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- canvas. This left us at liberty to examine the craft, though,
unfortunately, the night was growing hazy.
All this while our boat was still towing alongside; and I was about to
drop it astern, when Jarl, ever cautious, declared it safer where it
was; since, if there were people on board, they would most likely be
down in the cabin, from the dead-lights of which, mischief might be
done to the Chamois.
It was then, that my comrade observed, that the brigantine had no
boats, a circumstance most unusual in any sort of a vessel at sea. But
marking this, I was exceedingly gratified. It seemed to indicate, as I
had opined, that from some cause or other, she must have been abandoned
of her crew. And in a good measure this dispelled my fears of foul
play, and the apprehension of contagion. Encouraged by these
reflections, I now resolved to descend, and explore the cabin, though
sorely against Jarl’s counsel. To be sure, as he earnestly said, this
step might have been deferred till daylight; but it seemed too
wearisome to wait. So bethinking me of our tinder-box and candles, I
sent him into the boat for them. Presently, two candles were lit; one
of which the Skyeman tied up and down the barbed end of his harpoon; so
that upon going below, the keen steel might not be far off, should the
light be blown out by a dastard.
Unfastening the cabin scuttle, we stepped downward into the smallest
and murkiest den in the world. The altar-like transom, surmounted by
the closed dead-lights in the stem, together with the dim little sky-
light overhead, and the somber aspect of every thing around, gave the
place the air of some subterranean oratory, say a Prayer Room of Peter
the Hermit. But coils of rigging, bolts of canvas, articles of
clothing, and disorderly heaps of rubbish, harmonized not with this
impression. Two doors, one on each side, led into wee little state-
rooms, the berths of which also were littered. Among other things, was
a large box, sheathed with iron and stoutly clamped, containing a keg
partly filled with powder, the half of an old cutlass, a pouch of
bullets, and a case for a sextant—a brass plate on the lid, with the
maker’s name. London. The broken blade of the cutlass was very rusty
and stained; and the iron hilt bent in. It looked so tragical that I
thrust it out of sight.
Removing a small trap-door, opening into the space beneath, called the
“run,” we lighted upon sundry cutlasses and muskets, lying together at
sixes and sevens, as if pitched down in a hurry.
Casting round a hasty glance, and satisfying ourselves, that through
the bulkhead of the cabin, there was no passage to the forward part of
the hold, we caught up the muskets and cutlasses, the powder keg and
the pouch of bullets, and bundling them on deck, prepared to visit the
other end of the vessel. Previous to so doing, however, I loaded a
musket, and belted a cutlass to my side. But my Viking preferred his
harpoon.
In the forecastle reigned similar confusion. But there was a snug
little lair, cleared away in one corner, and furnished with a grass mat
and bolster, like those used among the Islanders of these seas. This
little lair looked to us as if some leopard had crouched there. And as
it turned out, we were not far from right. Forming one side of this
retreat, was a sailor’s chest, stoutly secured by a lock, and monstrous
heavy withal. Regardless of Jarl’s entreaties, I managed to burst the
lid; thereby revealing a motley assemblage of millinery, and outlandish
knick-knacks of all sorts; together with sundry rude Calico
contrivances, which though of unaccountable cut, nevertheless possessed
a certain petticoatish air, and latitude of skirt, betokening them the
habiliments of some feminine creature; most probably of the human
species.
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