain of the foretop, and at the order--"Away
aloft!" he sprang at the rigging like a cat. We stood from under.
There was a breathless hush as the second order was given--"Bear out
on the yard-arm!" It was the fatal order at which the other men had
lost their nerve and their lives! As it rang out over the old ship, we
gulped down our lumps and secretly thanked Him in the hollow of whose
hand lie the seas. The evolution was completed, and when the man of
the foretop descended to the deck, half a dozen men gripped Hicks, and
hugged him and kissed him with tears in their eyes.

Something really did happen in the foretop that day--something
happened to its captain, though nobody knew just what it was. He came
to the deck a changed man, and those who knew him best, felt it most.
We could not analyze it--he could not himself. I got into the secret
by accident. Some weeks later, it may have been months, an officer
from another ship was lunching with a friend in our wardroom. I served