The
steward's pantry, separated by crosshalls and by the stairway leading
into the chart-room above on the poop, was placed strategically in
the centre of all its operations. Thus, on the starboard side of it
were the state-rooms of the captain and Miss West, for'ard of it were
the dining-room and main cabin; while on the port side of it was the
row of rooms I have described, two of which were mine.
I ventured down the hall toward the stern, and found it opened into
the stern of the Elsinore, forming a single large apartment at least
thirty-five feet from side to side and fifteen to eighteen feet in
depth, curved, of course, to the lines of the ship's stern. This
seemed a store-room. I noted wash-tubs, bolts of canvas, many
lockers, hams and bacon hanging, a step-ladder that led up through a
small hatch to the poop, and, in the floor, another hatch.
I spoke to the steward, an old Chinese, smooth-faced and brisk of
movement, whose name I never learned, but whose age on the articles
was fifty-six.
"What is down there?" I asked, pointing to the hatch in the floor.
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