Part 64 (1/2)
”Arn't no rooms there, sir,” whispered the man, with rather an uneasy look in his eyes.
”What do you mean?”
”It's just the s.h.i.+p's hold, sir, turned upside down like. Sort o' c.o.c.k loft of bamboo spars jyned together at the top--rafters, don't they call 'em, sir?”
”Yes, of course.”
”That's right, then, sir, and they're all thatched and caulked with palm leaves.”
”Not a bedroom at all, then, Tom.”
”No, sir, but it's a sort o' sleeping accommodation all the same, 'cause there's a couple o' netting sort o' hammocks slung all ready; but I shouldn't like to have my quarters there,” continued the man uneasily.
”Why not? It must be cool and pleasant.”
”Cool, sir, but not kinder pleasant.”
”What do you mean?”
”Well, you see, sir, it's so plaguey dark.”
”What of that? So's the sloop's hold.”
”Yes, sir, but this here's so unked dark.”
”Well, you don't mind the dark?”
”No, sir, I dunno as I do so long as I've got my messmates nigh at hand.”
”Look here, Tom, I don't understand you,” said Murray. ”You're keeping something back. Why are you hesitating? You don't mind the dark.”
”No, sir; it's the rustling sounds as I don't like.”
”Pooh! Rats,” said Murray.
”Nay, nay, sir. I knows what a rat can do in a s.h.i.+p's hold as well as any one who has been to sea. What I heered arn't no rats.”
”Birds, then.”
”Tchah, sir! That arn't no birds.”
”What is it, May, since you seem to know?”
”Some'at oncanny, sir.”
”_Uncanny_? What can it be uncanny?”
”I dunno, sir. Some'at as arn't real.”
”What do you mean?”