“Tom May!” said the middy; and he would have burst out laughing, but for the thought that he might awaken the sick man in the room where he had lain down to rest. “Come out here.”
“It’s of no use to say anything to the lads outside,” grumbled the big sailor, “for they think just the same as I do, sir.”
“Why, you haven’t spoken to them,” said Murray.
“Not to-day, sir, but we often have talked about it, sir, and what might happen to them fellows as man the slaving schooners. Something must come to ’em some time or another after what they’ve done to the niggers. Stands to reason, sir, as they can’t go on always as they do.”
“I’m not going to argue about that at a time like this, but I do wonder at a big sensible fellow like you are, Tom—a sailor I always feel proud of—beginning to talk about ghosts and rooms being haunted, just like some silly superstitious old woman.”
Tom May drew himself up proudly and smiled at the first portion of his young officer’s speech, but frowned at the latter and shook his head.
“Ah, it’s all very well, sir, for a young gentleman like you to talk that how, and you and Mr Roberts, sir, has been at me before and laughed at me and my messmates; but, you see, we’re a deal older than you are, and been at sea two or three times as long. We’ve seen bad storms, and all sorts o’ wonders such as young people don’t come across.”
“No doubt, Tom,” said Murray quietly; “but come along outside. I want to station my posts.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” said the man, with a sigh of relief; but before he followed his officer he stepped on tiptoe to the opening leading up to the loft, and made an offer, so to speak, shrank back, then advanced again, and ended by sharply and shrinkingly closing the screen-like door and backing away with a sigh of relief.
“Feel better, Tom?” said the middy, with mock seriousness, as they stood out in the full light of day again.