CHAPTER XIII.NED IS FLOGGED.
Thecold barrel of the pistol quickly brought me to myself; but I felt strangely bewildered. The glare of many torches was in my eyes, and was reflected on the irregular roof and walls of the giant cave with a strange and weird effect. These flickering rays of light also glinted with an almost dazzling brightness on the muskets and other weapons that lay about, and fell in a more subdued fashion on the fierce-looking visages of about a score of the inmates of the cavern, who had unconsciously assumed highly-dramatic attitudes. All had sprung to their feet, and some had drawn pistols from their belts, whilst others waved the bright blades of swords over their heads.
The chief did not appear to be present, as far as I could tell in the confusion, nor did I see his savage-looking dog; but one individual, whose face seemedstrangely familiar to me, was standing somewhat apart from the others. He was talking loudly in a high-pitched voice, and seemed to be in a very excited state of mind, using a great deal of gesticulation, and pouring forth what sounded uncommonly like the language of menace.
Where had I previously seen that swarthy, unprepossessing face, those cruel eyes, that tall ungainly form?
As I racked my brains in an effort to solve the mystery, the angry and energetic orator suddenly paused in his copious flow of invective, and in a dramatic manner pointed straight at Ned Burton.
At the same moment every eye and every weapon was turned upon my coxswain in a terribly ominous manner.
The truth flashed across me in an instant, and made me feel sick at heart.
This angry orator, this passionate denouncer, was none other than the cruel mule-driver who, on the way up from the sea-coast, had been flogged by Ned, in accordance with the instructions of the gunnery lieutenant.
Could any meeting have been more unfortunate?
My coxswain’s conduct during this trying ordeal was beyond all praise. That he recognized the manI had not the smallest doubt. He could not have failed to do so.
By the flickering light of the torches, which were jammed into rude sockets in the wall, I could see that Ned was sitting on the floor of the cave in the exact spot where I had seen him before, and watched by the lynx eyes of three armed desperadoes. He looked quite unconcerned at the angry tirade of his accuser; but I noticed that he kept his eyes steadily fixed upon those of the mule-driver, and that the latter seemed rather uneasy under this steadfast gaze. I could not help feeling alarmed as to the outcome of this episode and its accompanying disorder, for I felt convinced that Ned’s enemy was exaggerating the details of his story in the hopes of taking an ample revenge for his fancied wrongs.
I looked about for Mr. Triggs, but could not see him anywhere. It was evident that my former supposition was correct, and that he was confined in another portion of the cavern. The worthy gunner could have been of no possible use to us in this emergency, but I felt that it would have been a comfort to see him, and to feel assured of his presence and sympathy.
As I was gazing in a sort of fascinated way at thestrange scene, a hush fell as if by magic on the excited assembly, a loud resonant voice rang throughout the cavern, and I saw the chief’s form appearing in the distance. He had evidently been absent for some little time, and was unaware of the advent of the mule-driver.
His followers fell back abashed as he strode forward imperiously into the centre of the cavern, closely followed by the big bloodhound. I fancied that the autocrat’s eyes flashed angrily, and that there was an unusual flush mantling on his olive-tinted cheek.
There was now a dead silence, and the only sound that broke the stillness was the rush and plash of the cascade. Even this appeared to annoy the chieftain, for he called one of his followers to his side and gave him some directions in sharp, curt tones. The man saluted, and quickly disappeared around a corner of the cavern. After a minute or two had elapsed the sound of the falling water abruptly ceased. The stream had evidently been turned into another channel.
The chief now called up and interrogated the mule-driver, who had meanwhile slunk aside as if afraid of the reception he was likely to meet with from the perturbed leader of the gang.
How earnestly I wished at that moment that I had been acquainted with even a smattering of the Spanish language! Even Ned was a better scholar in this respect than I was, and I noticed that he bent forward eagerly to listen.
The mule-driver was evidently only too ready to be questioned, for he immediately stepped forward and launched out once more into the tale of his wrongs. The chief moodily listened, with bent brows and fingers toying idly with the butts of his silver-mounted pistols. Once or twice he glanced vindictively at my coxswain, but during the greater part of the rehearsal kept his sombre eyes fixed stonily on the cavern floor.
As for Ned, not a muscle of his face moved whilst the acting of this little drama was being carried out. His clear brown eyes were fixed intently on the speaker, though from time to time they rested for a moment on the strongly-marked features of the listening chieftain. I do not think I have mentioned before that my coxswain was a good-looking fellow of the best sailor type. His age at this time must have been about thirty-four or thirty-five, and though he was only of medium height, his build was that of a very active and athletic man. Beards werenot in vogue in the navy at the time of my story, and as Ned had no personal fancy for whiskers, his face remained clean-shaven.
The mule-driver gradually worked himself up into a passion as he progressed in his second recital, and at the end thereof had recourse to a very dramatic proceeding; for as he wound up his long-winded peroration with many emphatic words, he tore off a light cotton jacket he was wearing, and exposed to view his bare shoulders, on which several weals were distinctly visible.
This action had the desired effect, as no doubt the wily mule-driver had foreseen. The inmates of the cave roseen masseto their feet in an excited manner, and shouted and yelled like a lot of maniacs. But, as had happened before, the chief did not at all approve of this hubbub, and promptly and indignantly quelled it. Doubtless he was afraid of his followers’ cries being heard outside the cave by unfriendly ears.
A sickly dread took possession of me. What was to be the next act in the drama? As to that, I was not long left in suspense.
The chief, as soon as quiet reigned again, summoned to his side the mule-driver and four of hisown satellites. The result was a conference which did not last very long. At its conclusion the mule-driver looked perfectly radiant, not with genuine pleasure, but with gratified malice. He cut various capers on the sandy floor of the cave, and snapped his bony, yellow fingers at Ned Burton. Indeed, I do not know to what extremities he might not have gone if the chief had not sternly called him to order.
At a signal from that autocrat, six of his followers advanced quickly and in a determined manner towards Ned Burton, exchanging jocose remarks as they did so.
The seaman looked perfectly impassive. He might have been a statue sculptured out of marble for all the notice he took of what was going on around him.
In a moment these six ruffians had seized Ned and forcibly raised him to his feet, their victim offering no resistance, though I fancied I saw the corners of his firmly-cut lips quiver for a moment.
My heart began to beat tempestuously. What were these malevolent-looking rascals about to do to my coxswain? Their looks boded him no good; that much was certain.
Meanwhile the mule-driver had disappeared from the scene. He now, however, came skipping back into view in a jaunty manner, carrying in his hands a long, cruel-looking cane.
Then the awful truth flashed across me—Ned was to be flogged!
I think I lost my head for a few moments, and it is difficult for me to record my actions with any exactitude. I only know that in spite of the lashings which confined my arms, I bounded to my feet and attempted to rush madly forward to my coxswain’s rescue. I believe I raved, and stormed, and entreated mercy, all in the same breath. The only thing Idomost distinctly remember was seeing Ned’s handsome pale face turned in my direction with an imploring expression upon it. It was this which brought me to myself, and showed me the utter futility of my Quixotic attempt at interference.
It was the feeling of devotion which I had for my coxswain, of course, that prompted the action; but fortunately I realized in time that any rash effort on my part might do him more harm than good.
I was about to stagger back to my corner, sick at heart, when one of the sentinels who had been detailedto watch me, and was enraged at my attempt to elude him, rushed up and knocked me down with a heavy blow from the butt-end of a pistol.
Thank God! I became unconscious, and therefore did not witness the cruel flogging to which Ned was subjected.