“You think them finish load already?” Dwight whispered.
“Shh! Make us just look.”
The boys huddled behind the low dock. The deck of the Surrey was lit and they could see sailors going about their business, coiling ropes, carrying duffel bags and carton boxes. Lloyd was suddenly sure they were about to bring up the forward anchor and loose the stern line. “Me gone,” he said. “Wait until you don’t see me, then make up plenty noise.”
“Awright.”
Lloyd sank into the water and began his swim. He let out the twine so the chest floated far behind him. He hated to put his head underwater, but he sank up to his eyes, coming up to breathe. He tried not to make too many ripples. He crossed to the bow of the Surrey and then he was in shadow. He breathed more easily. No one would see him here, unless they were looking for him. He rested for a minute at the prow of the ship, feeling the crusted barnacles on the hull below the water line, gathering his strength. The anchor rope was just ahead. He pulled the ice chest closer to him and wrapped the twine several times round his wrist. He waited. He thought of the big propellers under the ship. If they start up the engine now and I fall into the water, me dead, cut up for shark food, he thought. Now, Dwight. Now.
“What the . . .” a sailor said on deck, right over his head. And Lloyd heard the muffled, scratchy sounds of beatbox, Dwight’s specialty, and he smiled into the dark. He heard footsteps above him and he imagined the sailors running to the dock side of the Surrey and he heard the shouts of the sailors as Dwight moved into his helicopter imitation. It was now or never.
He found the anchor rope with his toes. The sea gave him up with a small struggle. Hand over hand he climbed; there was no give in the anchor rope; the Surrey must be tied fast to the dock. The rope scraped the thin flesh behind his knees. Then he was at the deck and he swung himself around to face the ship. He hung from his fingers and for a few seconds he was sure he could not hold on and he would fall into the sea. He tightened his grip on the anchor rope and, kicking to give himself momentum, he hauled himself onto the deck, his chest heaving. He lay still, head down, hoping he looked like a sack or a coiled rope, if anyone looked his way. The air was cold on his skin.
No shouts came in his direction. Dwight’s beatbox performance continued and Lloyd raised his head. No one was on deck and the forward hatch was open. He reeled in the twine to bring his chest up. The ice chest tilted to one side and he saw the backpack was going to fall out. He pulled it up quickly; it was heavy and he thought maybe the twine would break. He could see the backpack sliding loose, and he leaned over the edge of the deck as far as he could and grabbed the bag’s handle, just as the chest fell away. He cut the twine with his pocket knife and the chest drifted off, bumping along the side of the ship.
He threw his backpack down the hatch and peered into the anchor hold. A dim light glowed on the bulkhead below and he saw at once his stowaway plan was impossible—the deck of the hold was far beneath him, at least six feet down, and the only access was the hatch on the deck. There was no way to get to the rest of the ship. Once the anchor came up, the crew would lock the forward hatch down tight, and he would be trapped without air, covered by the anchor rope and chain, which would fall on top of him in huge heavy coils. He might even be crushed. There was no option—he had to try for the stern.
He tiptoed along the narrow ledge of the Surrey’s starboard gunwales toward the stern, hidden behind the main cabin for half the ship’s length. He peered around the edge of the cabin—the rest of his journey to the stern would be in plain view. He saw the sailors gathered on the dock, making a circle around Dwight. Some had their backs turned to the ship, but others faced the Surrey and no matter how entertained they were by Dwight’s diversion they would certainly see him as he ran to the stern. Where would he hide? Then he saw a large inflatable dinghy stored on the deck right up against the transom and there was a small space under its bow.
He looked over at Dwight, still performing, and his friend got louder. The sailors laughed and then Dwight ducked through the circle of men, faking his moves as if playing a game of basketball, and ran for the end of the dock. The men shouted and followed. Lloyd saw his chance and raced for the dinghy. He jumped into the cavity that held the dinghy and slid into the space underneath it.
It was bigger than it looked, but the deck was hard steel and he knew he would be slammed against it by the sea. There was nothing to cushion his passage, no ropes, no stores, just the hull of the dinghy above his head and the deck below. He heard
