‘But this cabin is occupied,’ said I.
‘It was, young gentleman, it was,’ he exclaimed, in a hollow raven voice, that wonderfully corresponded with his countenance, and particularly somehow or other with his hair—‘it was my chief-mate’s cabin. But he’s dead, sir.’ He gazed at me steadfastly, and added, ‘Dead and gone, sir.’
Miss Temple slightly started, and with a hurried glance at the bunk, asked how long the man had been dead.
‘Three weeks,’ responded Captain Braine, preserving his sepulchral tone, as though he supposed it was the correct voice in which to deliver melancholy information.
‘May I see the next cabin?’ said Miss Temple.
‘Certainly’ he answered; and going out, he opened the door.
This room was the same size as the berth which adjoined it; but it was crowded with a collection of sailmakers’ and boatswains’ stores, bolts of canvas, new buckets, scrubbing brushes, and so on. There was a bunk under the scuttle full of odds and ends.
‘I would rather occupy this berth than the other,’ said Miss Temple.
‘You’re not afraid of ghosts, mem?’ exclaimed the captain, fixing his immense dead black eyes upon her.
‘I presume this room can be cleared out, and I prefer it to the other,’ she answered haughtily.