“Wait a bit, wait a bit, sir,” said the boatswain, as the bows dipped and an interval of silence came. Then he too stamped his big foot.
Just as the skipper was about to yell at them again, he suddenly stopped. A look of interest, that swiftly changed into astonishment, came on to his face.
There sounded quite distinctly to the ears of the huddled crew a long, far-away wail.
“Clear the hatch off. Now then, rise and shine. Don’t stand there with your God-damned mouths wide open! By heaven! get a move on you.”
Some of the native members of the crew hesitated before they started to do the skipper’s bidding. Then all worked with a will. Off came the canvas covering—crash! crash!—and the wooden bolts were loosened.
“Fetch me a lantern,” shouted the skipper. Then, beckoning to the boatswain to follow him, he leaned over the dark depth and went down the iron ladder into the ship’s hold.
The boatswain looked at the sympathetic faces of the crew, glanced seaward at the stars on the horizon as though for the last time in his mortal existence—and also disappeared.
Presently we all heard a tumbling and a mumbling, then a deep moan.
“Good God Almighty!” came a voice from below.
“Hold her legs. That’s it. Gently now!” In a moment we were all bending over the edge of the hatchway. We saw the skipper climbing up with the figure in his arms. “It’s a stowaway!” was the cry all round. In a moment the red-bearded cook and I had grabbed the deck grating. As the skipper came up we all leaned forward. Good Lord! never, surely, was a sadder sight. There on the deck, under the stars of that wide Pacific, they laid her. The huddled crew gazed upon her: they could only stare with awestruck eyes on that beautiful face.