“Shhh! Did you hear that sound, Cabaco?”
It was the middle of the night watch. The moon shone bright and calm over the sea. The crew stood in a long, quiet line stretching from the freshwater barrels in the ship’s midsection all the way to the drinking water tub near the stern. They were passing buckets hand to hand to refill the tub, working in strict silence.
Most of the men stood on the sacred quarter-deck, careful not to speak a word or even scuff their feet. Buckets moved steadily from hand to hand through the stillness. The only sounds were the occasional flutter of the sails and the low, constant thrumming of the ship cutting through the waves.
In the middle of this quiet lull, Archy—one of the men standing near the rear hatches—leaned over and whispered to the sailor beside him, a Peruvian Cholo named Cabaco.
“Shhh! Did you hear that noise, Cabaco?”
“Just take the bucket, Archy. What noise are you talking about?”
“There it is again! Down under the hatches. Don’t you hear it? A cough. Sounded just like someone coughing.”
“Cough my foot! Pass the empty bucket back along the line.”
“Listen—it’s happening again! Now it sounds like two or three people tossing and turning in their sleep down there.”
“Ugh, quit your fussing, mate. That’s just the three soggy biscuits you ate for supper rolling around in your gut. Nothing more. Focus on the buckets.”
“Believe what you want. I’ve got sharp ears—I know what I heard.”
“Oh, I know you’re the one. The same guy who claimed he heard an old Quaker woman’s knitting needles clicking fifty miles off Nantucket. Sure thing.”
“Laugh all you want. We’ll see who’s right soon enough. Listen, Cabaco. There’s someone hiding down in the rear hold who hasn’t shown their face on deck yet. And I reckon our old captain knows exactly what’s going on.”
“I heard Stubb tell Flask during the morning watch that something strange was brewing on this ship. There’s a stowaway, mark my words.”
“Pfft. Just pass the bucket.”