CHAPTER III
A WHISPERING GHOST
It was dark as pitch. The moon and stars were hidden behind a black wall. I couldn’t see a thing—not even my hand when I held it within an inch of my nose.
A breeze had sprung up as the day had died and the darkness had crept in. From where I lay on the stage of our show boat, wrapped in my blanket, the breeze fanning my face, I could hear the steady lap! lap! lap! of the canal’s waves as they hungrily licked the boat’s flat nose.
In preparing for a possible night attack, Peg and I had anchored the scow in the middle of the canal. This gave us an advantage over the enemy, even though we were fewer in numbers. If they tried to run a plank from the dock to the scow, we could easily knock the plank into the canal before they could make use of it. Or, if they came in a rowboat, we could force them back, using our clubs, if necessary.
It was pretty smart of Peg to think up this scheme, I thought.
The agreement had been made between us that we were to watch in turns. This would enable each of us to get some needed sleep. I was to rest an hour while my companion watched, then he was to sleep while I watched. The trouble was that I couldn’t get to sleep when it was my turn to rest. The thought of our coming success as showman, the thought of a possible night attack by the enemy, kept me awake.
There was a sudden rumbling crash on the roof of the sky.
“Jerry,” Peg whispered out of the darkness, and I heard his quick, guarded footsteps.
“Yes?” I breathed, getting to my feet in the sudden tense thought that the Strickers had come.
“It’s going to rain.”
“Oh!…” I lost my sudden tenseness and started breathing again. “Put up your umbrella,” I joked.
“I wish I had one. Our bedding will get soaked.”
“You seem to overlook the fact,” I laughed, “that this is a regular boat.”
“Huh!”
“And every regular boat,” I went on, “has a cabin.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a hatchway in the other deck.”
“Crickets! I never thought of that.”
Using a flashlight to light our way, we went quickly to the rear deck and raised the hinged hatch, which was fitted with a hasp and pin.
There wasn’t much space under the deck. But it was better to squeeze, I told Peg, than to get soaked. So we shoved our bedding into the hole, where tools such as shovels and picks had been kept under padlock when the scow had been used for clay hauling.
Peg crept into the hole, flashing the light ahead of him.
“What if the Strickers come?”
“They won’t come in the rain,” I predicted.
“I saw them just before dark.”
“In the brickyard?”
“Sure thing. They were watching us.”
“We’re safe from them now.”
“I hope so.” He laughed. “Well, here’s hoping that our cabin roof doesn’t leak.”
“If it does,” I joked, following him into the hole, “we’ll have it shingled to-morrow.”
“Ouch!” cried my big chum, bumping his head against a deck beam. “Bend your back, Jerry. This is worse than crawling under a barn.”
Pretty soon we were settled in our blankets. It was pouring now. The wind was blowing a gale. I could feel the Sally Ann tugging at the anchor ropes.
Would our stage be blown down? I sort of counted the seconds, worried-like, expecting any moment to hear a crash. But none came. And after a bit the wind died down.
“Hum-m-m-m!” yawned Peg, stretching in the dark and swatting me on the nose. I told him to cut it out.
Patter! patter! patter! There was lulling music in the dancing raindrops. A sleepy feeling crept over me. I was glad in the moment that it was Peg’s turn to watch. I closed my eyes. And then.…
I must have slept for more than an hour. Anyway, when I awoke there was no sound of raindrops on the deck above my face. The storm had passed over. Through a crack I could see a shimmering star.
Something had awakened me. Suddenly. I had a frightened, jumpy feeling. I rubbed my eyes, trying to remember what I had dreamt. A ghost! That was it. I had dreamt of a whispering ghost.
What was that? I listened, breathless, raising myself on my hands. My heart was thumping. Footsteps. Near by. Guarded and stealthy.
“Nobody here,” a low voice spoke up. “They must have gone home.”
It was the Strickers! The enemy had out-tricked us—had caught us napping and now were in possession of our boat. I went cold, sort of, in the knowledge of our humiliating predicament.
Peg was still asleep. I could hear him snoring. I shook him, telling him to wake up. In my sudden crazy excitement I completely forgot about the beams over my head. Raising quickly, I got an awful bump on the forehead. It sort of knocked me silly.
“Oh-h-h-h!” I groaned, falling back.
There was a sudden silence.
“I heard a voice,” breathed Jimmy Stricker.
“Me, too,” another boy spoke up.
“Under the stage.”
A slit of light, from a flashlight, appeared in the crack through which the star had been visible to me in the moment of my awakening.
“Look! Here’s a hatch.”
“Raise it,” commanded Bid. “I’ve got a club. And if a head comes up I’ll whack it.”
The hatch was raised cautiously … a light flashed into my blinking eyes.
“It’s them!” cried Bid. “Close it—quick!”
Bang! went the hatch.
“Lock it!” cried Bid.
Peg stirred at the slamming of the hatch.
“What the dickens?…” he mumbled, awakening. “I must have been asleep.” He shook me. “Did you hear that loud thunder clap, Jerry? It woke me up.”
I was dizzy. My head ached. But I was able to think and to talk.
“It wasn’t thunder,” I told him. “It was the Strickers. They’ve captured our boat. We’re locked in.”
He gave a queer choking throat sound and started to get up.
“Ouch!” he cried, bumping his head.
“Two monkeys in a cage,” yipped Bid Stricker.
“Open that hatch,” roared Peg, furious.
“Listen!” screeched Bid. “One of the monkeys can talk. Just like a human bein’.”
“I’ll ‘human bein’’ you,” threatened Peg, “if you don’t let us out of here. You know me, Bid!”
“Beg some more,” jeered Bid. “We like it.”
Well, I can’t begin to tell you how awful we felt. We are pretty smart. We think that we are a lot smarter than the Strickers. It was galling to us therefore to have them get the upper hand of us. And we were further sickened in the thought that they would throw our stage and seats into the canal. Our day’s work would be for nothing. But what could we do to defend our property? Not a thing. We were helpless—trapped like rats in a wire cage.
Suddenly a shrill scream pierced our ears.
“Oh!…” cried Bid, and there was unmistakable fear in his voice. “Oh!…”
There was a scurry of feet … the sound of diminishing gasping voices … silence.
And all this, mind you, when we had expected to hear the sound of ripping stage boards!
“They’re running away,” cried Peg, bewildered in the unexpected turn of affairs.
“Let us out,” I screeched, pounding on the hatch in the hope that the enemy would return and release us.
And now comes the weird part of my story—the beginning of the mystery.
“Where … are … you?”
The voice came from the other side of the hatch, a peculiar whispering voice.
“We’re under the deck,” cried Peg. “We’re locked in. Let us out. Please.”
I suddenly clutched my chum’s arm.
“No!” I cried, in a panic of fear, “No!”
“What’s the matter, Jerry?”
“It’s a ghost,” I cried, crazy. “I saw it in my dream. I heard it. It’s a whispering ghost. Don’t let it in.”
“Ghost? You’re batty.”
With these grunted words my companion lifted the hatch, which had been unlatched by the unseen whisperer. And unwilling to be left alone, I followed him through the hole.
The moon was shining. We could see every part of the boat. A plank was laid from the dock to the scow. Here was the course that the invaders had taken in their tumbling, panicky flight.
But the Strickers were nowhere in sight. No one was in sight.
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” gasped Peg, dumfounded.