“We’ll be obliged to stay here till one of the boats is alongside,” he said to himself, and then came the thought that he was spending too much time in pleasuring when he should be attending to his regular duties in the station kitchen.
“Perhaps Mr. Hardy will be ready to go now,” he said, running forward toward the hatch where the surfman had last been seen.
The decks were deserted, and he saw no signs of life on the ship. It was as if he had been abandoned, and but for the many craft near at hand he might have had a very disagreeable sensation of utter loneliness. As a matter of fact, something much like a shudder of fear came over him with the first knowledge that he was alone; but he forced it back with a laugh as he said aloud:
“If people could know that I’m almost afraid of being here, even though there are an hundred men within hail, I wouldn’t need to bother my head about being called a hero when I don’t deserve the name.”
As he ceased speaking an odd, indistinct murmur came from the dark hold, causing him to step back toward the rail quickly; but he advanced again an instant later, angry with himself for being such a coward.
Once more came that strange noise; but, half-expecting it, Benny held his ground, determined to learn the cause, since, until Sam Hardy should return, he had nothing better with which to occupy himself.
Leaning over the hatch he peered down into the darkness.
The space between decks was apparently empty, and he heard the water gurgling far below in the lower hold.
“That must be what I heard,” he said, speaking aloud, and the words had no more than been uttered when it seemed as if amid the gurgling noise he could distinguish his own name.
“Ahoy!” he cried, smiling to think he should be so foolish as to answer the water; but an instant later his face grew pale as he heard plainly the words: