I stepped softly down the stairs, and passed through the "saloon" or eating-cabin. I found the berth close by, and tumbled in by the dim light of a swinging candle-lamp of the spring-up pattern, as we used to call it. The company in the saloon had dispersed; the captain had quitted it some time before, and the two Coreans and the Japanese servant, who stuck to Oh Sing, parted. The man Lung, I fancied, disposed himself in the saloon. The other came and looked at me, and perceiving that I did not stir, he, after a pause, crawled out, hands and knees, on the floor, and vanished in the darkness outside the berth.
The wind was rising, the sea was following suit. I slept lightly as usual, when I was awakened by a breathing close to my face. I opened my eyes quickly, and started up.
A knife flashed in my face. I seized it, and shouted, "Help!"
At the moment I cried out I sprang up. Someone at the same time extinguished the already expiring lamp, and as I leaped upon the deck-floor I distinctly heard something retiring. I called again, and the captain came down into the dark and silent saloon.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "Is that you, Mr. Julius? Had a bad dream, I reckon, eh? What are you doing here, anyway?"
He turned a ship's lantern upon my scared countenance as he was speaking.
"No; someone came into the berth and flashed a knife in my eyes. If I had not called out I would have been stabbed."
"Nonsense, nonsense," said the captain, who still blinked the light upon my alarmed looks. "There are no murderers here, lad. But tell me how you came in here; this berth belongs to the passengers."
"The mate told me I would find a bunk in his berth."
"Likely; but this isn't his. This belongs to one of my passengers—to Mr. Oh Sing."