The square piece of flooring swung upward. It revealed a dark hole
and the top rounds of a ladder.
“Must go down into the hold,” decided Raynor.
He held the lantern into the black rectangle left gaping by the
opened trap-door. It did not reveal much, except beams and timbers
and the rest of the ladder.
A dank, musty smell came up from below. Then came a noise that so
startled Raynor he almost dropped the lantern. It sounded like the
rush of a gale of wind. But the next minute he knew what it was. The
scampering of myriads of rats. He could hear their squeaks and
gibbers as, alarmed by the light, they fled through the hold.
“Well, I might as well risk it,” thought the boy. “If it doesn’t
lead to anything I can always get back.”
Taking the lantern, he cautiously descended the ladder. Soon he
found himself on the floor of the hold. It reeked with a nauseating
fishy smell which Raynor knew must have come from the numerous
cargoes of seal oil and skins the _Polly Ann_ had carried in times
past.
The hold was rather unevenly floored and the pitching of the
schooner made the lad’s advance somewhat difficult. But, holding his
lantern aloft, he made his way forward. He had reached a point where
the hold narrowed into a small triangle, the very “eyes” of the
ship, as sailors call it, when he saw a ladder.
“Guess, since I’m embarked on this enterprise, I might as well see
it through,” thought the lad.
He clambered up the ladder and found a closed hatchway at the top.
Not without misgivings he shoved it upward, and found himself in a
tiny triangular cubby hole full of odds and ends of chains and
ropes.
He knew at once where he was. In his ramblings about the ship he had
noticed this little triangular space in the bows and thought of it
in a casual way as a good hiding place, if the time ever came to use
it. He blew out his lantern and cast himself down on a bale of
oakum. But he was far from comfortable in his retreat.
Every time a wave broke over the bow it drenched him. Soon he was
soaked through and miserable. He had put some of the bread Pompey
had brought him that morning in his pockets. From time to time he
chewed a bit of it, more for the sake of doing something than with
the idea of satisfying his appetite.
At length he fell into an uneasy doze. He was awakened by hearing
voices near him. It was daylight, as he could see by the light that
filtered through cracks in his hiding place.
“Be jabbers,” said the voice of the Irish helmsman, “the bye isn’t
on board this hooker. It’s mesilf as has searched frum stem to starn
entirely.”
“Yo’ tak mah bible word fo’ it O’Brien,” responded Pompey’s voice,
“dat ghostesses has taken dat lad. Dey took mah puddin’ one night,
now dey take one ob mah deputised cooks.”
“Great snakes, are there ghosts aboard this craft?” gasped O’Brien.
“De surest ting dat yo’ know. Didn’ dep apparitionise demselves to
me one night when I was steering dis wessel?”
“Real ghosts?”
“Yas, sah. Dey had green faces all flamin’ an’ red eyes an’--an’
green hair an’ dey was mo’ dan nineteen feet tall.”
“Ochone! This is no place for me,” declared O’Brien. “I guess I’ll
go and report to the captain.”
“Yo’ all better tell him dat ghostesses done it same as dey stole de
puddin’,” said Pompey in parting.
“Garn wid ye. D’ye think I want ter be hanging on the yard arrum
like a string of onions on a beam?” flung back O’Brien, as he
hurried off.
“So they have discovered my disappearance,” thought Raynor, “and so
far they have got no clew to my whereabouts. This is just the
opportunity to escape I was looking for. I’ll sneak out of here
to-night and get a boat and make off. Hold on though, would that be
fair to Noddy?”
After some cogitation the lad decided that it would not do to leave
the good-hearted Bowery boy behind.
“I’ll find some means of communicating with him,” he thought. “Maybe
later in the day, when he comes forward to get potatoes, I can
attract his attention. The potato bin is quite close at hand.”
Not long before noon Noddy came forward with a basket to the storage
bin, where vegetables, such as potatoes, onions and turnips, were
kept.
“H-i-s-t!” whispered Raynor through a crack.
“Now what under the sun was dat?” exclaimed the Bowery boy, looking
about him, “sounded like a cat. But dere ain’t no cats on dis craft.
What was it?”
“Noddy, it’s me--Raynor,” breathed the hidden lad eagerly.
Noddy dropped his basket in his astonishment.
“Well, what d’ye know about dat,” he exclaimed. “Pompey said dat de
spooks had got cher.”
“Not yet,” laughed Raynor, “but I have a fine plan for an escape.
Meet me at the galley at midnight to-night and we’ll get away in one
of the boats.”
“Chee, youse don’ rush tings at all, at all, do youse?” cried Noddy
admiringly. “But I’m wid yer. I’ll swipe some grub to-day and hide
it.”
“By-the-way, that reminds me,” exclaimed Raynor, “thanks for that
chicken, but what about something to eat to-day?”
“I’ll bring youse some grub. Don’t worry. I’ll make all excuse to
git a bit of waste or rope out of that cubby hole. I got ter go now.
De old man’s lookin’ forward. He mus’ tink I’ve gone nuts talkin’
ter myself.”
He hurried off but an hour later brought Raynor a good meal,
consisting of what was left over from the cabin dinner. The hidden
lad ate it with a relish which was sharpened by the thought that
that night he might be able to make good his escape.
That afternoon it began to grow rough, and Raynor’s retreat was
anything but comfortable. Water poured in every time the _Polly Ann_
breasted a big wave. The lad was soon cold and shivering. But the
hours passed somehow and at last, by the chiming of the ship’s bell,
Raynor knew that the time had come to put his plan of escape into
operation.
He crawled out upon the deck from his hiding place, feeling wet and
stiff, and proceeded cautiously, for discovery was likely at any
instant.