“Where's Charlie?” asked Thoph.
“Gone back to the cabin,” was the answer. “Thought likely he might find some of her papers or somethin' to put us on the track. I told him to heave ahead; I didn't want no part of it. Too much like that yeller-jack schooner to suit me. What's become of the parson?”
Thoph pointed to the open hatch.
“Down yonder, explorin' the fo'castle,” he replied. “He can have the job, for all me. Phew! Say, Bill, what IS this we've struck, anyhow?”
Ellery descended the almost perpendicular ladder gingerly, holding on with both hands. At its foot he stopped and tried to accustom his eyes to the darkness.
A room perhaps ten feet long, so much he could make out. The floor strewn, like that of the cabin, with heaps of clothing and odds and ends. More shapes of clothes hanging up and swaying with the roll of the brig. A little window high up at the end, black with dirt. And cavities, bunks in rows, along the walls. A horrible hole.
He took a step toward the center of the room, bending his head to avoid hitting the fo'castle lantern. Then in one of the bunks something stirred, something alive. He started violently, controlled himself with an effort, and stumbled toward the sound.
“What is it?” he whispered. “Who is it? Is anyone there?”
A groan answered him. Then a voice, weak and quavering, said:
“Gimme a drink! Gimme a drink! Can't none of you God-forsaken devils give me a drink?”