The Thing

We stood by the top of the ladder, therefore, and made another
effort to rouse him. "Hey, watchman!" I called. And McWhirter, in
a deep bass, sang lustily: "Watchman, what of the night?" Neither
of us made, any perceptible impression on the silence and gloom of
the Ella.

McWhirter grew less gay. The deserted decks of the ship, her tragic
history, her isolation, the darkness, which my small flash seemed
only to intensify, all had their effect on him.

"It's got my goat," he admitted. "It smells like a tomb."

"Don't be an ass."

"Turn the light over the side, and see if we fastened that boat.
We don't want to be left here indefinitely."

"That's folly, Mac," I said, but I obeyed him. "The watchman's boat
is there, so we--"

But he caught me suddenly by the arm and shook me.

"My God!" he said. "What is that over there?"

It was a moment before my eyes, after the flashlight, could
discern anything in the darkness. Mac was pointing forward. When
I could see, Mac was ready to laugh at himself.

"I told you the place had my goat!" he said sheepishly. "I thought
I saw something duck around the corner of that building; but I think
it was a ray from a searchlight on one of those boats."

"The watchman, probably," I said quietly. But my heart beat a
little faster. "The watchman taking a look at us and gone for his
gun."

I thought rapidly. If Mac had seen anything, I did not believe it
was the watchman. But there should be a watchman on board--in the
forward house, probably. I gave Mac my revolver and put the light
in my pocket. I might want both hands that night. I saw better
without the flash, and, guided partly by the bow light, partly by
my knowledge of the yacht, I led the way across the deck. The
forward house was closed and locked, and no knocking produced any
indication of life. The after house we found not only locked, but
barred across with strips of wood nailed into place. The forecastle
was likewise closed. It was a dead ship.