“There’s more below,” Barlow said, observing me look about. “But your trunk’s over there.” Sure enough, I saw it up along the alleyway created by two stacks of cargo.
“Would you open it, please,” I requested.
Barlow undid the hasps and flung open the top. There lay my clothing, wrapped in tissue paper and laid out beautifully. The school maids had done a fine job. A sigh escaped my lips at this glimpse of another world.
“I can’t take everything,” I said.
“Well, miss,” Barlow said, “now that you know where it is, you could fetch things on your own.”
“That’s true,” I said, and, kneeling, began to lift the layers carefully.
After a while Barlow said, “If it pleases, miss, might I have a word?”
“You see I’m very busy Mr. Barlow,” I murmured.
For a moment the sailor said nothing, though I was conscious of his nervous presence behind me.
“Miss,” he said unexpectedly, “you know I spoke out when you first arrived.”
“I have tried to forget it, Mr. Barlow,” I said with some severity.
“You shouldn’t, miss. You shouldn’t.”
His earnest, pleading tone made me pause. “What do you mean?”
“Just now, miss, the captain put us on display. All that hauling and pulling. It was to no account. Mocking us—”
“Mr. Barlow!” I interrupted.
“It’s true, miss. He’s abusing us. And you. Mark my words. No good will come of it.”
I pressed my hands to my ears.
After a moment the man said, “All right, miss. I’ll leave you with the candle. You won’t go into the hold now, will you?”
“I shall be fine, Mr. Barlow,” I declared. “Please leave me.”
So engrossed was I in my explorations of my trunk that I ceased paying him any attention. Only vaguely did I hear him retreat and ascend the ladder. But when I was sure he was gone I did turn about. He had set the candle on the floor near where the ladder led further into the hold. Though the flame flickered in a draft, I was satisfied it would burn a while. I turned back to my trunk.
As I knelt there, making the difficult but delicious choice between this petticoat and that—searching too for a book suitable for reading to the crew as the captain had suggested—the sensation crept upon me that there was something else hovering about, a presence, if you will, something I could not define.
At first I tried to ignore the feeling. But no matter how much I tried it could not be denied. Of course it was not exactly quiet down below. No place on a ship is. There were the everlasting creaks and groans. I could hear the sloshing of the bilge water in the hold, and the rustling of all I preferred not to put a name to—such as the rats Barlow had mentioned. But within moments I was absolutely certain—though how I knew I cannot tell—that it was a person who was watching me.
As this realization took hold, I froze in terror. Then slowly I lifted my head and stared before me over the lid of the trunk. As far as I could see, no one was there.
My eyes swept to the right. No one. To the left. Again, nothing. There was but one other place to look, behind. Just the thought brought a prickle to the back of my neck until, with sudden panic, I whirled impulsively about.
There, jutting up from the hole through which the hold might be reached, was a grinning head, its eyes fixed right on me.
I shrieked. The next moment the candle went out and I was plunged into utter darkness.
Chapter Seven
I was too frightened to cry out again. instead I remained absolutely still, crouching in pitch blackness while the wash of ship sounds eddied about me, sounds now intensified by the frantic knocking of my heart. Then I recollected that Zachariah’s dirk was still with me. With a shaking hand I reached into the pocket where I’d put it, took it out, and removed its wooden sheath which slipped through my clumsy fingers and clattered noisily to the floor.
“Is someone there?” I called, my voice thin, wavering.
No answer.
After what seemed forever I repeated, more boldly than before, “Is someone there?”
Still nothing happened. Not the smallest breath of response. Not the slightest stir.
Gradually, my eyes became accustomed to the creaking darkness. I could make out the ladder descending from the deck, a square of dim light above. From that point I could follow the line of the ladder down to where it plunged into the hold below. At that spot, at the edge of the hole, I could see the head more distinctly. Its eyes were glinting wickedly, its lips contorted into a grim, satanic smirk.
Horrified, I nonetheless stared back. And the longer I did so the more it dawned on me that the head had not in fact moved—not at all. The features, I saw, remained unnaturally fixed. Finally, I found the courage to edge aside my fear and lean forward—the merest trifle—to try and make out who—or what—was there.
With the dirk held awkwardly before me I began to crawl forward. The closer I inched the more distorted and grotesque grew the head’s features. It appeared to be positively inhuman.
When I drew within two feet of it I stopped and waited. Still the head did not move, did not blink an eye. It seemed as if it were dead.
With trembling fingers I reached out and managed to brush the thing, just lightly enough to sense that it was hard—like a skull. At first I cringed, but then puzzlement began to replace fear. I touched the head more forcibly. This time it rolled to one side, as though twisting down upon a shoulder yet all the while glaring hideously at me. I pulled back.
By then I had drawn close enough so that, accustomed to the dark, my eyes could make out the head more or less distinctly. I realized that this humanlike face was a grotesque carving cut into some large, brown nut.
Emboldened, I felt for it again, trying to grasp it. That time the head quivered, teetered over the edge of the hold, then dropped. I heard it crash, roll about, then cease to make any sound at all.
Torn between annoyance for what I had done and relief not to be in any danger, I put the dirk back into my pocket—I never did find the sheath—retrieved the candle and started climbing the ladder. Halfway up I remembered my clothing, the reason for my being below in the first instance. For a moment I hung midpoint wondering if I should go back and fetch some of what I needed.
Insisting to myself that there was nothing to worry about, I groped my way back to the trunk, feeling for and taking up what I had previously laid out. Then I turned, half expecting to see the head again—but of course I did not—and rung by rung, squeezing clothing and books under my arm, climbed to the top of the ladder. After closing the hatch’s double doors, I crawled out from beneath the table and retreated hastily to my cabin.
There I changed my clothes, and soon felt quite calm again. I was able to reflect on all that had just happened.
The first question was, what exactly had I seen? A grotesque carving, I told myself, though I had to admit I couldn’t be sure. Even if it was a carving, could a carving reasonably put out a candle? Surely that must have been done by a human hand. My thoughts fastened upon Barlow.
On further reflection, however, I was quite convinced that—other than the candle—Barlow had been empty-handed. Yes, I was certain of it. Besides, though I hardly knew the man, he seemed too submissive, too beaten about, to be capable of such a malicious trick. After all, it was he who had warned me twice about possible trouble.