Guy listened in great amazement. The cold chills begun to creep all over him, and his face grew a shade paler than ever.
“Don’t be afraid, my son,” said Upham mockingly. “It’s only the creaking and groaning of the rigging. You’ve heard it often, so it needn’t scare you.”
“No, it isn’t the rigging,” said Guy; “it’s the boxes of freight rubbing against one another.”
“Well, I never knew before that boxes of freight could talk,” said one of the watch. “Just listen to that!”
“Oh, heavens! I can’t stand it! I can’t stand it!” came in muffled tones from the hold. “Take it off, or I shall die!”
This was followed by a low, murmuring sound, as of several persons in earnest conversation, and then all was still.
Guy’s philosophy was not proof against such a manifestation as this. There was something in the hold beyond a doubt, and what else could it be but the ghostly crew the Santa Maria was supposed to carry?
“There’s been awful things done aboard this craft,” said Upham, shaking his gray head solemnly. “Nobody knows how many poor fellows have been knocked overboard on dark nights by them two mates.”
“Great Scott!” soliloquized Guy, jumping into his bunk and drawing the blankets over his head. “I never thought of that. Who knows but that the first mate may be watching for a chance to knock me overboard?”
The old sailor’s words had excited a train of serious reflections in Guy’s mind. A man who could deliberately attack another with the intention of robbing and throwing him into the harbor, would be none too good to make an end of the boy who had given evidence against him. There was but one thing he could do in his helpless situation, he told himself, and that was to watch the mate closely and be in readiness to seize the first opportunity to desert the vessel.