Will Bertram uttered a cry of surprise and dismay at Jack Marcy’s
startling declaration, while Tom grew pale and frightened.
“Come out of that place, both of you,” said the boatswain. “You might
hide away for a day or two, but not for two months. Here, lads, I’ll
find a place where we can talk without being interrupted.”
He crossed the forecastle, and, taking a key from his pocket, unlocked
a door, which, opened, revealed a small apartment with a little window
looking out on the deck.
Jack relocked the door, and, pointing to some casks, told the boys to
be seated.
“We’re safe in the spirit room here,” he said. “Now, then, lads, out
with your story, and let’s hear the worst of it.”
Tom Dalton was too engrossed in his misery, as he imagined the blows in
store for him when he met Captain Morris, to say a word.
Will briefly related what had occurred since the episode of Tom’s
flight from the Moose.
Jack Marcy listened with mouth agape.
“Well, you boys deserve to get home, for you’re persevering enough,
that’s sure,” and Jack went on to tell about the change in the usual
sailing route of the ship.
It seemed that the coast trade had been light during the late winter
months, and Captain Morris had prepared for a voyage to Nova Scotia and
points farther north.
“I don’t know what he’ll say when he finds you’re aboard,” said Jack,
dubiously.
“Don’t let him know; oh, please don’t tell him,” pleaded Tom, anxiously.
“We can’t very well hide the truth from him, lad,” said Jack. “Don’t
begin to blubber, now, and we’ll think of the easiest way to get you
out of this fix. You’re hungry, I guess; eh, lads?”
Will assented eagerly.
“I’ll get you something to eat and drink, and we’ll think the affair
over,” said Jack.
He left them and returned in a few minutes with the promised food.
Then he relocked the door and left his young charges anxious and
suspenseful over his promised mental consideration of the case.
Meantime, events were in progress in the cabin of the ship, of which
the boys were in entire ignorance, but which materially affected their
welfare.
Captain Morris and his mate had celebrated the sailing of the Golden
Moose by drinking very freely, and immediately after the boatswain’s
visit to the boys the captain had come on deck.
It had been Jack Marcy’s intention to approach the Captain on the
subject of the stowaways.
The Captain’s sullen face and rough manner, however, deterred him
from carrying his plan into operation. Under the influence of
liquor, Captain Morris was a worse tyrant than ever, and he made it
uncomfortable for all the men he came in contact with by finding fault
with them or threatening chastisement for some alleged dereliction of
duty.
Finally his attention was directed to a little knot of men gathered on
the deck, in the centre of which was a pale and excited sailor, who was
gesticulating violently and pointing to the forecastle.
“What’s the row here?” angrily demanded the Captain, approaching the
men. “What are you loitering around here for?”
“Ben Allen has seen a spirit, sir,” spoke up one of the men.
“What’s this nonsense? Too much rum, I guess,” gruffly replied Morris.
“I did see a spirit, Captain, all the same,” seriously answered the
sailor named Ben Allen.
“Whose?” inquired the Captain, scoffingly.
“The old cabin boy’s, Tom Dalton’s.”
“Where?” he demanded.
“At the little bull’s-eye glass in the forecastle spirit room.”
The man’s manner was so earnest that Morris looked half convinced.
Jack Marcy had overheard the conversation, and looked deeply concerned.
“It’s all up with the boys if the Captain believes him,” he muttered.
He at once discerned what had happened. Tom Dalton, peering out of the
window of the spirit room, had been seen by the sailor Allen.
“Here, Jack Marcy, where’s the key to the spirit room?”
“You ain’t going to pay attention to Allen’s nonsense, are you,
captain?” asked Jack, with assumed carelessness.
“Yes, I am. Here, you, Allen, we’ll hunt for this spirit that haunts
the ship.”
He took the key from Jack’s hand and went forthwith into the forecastle.
Will and Tom heard the sound of approaching footsteps, but, little
dreaming of what had transpired on the deck, supposed it was the
boatswain bent on another visit to them, as the key grated in the lock.
The door opened.
Will Bertram stood transfixed, while Tom Dalton shrank back with a
feeble cry of dread.
For a single moment Captain Morris stood rooted to the spot, gazing
amazedly at the two boys.
“I told you, captain, Tom Dalton was there,” muttered Allen.
“But no spirit,” cried Captain Morris, his eyes flashing with malice.
“Tom Dalton, eh? Well, my runaway cabin boy, we’ll now attend to the
whipping you got out of so nicely at Watertown a month ago.”
And seizing the terrified Tom he dragged him triumphantly to the deck
of the ship.