Greer stuck a nose
down the ladder first. Beyond the usual close ship smells there seemed
to be nothing wrong. Then they climbed down.
Here again they found order. The bunks against the bulkheads and the
curve of the prow were clean with neatly rolled blankets. The lockers
were open and empty. The two searchers climbed out and walked aft to the
lazaret. They were rapidly getting over their fright of the plague.
Again Greer entered first, and this time Madden heard a loud snort of
disgust.
Half expecting some sinister sight, Madden ran down the three steps and
entered the storeroom. But what had roused the sailor's dislike was that
the lazaret contained no provisions. It was as empty as the forecastle;
not a chest, not a canister, not even a spice box remained. Here again
the lockers were open and empty. From one of the keyholes hung a bunch
of keys. The steward had deserted his ring, knowing it could never be of
service to him again.
The little metal bunch hung straight down without the slightest
oscillation. Such lack of motion and life amid the close stewing heat of
the lazaret threw a glamor of unreality over the whole affair. The
schooner might well have been warped to a dock in some port of the dead.
The very newness of everything accentuated its amazing loneliness.
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