From beneath the deck, however, the strange sound came louder and louder. There really must be something queer down there. Louisa was right—it must be sea-spirits. Fear clutched at my heart.
If only the gray maiden does not come—for she is the worst of all. Suppose a gray figure glided noiselessly up from the cabin——
We were both ready to jump overboard now. I did not know what I was doing, I was so possessed by fear. Not a boat to be seen, only the gray, boundless sea!
Oh, that horrible Seven Stars!
Louisa sat with both legs outside of the railing; it would not take an instant for her to jump down.
The sound from below grew louder, and it was as if some one were walking there with a slow, dragging step. We caught hold of each other’s hands and stared horror-stricken at the cabin door. Some one tried to open it from the inside, turned the key—and a big tousled, carroty head peeped out.
I drew a deep sigh of relief. The head was Singdahlsen’s, crazy Singdahlsen who imagined that his legs had grown together down to his knees. He was somewhat ill-tempered and particularly ugly when he was teased. Often and often he would be on the chase after boys who had plagued him. His pursuit was not swift, however, as you can understand, since he thought he could only move his legs from the knees down.
Oh, what a relief that it was Singdahlsen and not a ghostly gray maiden! Louisa and I let go of each other’s hands and went over to him.
“Was it you who sang the Columbia Song?” he asked with a threatening look.
No, indeed. We could certainly declare ourselves innocent on that score. Nothing could have been farther from our thoughts than singing.