A dank, musty smell came up from below. Then came a noise that so startled Raynor he almost dropped the lantern. It sounded like the rush of a gale of wind. But the next minute he knew what it was. The scampering of myriads of rats. He could hear their squeaks and gibbers as, alarmed by the light, they fled through the hold.
“Well, I might as well risk it,� thought the boy. “If it doesn’t lead to anything I can always get back.�
Taking the lantern, he cautiously descended the ladder. Soon he found himself on the floor of the hold. It reeked with a nauseating fishy smell which Raynor knew must have come from the numerous cargoes of seal oil and skins the Polly Ann had carried in times past.
The hold was rather unevenly floored and the pitching of the schooner made the lad’s advance somewhat difficult. But, holding his lantern aloft, he made his way forward. He had reached a point where the hold narrowed into a small triangle, the very “eyes� of the ship, as sailors call it, when he saw a ladder.
“Guess, since I’m embarked on this enterprise, I might as well see it through,� thought the lad.
He clambered up the ladder and found a closed hatchway at the top. Not without misgivings he shoved it upward, and found himself in a tiny triangular cubby hole full of odds and ends of chains and ropes.
He knew at once where he was. In his ramblings about the ship he had noticed this little triangular space in the bows and thought of it in a casual way as a good hiding place, if the time ever came to use it. He blew out his lantern and cast himself down on a bale of oakum. But he was far from comfortable in his retreat.
Every time a wave broke over the bow it drenched him. Soon he was soaked through and miserable. He had put some of the bread Pompey had brought him that morning in his pockets. From time to time he chewed a bit of it, more for the sake of doing something than with the idea of satisfying his appetite.
At length he fell into an uneasy doze. He was awakened by hearing voices near him. It was daylight, as he could see by the light that filtered through cracks in his hiding place.
“Be jabbers,� said the voice of the Irish helmsman, “the bye isn’t on board this hooker. It’s mesilf as has searched frum stem to starn entirely.�