Chapter Fourteen.Working under Difficulties.“There. Those sacks?”“That’s it, Mas’ Don. I’ve got my knife. You got yourn?”“Yes.”“Then here goes, then, to unravel them sacks till we’ve got enough to make a rope. This loft’s a capital place to twist him. It’s all right, sir, only help me work away, and to-night we’ll be safe home.”“To-night, Jem? Not before?”“Why, we sha’n’t have the rope ready; and if we had, it would be no use to try by daylight. No, sir; we must wait till it’s dark, and work away. If we hear any one coming we can hide the rope under the other sacks; so come on.”They seated themselves at the end of the loft, and worked away rapidly unravelling the sacking and rolling the yarn up into balls, each of which was hidden as soon as it became of any size.As the hours went on, and they were not interrupted, the dread increased that they might be summoned to descend as prisoners before they had completed their work; but Jem’s rough common sense soon suggested that this was not likely to be the case.“Not afore night, Mas’ Don,” he said. “They won’t take us aboard in the day. We’re smuggled goods, we are; and if they don’t mind, we shall be too many for them. ’Nother hour, and I shall begin to twist up our rope.”About midday the same sailor came up and brought them some bread and meat.“That’s right, my lads,” he said. “You’re taking it sensible, and that’s the best way. If we’ve any luck to-night, you’ll go aboard afore morning. There, I mustn’t stop.”He hurried down, closing and fastening the trap, and Jem pointed to the food.“Eat away, Mas’ Don, and work same time. Strikes me we sha’n’t go aboard afore close upon daylight, for they’ve got us all shut up here snug, so as no one shall know, and they don’t dare take us away while people can see. Strikes me they won’t get all the men aboard this time, eh, Mas’ Don?”“Not if we can prevent it,” said Don, with his hand upon the rough piece of sacking which covered his share of the work. “Think it’s safe to begin again?”“Ay! Go on. Little at a time, my lad, and be ready to hide it as soon as you hears a step.”In spite of their trouble, they ate with a fair appetite, sharpened perhaps by the hope of escape, and the knowledge that they must not be faint and weak at the last moment.The meal was finished, and all remaining silent, they worked on unravelling the sacking, and rolling up the yarn, Don thinking of home, and Jem whistling softly a doleful air.“If we don’t get away, Mas’ Don,” he said, after a pause, “and they take us aboard ship and make sailors of us—”“Don’t talk like that, Jem! We must—we will get away.”“Oh, yes, it’s all very well to talk, Mas’ Don, but it’s as well to be prepared for the worst. Like as not we sha’n’t get away, and then we shall go aboard, be made sailors, and have to fight the French.”“I shall not believe that, Jem, till it takes place.”“I shall, my lad, and I hope when I’m far away as your mother, as is a reg’lar angel, will do what’s right by my Sally, as is a married woman, but only a silly girl after all, as says and does things without thinking what they mean. I was horrid stupid to take so much notice of all she said, and all through that I’m here.”“Haven’t we got enough ready, Jem?” said Don, impatiently, for his companion’s words troubled him. They seemed to fit his own case.“Yes, I should think that will do now, sir, so let’s begin and twist up a rope. We sha’n’t want it very thick.”“But we shall want it very strong, Jem.”“Here goes, then, to make it,” said Jem, taking the balls of yarn, knotting the ends together, and then taking a large piece of sack and placing it beside him.“To cover up the stuff if we hear any one coming, my lad. Now then, you pay out, and I’ll twist. Mustn’t get the yarn tangled.”Don set to work earnestly, and watched his companion, who cleverly twisted away at the gathered-up yarn, and then rolled his work up into a ball.The work was clumsy, but effective, and in a short time he had laid up a few yards of a very respectable line, which seemed quite capable of bearing them singly.Foot by foot the line lengthened, and the balls of yarn grew less, when just in the middle of their task Don made a dash at Jem, and threw down the yarn.“Here, what yer doing? You’ll get everything in a tangle, sir.”“Hush! Some one coming.”“I can’t hear him.”“There is, I tell you. Listen!”Jem held his head on one side like a magpie, and then shook it.“Nobody,” he said; but hardly had he said the words than he dabbed the rope under him, and seized upon the yarn, threw some of the old sacks upon it, and then laid his hand on Don’s shoulder, just as the trap-door was raised softly a few inches, and a pair of eyes appeared at the broad crack.Then the trap made a creaking noise, and a strange sailor came up, to find Jem seated on the floor tailor-fashion, and Don lying upon his face, with his arms crossed beneath his forehead, and some of the old sacking beneath him.The man came up slowly, and laid the trap back in a careful way, as if to avoid making a noise, and then, after a furtive look at Jem, who gave him a sturdy stare in return, he stood leaning over the opening and listening.Footsteps were heard directly after, and a familiar voice gave some order. Directly after the bluff-looking man with whom they had had so much dealing stepped up into the loft.“Well, my lads,” he said, “how are the sore places?”Jem did not answer.“Sulky, eh? Ah, you’ll soon get over that. Now, my boy, let’s have a look at you.”He gave Don a clap on the shoulder, and the lad started up as if from sleep, and stared at the fresh comer.“Won’t do,” said the bluff man, laughing. “Men don’t wake up from sleep like that. Ah! Of course: now you are turning red in the face. Didn’t want to speak to me, eh? Well, you are all right, I see.”Don did not attempt to rise from where he half sat, half lay, and the man gave a sharp look round, letting his eyes rest; for a few moments upon the window, and then turning them curiously upon the old sacking.To Don’s horror he approached and picked up a piece close to that which served for a couch.“How came all this here?” he said sharply.“Old stuff, sir. Been used for the bales o’ ’bacco, I s’pose,” said the furtive-looking man.“Humph. And so you have made a bed of it, eh? Let’s have a look.”The perspiration stood on Don’s forehead.“Well,” said the bluff man, “why don’t you get up? Quick!”He took a step nearer Don, and was in the act of stooping to take him by the arm, when there was a hail from below.“Ahoy!” shouted the sailor, bending over the trap-door.“Wants Mr Jones,” came up.“Luff wants you, sir,” said the man.“Right. There, cheer up, my lads; you might be worse off than you are,” said the bluff visitor pleasantly. Then, clapping Don on the shoulder, “Don’t sulk, my lad. Make the best of things. You’re in the king’s service now, so take your fate like a man.”He nodded and crossed to the trap.“Ahoy, there! Below there! I’m coming.—Can’t expect a bosun to break his neck.”He said these last words as his head and shoulders were above the floor, and gave the prisoners a friendly nod just as his eyes were disappearing.“Come along, my lad,” he said, when he was out of sight.“Ay! Ay!” growled the furtive-looking man, slowly following, and giving those he left behind a very peculiar smile, which he lengthened out in time and form, till he was right down the ladder, with the trap-door drawn over and resting upon his head. This he slowly lowered, till only his eyes and brow were seen, and he stayed like that watching for a minute, then let the lid close with aflap, and shut him, as it were, in a box.“Gone!” said Jem. “Lor’, how I should ha’ liked to go and jump on that there trap just while he was holding it up with his head. I’d ha’ made it ache for him worse than they made mine.”“Hist! Don’t talk so loud,” whispered Don. “He listens.”“I hope he’s a-listening now,” said Jem, loudly; “a lively smiling sort of a man. That’s what he is, Mas’ Don. Sort o’ man always on the blue sneak.” Don held up his hand.“Think they suspect anything, Jem?” he whispered.“Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t, Mas’ Don. That stoutish chap seemed to smell a rat, and that smiling door-knocker fellow was all on the spy; but I don’t think he heared anything, and I’m sure he didn’t see. Now, then, can you tell me whether they’re coming back?”Don shook his head, and they remained thinking and watching for nearly an hour before Jem declared that they must risk it.“One minute,” said Don; and he went on tip-toe as far as the trap-door, and lying down, listened and applied his eyes to various cracks, before feeling convinced that no one was listening.“Why, you didn’t try if it was fastened,” cried Jem; and taking out his knife, he inserted it opposite to the hinges, and tried to lever up the door.It was labour in vain, for the bolt had been shot.“They don’t mean to let us go, Mas’ Don,” said Jem. “Come on, and let’s get the rope done.”They returned to the sacking, lifted it up, and taking out the unfinished rope, worked away rapidly, but with the action of sparrows feeding in a road—one peck and two looks out for danger.Half-a-dozen times at least the work was hidden, some sound below suggesting danger, while over and over again, in spite of their efforts, the rope advanced so slowly, and the result was so poor, that Don felt in despair of its being done by the time they wanted it, and doubtful whether if done it would bear their weight.He envied Jem’s stolid patience and the brave way in which he worked, twisting, and knotting about every three feet, while every time their eyes met Jem gave him an encouraging nod.Whether to be successful or not, the making of the rope did one thing—it relieved them of a great deal of mental strain.In fact, Don stared wonderingly at the skylight, as it seemed to him to have suddenly turned dark.“Going to be a storm, Jem,” he said. “Will the rain hurt the rope?”“Storm, Mas’ Don? Why, it’s as clear as clear. Getting late, and us not done.”“But the rope must be long enough now.”“Think so, sir?”“Yes; and if it is not, we can easily drop the rest of the way.”“What! And break our legs, or sprain our ankles, and be caught? No let’s make it another yard or two.”“Hist! Quick!”They were only just in time, for almost before they had thrown the old sacking over the rope, the bolt of the trap-door was thrust back, and the sinister-looking sailor entered with four more, to give a sharp look round the place, and then roughly seize the prisoners.“Now, then!” cried Jem sharply, “what yer about? Arn’t going to tie us up, are you?”“Yes, if you cut up rough again,” said the leader of the little party. “Come on.”“Here, what yer going to do?” cried Jem.“Do? You’ll see. Not going to spoil your beauty, mate.”Don’s heart sank low. All that hopeful labour over the rope thrown away! And he cast a despairing look at Jem.“Never mind, my lad,” whispered the latter. “More chances than one.”“Now then! No whispering. Come along!” shouted the sinister-looking man, fiercely. “Come on down. Bring ’em along.”Don cast another despairing look at Jem, and then marched slowly toward the opening in the floor.
“There. Those sacks?”
“That’s it, Mas’ Don. I’ve got my knife. You got yourn?”
“Yes.”
“Then here goes, then, to unravel them sacks till we’ve got enough to make a rope. This loft’s a capital place to twist him. It’s all right, sir, only help me work away, and to-night we’ll be safe home.”
“To-night, Jem? Not before?”
“Why, we sha’n’t have the rope ready; and if we had, it would be no use to try by daylight. No, sir; we must wait till it’s dark, and work away. If we hear any one coming we can hide the rope under the other sacks; so come on.”
They seated themselves at the end of the loft, and worked away rapidly unravelling the sacking and rolling the yarn up into balls, each of which was hidden as soon as it became of any size.
As the hours went on, and they were not interrupted, the dread increased that they might be summoned to descend as prisoners before they had completed their work; but Jem’s rough common sense soon suggested that this was not likely to be the case.
“Not afore night, Mas’ Don,” he said. “They won’t take us aboard in the day. We’re smuggled goods, we are; and if they don’t mind, we shall be too many for them. ’Nother hour, and I shall begin to twist up our rope.”
About midday the same sailor came up and brought them some bread and meat.
“That’s right, my lads,” he said. “You’re taking it sensible, and that’s the best way. If we’ve any luck to-night, you’ll go aboard afore morning. There, I mustn’t stop.”
He hurried down, closing and fastening the trap, and Jem pointed to the food.
“Eat away, Mas’ Don, and work same time. Strikes me we sha’n’t go aboard afore close upon daylight, for they’ve got us all shut up here snug, so as no one shall know, and they don’t dare take us away while people can see. Strikes me they won’t get all the men aboard this time, eh, Mas’ Don?”
“Not if we can prevent it,” said Don, with his hand upon the rough piece of sacking which covered his share of the work. “Think it’s safe to begin again?”
“Ay! Go on. Little at a time, my lad, and be ready to hide it as soon as you hears a step.”
In spite of their trouble, they ate with a fair appetite, sharpened perhaps by the hope of escape, and the knowledge that they must not be faint and weak at the last moment.
The meal was finished, and all remaining silent, they worked on unravelling the sacking, and rolling up the yarn, Don thinking of home, and Jem whistling softly a doleful air.
“If we don’t get away, Mas’ Don,” he said, after a pause, “and they take us aboard ship and make sailors of us—”
“Don’t talk like that, Jem! We must—we will get away.”
“Oh, yes, it’s all very well to talk, Mas’ Don, but it’s as well to be prepared for the worst. Like as not we sha’n’t get away, and then we shall go aboard, be made sailors, and have to fight the French.”
“I shall not believe that, Jem, till it takes place.”
“I shall, my lad, and I hope when I’m far away as your mother, as is a reg’lar angel, will do what’s right by my Sally, as is a married woman, but only a silly girl after all, as says and does things without thinking what they mean. I was horrid stupid to take so much notice of all she said, and all through that I’m here.”
“Haven’t we got enough ready, Jem?” said Don, impatiently, for his companion’s words troubled him. They seemed to fit his own case.
“Yes, I should think that will do now, sir, so let’s begin and twist up a rope. We sha’n’t want it very thick.”
“But we shall want it very strong, Jem.”
“Here goes, then, to make it,” said Jem, taking the balls of yarn, knotting the ends together, and then taking a large piece of sack and placing it beside him.
“To cover up the stuff if we hear any one coming, my lad. Now then, you pay out, and I’ll twist. Mustn’t get the yarn tangled.”
Don set to work earnestly, and watched his companion, who cleverly twisted away at the gathered-up yarn, and then rolled his work up into a ball.
The work was clumsy, but effective, and in a short time he had laid up a few yards of a very respectable line, which seemed quite capable of bearing them singly.
Foot by foot the line lengthened, and the balls of yarn grew less, when just in the middle of their task Don made a dash at Jem, and threw down the yarn.
“Here, what yer doing? You’ll get everything in a tangle, sir.”
“Hush! Some one coming.”
“I can’t hear him.”
“There is, I tell you. Listen!”
Jem held his head on one side like a magpie, and then shook it.
“Nobody,” he said; but hardly had he said the words than he dabbed the rope under him, and seized upon the yarn, threw some of the old sacks upon it, and then laid his hand on Don’s shoulder, just as the trap-door was raised softly a few inches, and a pair of eyes appeared at the broad crack.
Then the trap made a creaking noise, and a strange sailor came up, to find Jem seated on the floor tailor-fashion, and Don lying upon his face, with his arms crossed beneath his forehead, and some of the old sacking beneath him.
The man came up slowly, and laid the trap back in a careful way, as if to avoid making a noise, and then, after a furtive look at Jem, who gave him a sturdy stare in return, he stood leaning over the opening and listening.
Footsteps were heard directly after, and a familiar voice gave some order. Directly after the bluff-looking man with whom they had had so much dealing stepped up into the loft.
“Well, my lads,” he said, “how are the sore places?”
Jem did not answer.
“Sulky, eh? Ah, you’ll soon get over that. Now, my boy, let’s have a look at you.”
He gave Don a clap on the shoulder, and the lad started up as if from sleep, and stared at the fresh comer.
“Won’t do,” said the bluff man, laughing. “Men don’t wake up from sleep like that. Ah! Of course: now you are turning red in the face. Didn’t want to speak to me, eh? Well, you are all right, I see.”
Don did not attempt to rise from where he half sat, half lay, and the man gave a sharp look round, letting his eyes rest; for a few moments upon the window, and then turning them curiously upon the old sacking.
To Don’s horror he approached and picked up a piece close to that which served for a couch.
“How came all this here?” he said sharply.
“Old stuff, sir. Been used for the bales o’ ’bacco, I s’pose,” said the furtive-looking man.
“Humph. And so you have made a bed of it, eh? Let’s have a look.”
The perspiration stood on Don’s forehead.
“Well,” said the bluff man, “why don’t you get up? Quick!”
He took a step nearer Don, and was in the act of stooping to take him by the arm, when there was a hail from below.
“Ahoy!” shouted the sailor, bending over the trap-door.
“Wants Mr Jones,” came up.
“Luff wants you, sir,” said the man.
“Right. There, cheer up, my lads; you might be worse off than you are,” said the bluff visitor pleasantly. Then, clapping Don on the shoulder, “Don’t sulk, my lad. Make the best of things. You’re in the king’s service now, so take your fate like a man.”
He nodded and crossed to the trap.
“Ahoy, there! Below there! I’m coming.—Can’t expect a bosun to break his neck.”
He said these last words as his head and shoulders were above the floor, and gave the prisoners a friendly nod just as his eyes were disappearing.
“Come along, my lad,” he said, when he was out of sight.
“Ay! Ay!” growled the furtive-looking man, slowly following, and giving those he left behind a very peculiar smile, which he lengthened out in time and form, till he was right down the ladder, with the trap-door drawn over and resting upon his head. This he slowly lowered, till only his eyes and brow were seen, and he stayed like that watching for a minute, then let the lid close with aflap, and shut him, as it were, in a box.
“Gone!” said Jem. “Lor’, how I should ha’ liked to go and jump on that there trap just while he was holding it up with his head. I’d ha’ made it ache for him worse than they made mine.”
“Hist! Don’t talk so loud,” whispered Don. “He listens.”
“I hope he’s a-listening now,” said Jem, loudly; “a lively smiling sort of a man. That’s what he is, Mas’ Don. Sort o’ man always on the blue sneak.” Don held up his hand.
“Think they suspect anything, Jem?” he whispered.
“Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t, Mas’ Don. That stoutish chap seemed to smell a rat, and that smiling door-knocker fellow was all on the spy; but I don’t think he heared anything, and I’m sure he didn’t see. Now, then, can you tell me whether they’re coming back?”
Don shook his head, and they remained thinking and watching for nearly an hour before Jem declared that they must risk it.
“One minute,” said Don; and he went on tip-toe as far as the trap-door, and lying down, listened and applied his eyes to various cracks, before feeling convinced that no one was listening.
“Why, you didn’t try if it was fastened,” cried Jem; and taking out his knife, he inserted it opposite to the hinges, and tried to lever up the door.
It was labour in vain, for the bolt had been shot.
“They don’t mean to let us go, Mas’ Don,” said Jem. “Come on, and let’s get the rope done.”
They returned to the sacking, lifted it up, and taking out the unfinished rope, worked away rapidly, but with the action of sparrows feeding in a road—one peck and two looks out for danger.
Half-a-dozen times at least the work was hidden, some sound below suggesting danger, while over and over again, in spite of their efforts, the rope advanced so slowly, and the result was so poor, that Don felt in despair of its being done by the time they wanted it, and doubtful whether if done it would bear their weight.
He envied Jem’s stolid patience and the brave way in which he worked, twisting, and knotting about every three feet, while every time their eyes met Jem gave him an encouraging nod.
Whether to be successful or not, the making of the rope did one thing—it relieved them of a great deal of mental strain.
In fact, Don stared wonderingly at the skylight, as it seemed to him to have suddenly turned dark.
“Going to be a storm, Jem,” he said. “Will the rain hurt the rope?”
“Storm, Mas’ Don? Why, it’s as clear as clear. Getting late, and us not done.”
“But the rope must be long enough now.”
“Think so, sir?”
“Yes; and if it is not, we can easily drop the rest of the way.”
“What! And break our legs, or sprain our ankles, and be caught? No let’s make it another yard or two.”
“Hist! Quick!”
They were only just in time, for almost before they had thrown the old sacking over the rope, the bolt of the trap-door was thrust back, and the sinister-looking sailor entered with four more, to give a sharp look round the place, and then roughly seize the prisoners.
“Now, then!” cried Jem sharply, “what yer about? Arn’t going to tie us up, are you?”
“Yes, if you cut up rough again,” said the leader of the little party. “Come on.”
“Here, what yer going to do?” cried Jem.
“Do? You’ll see. Not going to spoil your beauty, mate.”
Don’s heart sank low. All that hopeful labour over the rope thrown away! And he cast a despairing look at Jem.
“Never mind, my lad,” whispered the latter. “More chances than one.”
“Now then! No whispering. Come along!” shouted the sinister-looking man, fiercely. “Come on down. Bring ’em along.”
Don cast another despairing look at Jem, and then marched slowly toward the opening in the floor.
Chapter Fifteen.A Desperate Attempt.Just as the prisoners reached the trap-door a voice came from below.“Hold hard there, my lads. Bosun Jones has been down to the others, and he says these here may stop where they are.”“What for?”“Oh, one o’ the four chaps we brought in last night’s half wild, and been running amuck. Come on down.”“Yah!” growled the sinister sailor, scowling at Jem, as if there were some old enmity between them.“I say, don’t,” said Jem mockingly. “You’ll spoil your good looks. Say, does he always look as handsome as that?”The man doubled his fist, and made a sharp blow at Jem, and seemed surprised at the result; for Jem dodged, and retorted, planting his fist in the fellow’s chest, and sending him staggering back.The man’s eyes blazed as he recovered himself, and rushed at Jem like a bull-dog.Obeying his first impulse, Don, who had never struck a blow in anger since he left school, forgot fair play for the moment, and doubled his fists to help Jem.“No, no, Mas’ Don; I can tackle him,” cried Jem; “and I feel as if I should like to now.”But there was to be no encounter, for a couple of the other sailors seized their messmate, and forced him to the trap-door, growling and threatening all manner of evil to the sturdy little prisoner, who was standing on his defence.“No, no, mate,” said the biggest and strongest of the party; “it’s like hitting a man as is down. Come on.”There was another struggle, but the brute was half thrust to the ladder, and directly after the trap was closed again, and the bolt shot.“Well, I never felt so much like fighting before—leastwise not since I thrashed old Mike behind the barrel stack in the yard,” said Jem, resuming his coat, which he had thrown off.“Did you fight Mike in the yard one day?” said Don wonderingly. “Why, Jem, I remember; that’s when you had such a dreadful black eye.”“That’s right, my lad.”“And pretended you fell down the ladder out of floor number six.”“That’s right again, Mas’ Don,” said Jem, grinning.“Then that was a lie?”“Well, I don’t know ’bout it’s being a lie, my lad. P’r’aps you might call it a kind of a sort of a fib.”“Fib? It was an untruth.”“Well, but don’t you see, it would have looked so bad to say, ‘I got that eye a-fighting?’ and it was only a little while ’fore I was married. What would my Sally ha’ said if she know’d I fought our Mike?”“Why, of course; I remember now, Mike was ill in bed for a week at the same time.”“That’s so, Mas’ Don,” said Jem, chuckling; “and he was werry ill. You see, he come to the yard to work, after you’d begged him on, and he was drunk as a fiddler—not as ever I see a fiddler that way. And then, i’stead o’ doing his work, he was nasty, and began cussing. He cussed everything, from the barrow and truck right up to your uncle, whose money he took, and then he began cussing o’ you, Mas’ Don; and I told him he ought to be ashamed of hisself for cussing the young gent as got him work; and no sooner had I said that than I found myself sitting in a puddle, with my nose bleeding.”“Well?” said Don, who was deeply interested.“Well, Mas’ Don, that’s all.”“No, it isn’t, Jem; you say you fought Mike.”“Well, I s’pose I did, Mas’ Don.”“‘Suppose you did’?”“Yes; I only recklect feeling wild because my clean shirt and necktie was all in a mess. I don’t recklect any more—only washing my sore knuckles at the pump, and holding a half hun’erd weight up again my eye.”“But Mike stopped away from work for a week.”“Yes, Mas’ Don. He got hisself a good deal hurt somehow.”“You mean you hurt him?”“Dunno, Mas’ Don. S’pose I did, but I don’t ’member nothing about it. And now look here, sir; seems to me that in half-hour’s time it’ll be quite dark enough to start; and if I’d got five guineas, I’d give ’em for five big screws, and the use of a gimlet and driver.”“What for?”“To fasten down that there trap.”“It would be no good, Jem; because if they found the trap fast, they’d be on the watch for us outside.”“Dessay you’re right, sir. Well, what do you say? Shall we begin now, or wait?”Don looked up at the fast darkening skylight, and then, after a moment’s hesitation,—“Let’s begin now, Jem. It will take some time.”“That’s right, Mas’ Don; so here goes, and good luck to us. It means home, and your mother, and my Sally; or going to fight the French.”“And we don’t want to be obliged to fight without we like, Jem.”“That’s true,” said Jem; and going quickly to the trap, he laid his ear to the crack and listened.“All right, my lad. Have it out,” he said; and the sacks were cast aside, and the rope withdrawn. “Will it bear us, Jem?”“I’m going to try first, and if it’ll bear me it’ll bear you.”“But you can’t get up there.”“No, but you can, my lad; and when you’re there you can fasten the rope to that cross-bar, and then I can soon be with you. Ready?”“Wait till I’ve got off my shoes.”“That’s right; stick ’em in your pockets, my lad. Now then, ready?”Don signified his readiness. Jem laid him a back up at the end wall. Don mounted, and then jumped down again.“What’s the matter?”“I haven’t got the rope.”“My: what a head I have!” cried Jem, as Don tightly knotted the rope about his waist; and then, mounting on his companion’s back once more, was borne very slowly, steadying himself by the sloping roof, till the window was reached.“Hold fast, Jem.”“Right it is, my lad.”There was a clicking of the iron fastening, the window was thrust up higher and higher, till it was to the full extent of the ratchet support, and then by passing one arm over the light cross-beam, which divided the opening in two, Don was able to raise himself, and throw his leg over the front of the opening, so that the next minute he was sitting on the edge with one leg down the sloping roof, and the other hanging inside, but in a very awkward position, on account of the broad skylight.“Can’t you open it more?” said Jem.“No; that’s as far as the fastening will hold it up.”“Push it right over, Mas’ Don, so as it may lie back against the roof. Mind what you’re doing, so as you don’t slip. But you’ll be all right. I’ve got the rope, and won’t let it go.”Don did as he was told, taking tightly hold of the long cross central bar, and placing his knees, and then his feet, against the front of the opening, so that he was in the position of a four-footed animal. Then his back raised up the hinged skylight higher and higher, till, holding on to the cross-bar with one hand, and the ratchet fastening with the other, he thrust up and up, till the skylight was perpendicular, and he paused, panting with the exertion.“All right, Mas’ Don; I’ve got the rope. Now lower it down gently, till it lies flat on the slope. That’s the way; steady! Steady!”Bang!crash!jingle!“Oh, Mas’ Don!”“I couldn’t help it, Jem; the iron fastening came out. The wood’s rotten.”For the skylight had fallen back with a crash, and some of the broken glass came musically jingling down, some of it sliding along the tiles, and dropping into the alley below.There was a dead silence, neither of the would-be evaders of the enforced king’s service moving, but listening intently for the slightest sound.“Think they heared it, Mas’ Don?” said Jem, at last, in a hoarse whisper.“I can’t hear anything,” replied Don, softly.They listened again, but all was wonderfully quiet. A distant murmur came from the busy streets, and a clock struck nine.“Why, that’s Old Church,” said Jem in a whisper. “We must be close down to the water side, Mas’ Don.”“Yes, Jem. Shall we give it up, or risk it?”“I’ll show you d’reckly,” said Jem. “You make that there end fast round the bar. It isn’t rotten, is it?”“No,” said Don, after an examination; “it seems very solid.” And untying the rope from his waist, he knotted it to the little beam.The next minute Jem gave a heavy drag at the rope, then a jerk, and next swung to it, going to and fro for a few seconds.“Hold a ton,” whispered Jem; and reaching up as high as he could, he gripped the rope between his legs and over his ankle and foot, and apparently with the greatest ease drew himself up to the bar, threw a leg over and sat astride with his face beaming.“They sha’n’t have us this time, Mas’ Don,” he said, running the rope rapidly through his hands until he had reached the end, when he gathered it up in rings, till he had enough to throw beyond the sloping roof.“Here goes!” he whispered; and he tossed it from him into the gathering gloom.The falling rope made a dull sound, and then there was a sharp gliding noise.One of the broken fragments of glass had been started from where it had lodged, and slid rapidly down the tiles.They held their breath as they waited to hear it fall tinkling beyond on the pavement; but they listened in vain, for the simple reason that it had fallen into the gutter.“All right, Mas’ Don! Here goes!” said Jem, and he lowered the rope to its full extent.“Hadn’t I better go first, and try the rope, Jem?”“What’s the good o’ your going first? It might break, and then what would your mother say to me? I’ll go; and, as I said afore, if it bears me, it’ll bear you.”“But, if it breaks, what shall I say to little Sally?”“Well, I wouldn’t go near her if I was you, Mas’ Don. She might take on, and then it wouldn’t be nice; or she mightn’t take on, and that wouldn’t be nice. Hist! What’s that?”“Can’t hear anything, Jem.”“More can I. Here, shake hands, lad, case I has a tumble.”“Don’t, don’t risk it, Jem,” whispered Don, clinging to his hand.“What! After making the rope! Oh, come, Mas’ Don, where’s your pluck? Now then, I’m off; and when I’m down safe, I’ll give three jerks at the line, and then hold it steady. Here goes—once to be ready, twice to be steady, three times to be—off!”Don’s heart felt in his mouth as his companion grasped the rope tightly, and let himself glide down the steep tiled slope, till he reached the edge over the gutter; and then, as he disappeared, dissolving—so it seemed—into the gloom, Don’s breath was held, and he felt a singular pain at the chest.He grasped the rope, though, as he sat astride at the lower edge of the opening; and the loosely twisted hemp seemed to palpitate and quiver as if it were one of Jem’s muscles reaching to his hands.Then all at once the rope became slack, as if the tension had been removed, and Don turned faint with horror.“It’s broken!” he panted; and he strained over as far as he could without falling to hear the dull thud of his companion’s fall.Thoughts fly fast, and in a moment of time Don had seen poor Jem lying crushed below, picked up, and had borne the news to his little wife. But before he had gone any further, the rope was drawn tight once more, and as he held it, there came to thrill his nerves three distinct jerks.“It’s all right!” he panted; and grasped the rope with both hands. “Now then,” he thought, “it only wants a little courage, and I can slide down and join him, and then we’re free.”Yes; but it required a good deal of resolution to make the venture. “Suppose Jem’s weight had unwound the rope; suppose it should break; suppose—”“Oh, what a coward I am!” he muttered; and swinging his leg free, he lay upon his face for a moment, right upon the sloping tiles and then let the rope glide through his hands.It was very easy work down that slope, only that elbows and hands suffered, and sundry sounds suggested that waistcoat buttons were being torn off. But that was no moment for studying trifles; and what were waistcoat buttons to liberty?Another moment, and his legs were over the edge, and he was about to attempt the most difficult part of the descent, grasping beforehand, that as soon as he hung clear of the eaves, he should begin to turn slowly round.“Now for it,” he said; and he was about to descend perpendicularly, when the rope was suddenly jerked violently.There was a loud ejaculation, and Jem’s voice rose to where he hung.“No, no, Mas’ Don. Back! Back! Don’t come down.” Then, as he hung, there came the panting and noise of a terrible struggle far below.
Just as the prisoners reached the trap-door a voice came from below.
“Hold hard there, my lads. Bosun Jones has been down to the others, and he says these here may stop where they are.”
“What for?”
“Oh, one o’ the four chaps we brought in last night’s half wild, and been running amuck. Come on down.”
“Yah!” growled the sinister sailor, scowling at Jem, as if there were some old enmity between them.
“I say, don’t,” said Jem mockingly. “You’ll spoil your good looks. Say, does he always look as handsome as that?”
The man doubled his fist, and made a sharp blow at Jem, and seemed surprised at the result; for Jem dodged, and retorted, planting his fist in the fellow’s chest, and sending him staggering back.
The man’s eyes blazed as he recovered himself, and rushed at Jem like a bull-dog.
Obeying his first impulse, Don, who had never struck a blow in anger since he left school, forgot fair play for the moment, and doubled his fists to help Jem.
“No, no, Mas’ Don; I can tackle him,” cried Jem; “and I feel as if I should like to now.”
But there was to be no encounter, for a couple of the other sailors seized their messmate, and forced him to the trap-door, growling and threatening all manner of evil to the sturdy little prisoner, who was standing on his defence.
“No, no, mate,” said the biggest and strongest of the party; “it’s like hitting a man as is down. Come on.”
There was another struggle, but the brute was half thrust to the ladder, and directly after the trap was closed again, and the bolt shot.
“Well, I never felt so much like fighting before—leastwise not since I thrashed old Mike behind the barrel stack in the yard,” said Jem, resuming his coat, which he had thrown off.
“Did you fight Mike in the yard one day?” said Don wonderingly. “Why, Jem, I remember; that’s when you had such a dreadful black eye.”
“That’s right, my lad.”
“And pretended you fell down the ladder out of floor number six.”
“That’s right again, Mas’ Don,” said Jem, grinning.
“Then that was a lie?”
“Well, I don’t know ’bout it’s being a lie, my lad. P’r’aps you might call it a kind of a sort of a fib.”
“Fib? It was an untruth.”
“Well, but don’t you see, it would have looked so bad to say, ‘I got that eye a-fighting?’ and it was only a little while ’fore I was married. What would my Sally ha’ said if she know’d I fought our Mike?”
“Why, of course; I remember now, Mike was ill in bed for a week at the same time.”
“That’s so, Mas’ Don,” said Jem, chuckling; “and he was werry ill. You see, he come to the yard to work, after you’d begged him on, and he was drunk as a fiddler—not as ever I see a fiddler that way. And then, i’stead o’ doing his work, he was nasty, and began cussing. He cussed everything, from the barrow and truck right up to your uncle, whose money he took, and then he began cussing o’ you, Mas’ Don; and I told him he ought to be ashamed of hisself for cussing the young gent as got him work; and no sooner had I said that than I found myself sitting in a puddle, with my nose bleeding.”
“Well?” said Don, who was deeply interested.
“Well, Mas’ Don, that’s all.”
“No, it isn’t, Jem; you say you fought Mike.”
“Well, I s’pose I did, Mas’ Don.”
“‘Suppose you did’?”
“Yes; I only recklect feeling wild because my clean shirt and necktie was all in a mess. I don’t recklect any more—only washing my sore knuckles at the pump, and holding a half hun’erd weight up again my eye.”
“But Mike stopped away from work for a week.”
“Yes, Mas’ Don. He got hisself a good deal hurt somehow.”
“You mean you hurt him?”
“Dunno, Mas’ Don. S’pose I did, but I don’t ’member nothing about it. And now look here, sir; seems to me that in half-hour’s time it’ll be quite dark enough to start; and if I’d got five guineas, I’d give ’em for five big screws, and the use of a gimlet and driver.”
“What for?”
“To fasten down that there trap.”
“It would be no good, Jem; because if they found the trap fast, they’d be on the watch for us outside.”
“Dessay you’re right, sir. Well, what do you say? Shall we begin now, or wait?”
Don looked up at the fast darkening skylight, and then, after a moment’s hesitation,—
“Let’s begin now, Jem. It will take some time.”
“That’s right, Mas’ Don; so here goes, and good luck to us. It means home, and your mother, and my Sally; or going to fight the French.”
“And we don’t want to be obliged to fight without we like, Jem.”
“That’s true,” said Jem; and going quickly to the trap, he laid his ear to the crack and listened.
“All right, my lad. Have it out,” he said; and the sacks were cast aside, and the rope withdrawn. “Will it bear us, Jem?”
“I’m going to try first, and if it’ll bear me it’ll bear you.”
“But you can’t get up there.”
“No, but you can, my lad; and when you’re there you can fasten the rope to that cross-bar, and then I can soon be with you. Ready?”
“Wait till I’ve got off my shoes.”
“That’s right; stick ’em in your pockets, my lad. Now then, ready?”
Don signified his readiness. Jem laid him a back up at the end wall. Don mounted, and then jumped down again.
“What’s the matter?”
“I haven’t got the rope.”
“My: what a head I have!” cried Jem, as Don tightly knotted the rope about his waist; and then, mounting on his companion’s back once more, was borne very slowly, steadying himself by the sloping roof, till the window was reached.
“Hold fast, Jem.”
“Right it is, my lad.”
There was a clicking of the iron fastening, the window was thrust up higher and higher, till it was to the full extent of the ratchet support, and then by passing one arm over the light cross-beam, which divided the opening in two, Don was able to raise himself, and throw his leg over the front of the opening, so that the next minute he was sitting on the edge with one leg down the sloping roof, and the other hanging inside, but in a very awkward position, on account of the broad skylight.
“Can’t you open it more?” said Jem.
“No; that’s as far as the fastening will hold it up.”
“Push it right over, Mas’ Don, so as it may lie back against the roof. Mind what you’re doing, so as you don’t slip. But you’ll be all right. I’ve got the rope, and won’t let it go.”
Don did as he was told, taking tightly hold of the long cross central bar, and placing his knees, and then his feet, against the front of the opening, so that he was in the position of a four-footed animal. Then his back raised up the hinged skylight higher and higher, till, holding on to the cross-bar with one hand, and the ratchet fastening with the other, he thrust up and up, till the skylight was perpendicular, and he paused, panting with the exertion.
“All right, Mas’ Don; I’ve got the rope. Now lower it down gently, till it lies flat on the slope. That’s the way; steady! Steady!”
Bang!crash!jingle!
“Oh, Mas’ Don!”
“I couldn’t help it, Jem; the iron fastening came out. The wood’s rotten.”
For the skylight had fallen back with a crash, and some of the broken glass came musically jingling down, some of it sliding along the tiles, and dropping into the alley below.
There was a dead silence, neither of the would-be evaders of the enforced king’s service moving, but listening intently for the slightest sound.
“Think they heared it, Mas’ Don?” said Jem, at last, in a hoarse whisper.
“I can’t hear anything,” replied Don, softly.
They listened again, but all was wonderfully quiet. A distant murmur came from the busy streets, and a clock struck nine.
“Why, that’s Old Church,” said Jem in a whisper. “We must be close down to the water side, Mas’ Don.”
“Yes, Jem. Shall we give it up, or risk it?”
“I’ll show you d’reckly,” said Jem. “You make that there end fast round the bar. It isn’t rotten, is it?”
“No,” said Don, after an examination; “it seems very solid.” And untying the rope from his waist, he knotted it to the little beam.
The next minute Jem gave a heavy drag at the rope, then a jerk, and next swung to it, going to and fro for a few seconds.
“Hold a ton,” whispered Jem; and reaching up as high as he could, he gripped the rope between his legs and over his ankle and foot, and apparently with the greatest ease drew himself up to the bar, threw a leg over and sat astride with his face beaming.
“They sha’n’t have us this time, Mas’ Don,” he said, running the rope rapidly through his hands until he had reached the end, when he gathered it up in rings, till he had enough to throw beyond the sloping roof.
“Here goes!” he whispered; and he tossed it from him into the gathering gloom.
The falling rope made a dull sound, and then there was a sharp gliding noise.
One of the broken fragments of glass had been started from where it had lodged, and slid rapidly down the tiles.
They held their breath as they waited to hear it fall tinkling beyond on the pavement; but they listened in vain, for the simple reason that it had fallen into the gutter.
“All right, Mas’ Don! Here goes!” said Jem, and he lowered the rope to its full extent.
“Hadn’t I better go first, and try the rope, Jem?”
“What’s the good o’ your going first? It might break, and then what would your mother say to me? I’ll go; and, as I said afore, if it bears me, it’ll bear you.”
“But, if it breaks, what shall I say to little Sally?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go near her if I was you, Mas’ Don. She might take on, and then it wouldn’t be nice; or she mightn’t take on, and that wouldn’t be nice. Hist! What’s that?”
“Can’t hear anything, Jem.”
“More can I. Here, shake hands, lad, case I has a tumble.”
“Don’t, don’t risk it, Jem,” whispered Don, clinging to his hand.
“What! After making the rope! Oh, come, Mas’ Don, where’s your pluck? Now then, I’m off; and when I’m down safe, I’ll give three jerks at the line, and then hold it steady. Here goes—once to be ready, twice to be steady, three times to be—off!”
Don’s heart felt in his mouth as his companion grasped the rope tightly, and let himself glide down the steep tiled slope, till he reached the edge over the gutter; and then, as he disappeared, dissolving—so it seemed—into the gloom, Don’s breath was held, and he felt a singular pain at the chest.
He grasped the rope, though, as he sat astride at the lower edge of the opening; and the loosely twisted hemp seemed to palpitate and quiver as if it were one of Jem’s muscles reaching to his hands.
Then all at once the rope became slack, as if the tension had been removed, and Don turned faint with horror.
“It’s broken!” he panted; and he strained over as far as he could without falling to hear the dull thud of his companion’s fall.
Thoughts fly fast, and in a moment of time Don had seen poor Jem lying crushed below, picked up, and had borne the news to his little wife. But before he had gone any further, the rope was drawn tight once more, and as he held it, there came to thrill his nerves three distinct jerks.
“It’s all right!” he panted; and grasped the rope with both hands. “Now then,” he thought, “it only wants a little courage, and I can slide down and join him, and then we’re free.”
Yes; but it required a good deal of resolution to make the venture. “Suppose Jem’s weight had unwound the rope; suppose it should break; suppose—”
“Oh, what a coward I am!” he muttered; and swinging his leg free, he lay upon his face for a moment, right upon the sloping tiles and then let the rope glide through his hands.
It was very easy work down that slope, only that elbows and hands suffered, and sundry sounds suggested that waistcoat buttons were being torn off. But that was no moment for studying trifles; and what were waistcoat buttons to liberty?
Another moment, and his legs were over the edge, and he was about to attempt the most difficult part of the descent, grasping beforehand, that as soon as he hung clear of the eaves, he should begin to turn slowly round.
“Now for it,” he said; and he was about to descend perpendicularly, when the rope was suddenly jerked violently.
There was a loud ejaculation, and Jem’s voice rose to where he hung.
“No, no, Mas’ Don. Back! Back! Don’t come down.” Then, as he hung, there came the panting and noise of a terrible struggle far below.
Chapter Sixteen.Prisoners again.Don’s grasp tightened on the rope, and as he lay there, half on, half off the slope, listening, with the beads of perspiration gathering on his forehead, he heard from below shouts, the trampling of feet and struggling.“They’ve attacked Jem,” he thought. “What shall I do? Go to his help?”Before he could come to a decision the noise ceased and all was perfectly still.Don hung there thinking.What should he do—slide down and try to escape, or climb back?Jem was evidently retaken, and to escape would be cowardly, he thought; and in this spirit he began to draw himself slowly back till, after a great deal of exertion, he had contrived to get his legs beyond the eaves, and there he rested, hesitating once more.Just then he heard voices below, and holding on by one hand, he rapidly drew up a few yards of the rope, making his leg take the place of another hand.There was a good deal of talking, and he caught the word “rope,” but that was all. So he continued his toilsome ascent till he was able to grasp the edge of the skylight opening, up to which he dragged himself, and sat listening, astride, as he had been before the attempt was made.All was so still that he was tempted to slide down and escapefor no sound suggested that any one was on the watch. But Jem! Poor Jem! It was like leaving him in the lurch.Still, he thought, if he did get away, he might give the alarm, and find help to save Jem from being taken away.“And if they came up and found me gone,” he muttered, “they would take Jem off aboard ship directly, and it would be labour in vain.”“Oh! Let go!”The words escaped him involuntarily, for whilst he was pondering, some one had crept into the great loft floor, made a leap, and caught him by the leg, and, in spite of all his efforts to free himself, the man hung on till, unable to kick free, Don was literally dragged in and fell, after clinging for a moment to the cross-beam, heavily upon the floor.“I’ve got him!” cried a hoarse voice, which he recognised. “Look sharp with the light.”Don was on his back half stunned and hurt, and his captor, the sinister-looking man, was sitting upon his chest, half suffocating him, and evidently taking no little pleasure in inflicting pain.Footsteps were hurriedly ascending; then there was the glow of a lanthorn, and directly after the bluff-looking man appeared, followed by a couple of sailors, one of whom bore the light. “Got him?”“Ay, ay! I’ve got him, sir.”“That’s right! But do you want to break the poor boy’s ribs? Get off!”Don’s friend, the sinister-looking man, rose grumblingly from his captive’s chest, and the bluff man laughed.“Pretty well done, my lad,” he said. “I might have known you two weren’t so quiet for nothing. There, cast off that rope, and bring him down.”The sinister man gripped Don’s arm savagely, causing him intense pain, but the lad uttered no cry, and suffered himself to be led down in silence to floor after floor, till they were once more in the basement.“Might have broken your neck, you foolish boy,” said the bluff man, as a rough door was opened. “You can stop here for a bit. Don’t try any more games.”He gave Don a friendly push, and the boy stepped forward once more into a dark cellar, where he remained despairing and motionless as the door was banged behind him, and locked; and then, as the steps died away, he heard a groan.“Any one there?” said a faint voice, followed by the muttered words,—“Poor Mas’ Don. What will my Sally do? What will she do?”“Jem, I’m here,” said Don huskily; and there was a rustling sound in the far part of the dark place.“Oh! You there, Mas’ Don? I thought you’d got away.”“How could I get away when they had caught you?” said Don, reproachfully.“Slid down and run. There was no one there to stop you. Why, I says to myself when they pounced on me, if I gives ’em all their work to do, they’ll be so busy that they won’t see Mas’ Don, and he’ll be able to get right away. Why didn’t you slither and go?”“Because I should have been leaving you in the lurch, Jem; and I didn’t want to do that.”“Well, I—well, of all—there!—why, Mas’ Don, did you feel that way?”“Of course I did.”“And you wouldn’t get away because I couldn’t?”“That’s what I thought, Jem.”“Well, of all the things I ever heared! Now I wonder whether I should have done like that if you and me had been twisted round; I mean, if you had gone down first and been caught.”“Of course you would, Jem.”“Well, that’s what I don’t know, Mas’ Don. I’m afraid I should have waited till they’d got off with you, and slipped down and run off.”“I don’t think you’d have left me, Jem.”“I dunno, my lad. I should have said to myself, I can bring them as ’ud help get Mas’ Don out; and gone.”Don thought of his own feelings, and remained silent.“I say, Mas’ Don, though, it’s a bad job being caught; but the rope was made strong enough, warn’t it?”“Yes, but it was labour in vain.”“Well, p’r’aps it was, sir; but I’m proud of that rope all the same. Oh!”Jem uttered a dismal groan.“Are you hurt, Jem?”“Hurt, sir! I just am hurt—horrible. ’Member when I fell down and the tub went over me?”“And broke your ribs, and we thought you were dead? Yes, I remember.”“Well, I feel just the same as I did then. I went down and a lot of ’em fell on me, and I was kicked and jumped on till I’m just as if all the hoops was off my staves, Mas’ Don; but that arn’t the worst of it, because it won’t hurt me. I’m a reg’lar wunner to mend again. You never knew any one who got cut as could heal up as fast as me. See how strong my ribs grew together, and so did my leg when I got kicked by that horse.”“But are you in much pain now?”“I should just think I am, Mas’ Don; I feel as if I was being cut up with blunt saws as had been made red hot first.”“Jem, my poor fellow!” groaned Don.“Now don’t go on like that, Mas’ Don, and make it worse.”“Would they give us a candle, Jem, do you think, if I was to knock?”“Not they, my lad; and I don’t want one. You’d be seeing how queer I looked if you got a light. There, sit down and let’s talk.”Don groped along by the damp wall till he reached the place where his companion lay, and then went down on his knees beside him.“It seems to be all over, Jem,” he said.“Over? Not it, my lad. Seems to me as if it’s all just going to begin.”“Then we shall be made sailors.”“S’pose so, Mas’ Don. Well, I don’t know as I should so much mind if it warn’t for my Sally. A man might just as well be pulling ropes as pushing casks and winding cranes.”“But we shall have to fight, Jem.”“Well, so long as it’s fisties I don’t know as I much mind, but if they expect me to chop or shoot anybody, they’re mistook.”Jem became silent, and for a long time his fellow-prisoner felt not the slightest inclination to speak. His thoughts were busy over their attempted escape, and the risky task of descending by the rope. Then he thought again of home, and wondered what they would think of him, feeling sure that they would believe him to have behaved badly.His heart ached as he recalled all the past, and how much his present position was due to his own folly and discontent, while, at the end of every scene he evoked, came the thought that no matter how he repented, it was too late—too late!“How are you now, Jem?” he asked once or twice, as he tried to pierce the utter darkness; but there was no answer, and at last he relieved the weariness of his position by moving close up to the wall, so as to lean his back against it, and in this position, despite all his trouble, his head drooped forward till his chin rested upon his chest, and he fell fast asleep for what seemed to him only a few minutes, when he started into wakefulness on feeling himself roughly shaken.“Rouse up, my lad, sharp!”And looking wonderingly about him, he clapped one hand over his eyes to keep off the glare of an open lanthorn.
Don’s grasp tightened on the rope, and as he lay there, half on, half off the slope, listening, with the beads of perspiration gathering on his forehead, he heard from below shouts, the trampling of feet and struggling.
“They’ve attacked Jem,” he thought. “What shall I do? Go to his help?”
Before he could come to a decision the noise ceased and all was perfectly still.
Don hung there thinking.
What should he do—slide down and try to escape, or climb back?
Jem was evidently retaken, and to escape would be cowardly, he thought; and in this spirit he began to draw himself slowly back till, after a great deal of exertion, he had contrived to get his legs beyond the eaves, and there he rested, hesitating once more.
Just then he heard voices below, and holding on by one hand, he rapidly drew up a few yards of the rope, making his leg take the place of another hand.
There was a good deal of talking, and he caught the word “rope,” but that was all. So he continued his toilsome ascent till he was able to grasp the edge of the skylight opening, up to which he dragged himself, and sat listening, astride, as he had been before the attempt was made.
All was so still that he was tempted to slide down and escapefor no sound suggested that any one was on the watch. But Jem! Poor Jem! It was like leaving him in the lurch.
Still, he thought, if he did get away, he might give the alarm, and find help to save Jem from being taken away.
“And if they came up and found me gone,” he muttered, “they would take Jem off aboard ship directly, and it would be labour in vain.”
“Oh! Let go!”
The words escaped him involuntarily, for whilst he was pondering, some one had crept into the great loft floor, made a leap, and caught him by the leg, and, in spite of all his efforts to free himself, the man hung on till, unable to kick free, Don was literally dragged in and fell, after clinging for a moment to the cross-beam, heavily upon the floor.
“I’ve got him!” cried a hoarse voice, which he recognised. “Look sharp with the light.”
Don was on his back half stunned and hurt, and his captor, the sinister-looking man, was sitting upon his chest, half suffocating him, and evidently taking no little pleasure in inflicting pain.
Footsteps were hurriedly ascending; then there was the glow of a lanthorn, and directly after the bluff-looking man appeared, followed by a couple of sailors, one of whom bore the light. “Got him?”
“Ay, ay! I’ve got him, sir.”
“That’s right! But do you want to break the poor boy’s ribs? Get off!”
Don’s friend, the sinister-looking man, rose grumblingly from his captive’s chest, and the bluff man laughed.
“Pretty well done, my lad,” he said. “I might have known you two weren’t so quiet for nothing. There, cast off that rope, and bring him down.”
The sinister man gripped Don’s arm savagely, causing him intense pain, but the lad uttered no cry, and suffered himself to be led down in silence to floor after floor, till they were once more in the basement.
“Might have broken your neck, you foolish boy,” said the bluff man, as a rough door was opened. “You can stop here for a bit. Don’t try any more games.”
He gave Don a friendly push, and the boy stepped forward once more into a dark cellar, where he remained despairing and motionless as the door was banged behind him, and locked; and then, as the steps died away, he heard a groan.
“Any one there?” said a faint voice, followed by the muttered words,—“Poor Mas’ Don. What will my Sally do? What will she do?”
“Jem, I’m here,” said Don huskily; and there was a rustling sound in the far part of the dark place.
“Oh! You there, Mas’ Don? I thought you’d got away.”
“How could I get away when they had caught you?” said Don, reproachfully.
“Slid down and run. There was no one there to stop you. Why, I says to myself when they pounced on me, if I gives ’em all their work to do, they’ll be so busy that they won’t see Mas’ Don, and he’ll be able to get right away. Why didn’t you slither and go?”
“Because I should have been leaving you in the lurch, Jem; and I didn’t want to do that.”
“Well, I—well, of all—there!—why, Mas’ Don, did you feel that way?”
“Of course I did.”
“And you wouldn’t get away because I couldn’t?”
“That’s what I thought, Jem.”
“Well, of all the things I ever heared! Now I wonder whether I should have done like that if you and me had been twisted round; I mean, if you had gone down first and been caught.”
“Of course you would, Jem.”
“Well, that’s what I don’t know, Mas’ Don. I’m afraid I should have waited till they’d got off with you, and slipped down and run off.”
“I don’t think you’d have left me, Jem.”
“I dunno, my lad. I should have said to myself, I can bring them as ’ud help get Mas’ Don out; and gone.”
Don thought of his own feelings, and remained silent.
“I say, Mas’ Don, though, it’s a bad job being caught; but the rope was made strong enough, warn’t it?”
“Yes, but it was labour in vain.”
“Well, p’r’aps it was, sir; but I’m proud of that rope all the same. Oh!”
Jem uttered a dismal groan.
“Are you hurt, Jem?”
“Hurt, sir! I just am hurt—horrible. ’Member when I fell down and the tub went over me?”
“And broke your ribs, and we thought you were dead? Yes, I remember.”
“Well, I feel just the same as I did then. I went down and a lot of ’em fell on me, and I was kicked and jumped on till I’m just as if all the hoops was off my staves, Mas’ Don; but that arn’t the worst of it, because it won’t hurt me. I’m a reg’lar wunner to mend again. You never knew any one who got cut as could heal up as fast as me. See how strong my ribs grew together, and so did my leg when I got kicked by that horse.”
“But are you in much pain now?”
“I should just think I am, Mas’ Don; I feel as if I was being cut up with blunt saws as had been made red hot first.”
“Jem, my poor fellow!” groaned Don.
“Now don’t go on like that, Mas’ Don, and make it worse.”
“Would they give us a candle, Jem, do you think, if I was to knock?”
“Not they, my lad; and I don’t want one. You’d be seeing how queer I looked if you got a light. There, sit down and let’s talk.”
Don groped along by the damp wall till he reached the place where his companion lay, and then went down on his knees beside him.
“It seems to be all over, Jem,” he said.
“Over? Not it, my lad. Seems to me as if it’s all just going to begin.”
“Then we shall be made sailors.”
“S’pose so, Mas’ Don. Well, I don’t know as I should so much mind if it warn’t for my Sally. A man might just as well be pulling ropes as pushing casks and winding cranes.”
“But we shall have to fight, Jem.”
“Well, so long as it’s fisties I don’t know as I much mind, but if they expect me to chop or shoot anybody, they’re mistook.”
Jem became silent, and for a long time his fellow-prisoner felt not the slightest inclination to speak. His thoughts were busy over their attempted escape, and the risky task of descending by the rope. Then he thought again of home, and wondered what they would think of him, feeling sure that they would believe him to have behaved badly.
His heart ached as he recalled all the past, and how much his present position was due to his own folly and discontent, while, at the end of every scene he evoked, came the thought that no matter how he repented, it was too late—too late!
“How are you now, Jem?” he asked once or twice, as he tried to pierce the utter darkness; but there was no answer, and at last he relieved the weariness of his position by moving close up to the wall, so as to lean his back against it, and in this position, despite all his trouble, his head drooped forward till his chin rested upon his chest, and he fell fast asleep for what seemed to him only a few minutes, when he started into wakefulness on feeling himself roughly shaken.
“Rouse up, my lad, sharp!”
And looking wonderingly about him, he clapped one hand over his eyes to keep off the glare of an open lanthorn.
Chapter Seventeen.On Board.It was a strange experience, and half asleep and confused, Don could hardly make out whether he was one of the captives of the press-gang, or a prisoner being conveyed to gaol in consequence of Mike Bannock’s charge.All seemed to be darkness, and the busy gang of armed men about him worked in a silent, furtive way, hurrying their prisoners, of whom, as they all stood together in a kind of yard behind some great gates, there seemed to be about a dozen, some injured, some angry and scowling, and full of complaints and threats now that they were about to be conveyed away; but every angry remonstrance was met by one more severe, and sometimes accompanied by a tap from the butt of a pistol, or a blow given with the hilt or flat of a cutlass.“This here’s lively, Mas’ Don,” said Jem, as he stood beside his companion in misfortune.“I want to speak to the principal officer,” said Don, excitedly. “We must not let them drive us off as if we were sheep.”“Will you take a bit of good advice, my lad?” said a familiar voice at his ear.“If it is good advice,” said Don, sharply.“Then hold your tongue, and go quietly. I’ll speak to the lieutenant when we get aboard.”Don glanced sharply at the bluff-looking boatswain who had spoken, and he seemed to mean well; but in Don’s excitement he could not be sure, and one moment he felt disposed to make a bold dash for liberty, as soon as the gates were opened, and then to shout for help; the next to appeal to his fellow-prisoners to make a bold fight for liberty; and while these thoughts were running one over another in his mind, a sharp order was given, the gates were thrown open, and they were all marched down a narrow lane, dimly lit by one miserable oil lamp at the end.Almost as they reached the end the familiar odour, damp and seaweedy, of the tide reached Don’s nostrils; and directly after he found himself being hurried down a flight of wet and slippery stone steps to where a lanthorn showed a large boat, into which he was hurried along with the rest. Then there was the sensation of movement, as the boat rose and fell. Fresh orders. The splash of oars. A faint creaking sound where they rubbed on the tholes, and then the regular measured dip, dip, and splash, splash.“Tide runs sharp,” said a deep voice. “Give way, my lads, or we shall be swept by her; that’s it.”Don listened to all this as if it were part of a dream, while he gazed wildly about at the dimly-seen moving lights and the black, shadowy-looking shapes of the various vessels which kept on looming up, till after gradually nearing a light away to his left, the boat was suddenly run up close to a great black mass, which seemed to stand up out of the water that was lapping her sides.Ten minutes later the boat in which he had come off was hanging to the davits, and he, in company with his fellows, was being hurried down into a long low portion of the ’tween decks, with a couple of lanthorns swinging their yellow light to and fro, and trying to make haloes, while an armed marine stood sentry at the foot of the steps leading up on deck.Every one appeared too desolate and despondent to say much; in fact, as Don sat upon the deck and looked at those who surrounded him, they all looked like so many wounded men in hospital, or prisoners of war, in place of being Englishmen—whose duty henceforth was to be the defence of their country.“Seems rum, don’t it?” said Jem in a whisper. “Makes a man feel wild to be laid hold on like this.”“It’s cruel! It’s outrageous!” cried Don, angrily.“But here we are, and—what’s that there noise?” said Jem, as a good deal of shouting and trampling was heard on deck. Then there was a series of thumps and more trampling and loud orders.“Are they bringing some more poor wretches on board, Jem?”“Dunno. Don’t think so. Say, Mas’ Don, I often heared tell of the press-gang, and men being took; but I didn’t know it was so bad as this.”“Wait till morning, Jem, and I hope we shall get justice done to us.”“Then they’ll have to do it sharp, for it’s morning now, though it’s so dark down here, and I thought we were moving; can’t you feel?”Jem was quite right; the sloop was under weigh. Morning had broken some time; and at noon that day, the hope of being set at liberty was growing extremely small, for the ship was in full sail, and going due west.
It was a strange experience, and half asleep and confused, Don could hardly make out whether he was one of the captives of the press-gang, or a prisoner being conveyed to gaol in consequence of Mike Bannock’s charge.
All seemed to be darkness, and the busy gang of armed men about him worked in a silent, furtive way, hurrying their prisoners, of whom, as they all stood together in a kind of yard behind some great gates, there seemed to be about a dozen, some injured, some angry and scowling, and full of complaints and threats now that they were about to be conveyed away; but every angry remonstrance was met by one more severe, and sometimes accompanied by a tap from the butt of a pistol, or a blow given with the hilt or flat of a cutlass.
“This here’s lively, Mas’ Don,” said Jem, as he stood beside his companion in misfortune.
“I want to speak to the principal officer,” said Don, excitedly. “We must not let them drive us off as if we were sheep.”
“Will you take a bit of good advice, my lad?” said a familiar voice at his ear.
“If it is good advice,” said Don, sharply.
“Then hold your tongue, and go quietly. I’ll speak to the lieutenant when we get aboard.”
Don glanced sharply at the bluff-looking boatswain who had spoken, and he seemed to mean well; but in Don’s excitement he could not be sure, and one moment he felt disposed to make a bold dash for liberty, as soon as the gates were opened, and then to shout for help; the next to appeal to his fellow-prisoners to make a bold fight for liberty; and while these thoughts were running one over another in his mind, a sharp order was given, the gates were thrown open, and they were all marched down a narrow lane, dimly lit by one miserable oil lamp at the end.
Almost as they reached the end the familiar odour, damp and seaweedy, of the tide reached Don’s nostrils; and directly after he found himself being hurried down a flight of wet and slippery stone steps to where a lanthorn showed a large boat, into which he was hurried along with the rest. Then there was the sensation of movement, as the boat rose and fell. Fresh orders. The splash of oars. A faint creaking sound where they rubbed on the tholes, and then the regular measured dip, dip, and splash, splash.
“Tide runs sharp,” said a deep voice. “Give way, my lads, or we shall be swept by her; that’s it.”
Don listened to all this as if it were part of a dream, while he gazed wildly about at the dimly-seen moving lights and the black, shadowy-looking shapes of the various vessels which kept on looming up, till after gradually nearing a light away to his left, the boat was suddenly run up close to a great black mass, which seemed to stand up out of the water that was lapping her sides.
Ten minutes later the boat in which he had come off was hanging to the davits, and he, in company with his fellows, was being hurried down into a long low portion of the ’tween decks, with a couple of lanthorns swinging their yellow light to and fro, and trying to make haloes, while an armed marine stood sentry at the foot of the steps leading up on deck.
Every one appeared too desolate and despondent to say much; in fact, as Don sat upon the deck and looked at those who surrounded him, they all looked like so many wounded men in hospital, or prisoners of war, in place of being Englishmen—whose duty henceforth was to be the defence of their country.
“Seems rum, don’t it?” said Jem in a whisper. “Makes a man feel wild to be laid hold on like this.”
“It’s cruel! It’s outrageous!” cried Don, angrily.
“But here we are, and—what’s that there noise?” said Jem, as a good deal of shouting and trampling was heard on deck. Then there was a series of thumps and more trampling and loud orders.
“Are they bringing some more poor wretches on board, Jem?”
“Dunno. Don’t think so. Say, Mas’ Don, I often heared tell of the press-gang, and men being took; but I didn’t know it was so bad as this.”
“Wait till morning, Jem, and I hope we shall get justice done to us.”
“Then they’ll have to do it sharp, for it’s morning now, though it’s so dark down here, and I thought we were moving; can’t you feel?”
Jem was quite right; the sloop was under weigh. Morning had broken some time; and at noon that day, the hope of being set at liberty was growing extremely small, for the ship was in full sail, and going due west.
Chapter Eighteen.Jem is hungry.The first time the pressed men were mustered Don was well prepared.“You leave it to me, Jem,” he whispered. “I’ll wait till our turn comes, and then I shall speak out to the officer and tell him how we’ve been treated.”“You’d better make haste, then, Mas’ Don, for if the thing keeps on moving like this, I sha’n’t be able to stand and hear what you have to say.”For a good breeze was blowing from the south coast, sufficient to make the waves curl over, and the sloop behave in rather a lively way; the more so that she had a good deal of canvas spread, and heeled over and dipped her nose sufficiently to admit a great wave from time to time to well splash the forward part of the deck.Don made no reply, for he felt white, but he attributed it to the mental excitement from which he suffered.There were thirty pressed men on deck, for the most part old sailors from the mercantile marine, and these men were drafted off into various watches, the trouble to the officers being that of arranging the fate of the landsmen, who looked wretched in the extreme.“’Pon my word, Jones,” said a smart-looking, middle-aged man in uniform, whom Don took to be the first lieutenant, “about as sorry a lot of Bristol sweepings as ever I saw.”“Not bad men, sir,” said the petty officer addressed. “Wait till they’ve shaken down into their places.”“Now’s your time, Mas’ Don,” whispered Jem. “Now or never.”Don was on the alert, but just as the officer neared them the vessel gave a sudden pitch, and of the men standing in a row the minute before, not one remained upon his feet. For it seemed as if the deck had suddenly dropped down; and as Don and Jem rolled over into the lee scuppers, they were pretty well doused by the water that came splashing over the bows, and when, amidst a shout of laughter from the sailors, the order was given for them to get up and form in line again, Jem clung tightly to Don, and said, dolefully,—“It’s of no use, Mas’ Don; I can’t. It’s like trying to stand on running barrels; and—oh, dear me!—I do feel so precious bad.”Don made no reply, but caught at the side of the vessel, for everything around seemed to be swimming, and a peculiarly faint sensation had attacked him, such as he had never experienced before.“There, send ’em all below,” said the officer, who seemed half angry, half-amused. “Pretty way this is, of manning His Majesty’s ships. There, down with you. Get ’em all below.”Don did not know how he got below. He had some recollection of knocking the skin off his elbows, and being half dragged into a corner of the lower deck, where, for three days, he lay in the most abjectly miserable state, listening to the sighs and groans of his equally unfortunate companions, and the remarks of Jem, who kept up in his waking moments a running commentary on the miseries of going to sea.“It’s wuss than anything I ever felt or saw,” he muttered. “I’ve been ill, and I’ve been in hospital, but this here’s about the most terrible. I say, Mas’ Don, how do you feel now?”“As if I’d give anything to have the ship stopped, for us to be set ashore.”“No, no, you can’t feel like that, Mas’ Don, because that’s exactly how I feel. I am so ill. Well, all I can say is that it serves the captain and the lieutenant and all the rest of ’em jolly well right for press-ganging me.”“What do you mean?” said Don, dolefully.“Why, that they took all that trouble to bring me aboard to make a sailor of me, and they’ll never do it. I’m fit to go into a hospital, and that’s about all I’m fit for. Sailor? Why, I can’t even stand upright on the precious deck.”“Well, my lads,” said a hearty voice just then; “how long are you going to play at being old women? Come, rouse a bit.”“No, thankye, sir,” said Jem, in a miserable tone. “Bit? I haven’t bit anything since I’ve been aboard.”“Then rouse up, and bite something now,” cried the boatswain. “Come, my lad,” he continued, turning to Don, “you’ve got too much stuff in you to lie about like this. Jump up, and come on deck in the fresh air.”“I feel so weak, sir; I don’t think I could stand.”“Oh, yes, you can,” said the boatswain. “That’s better. If you give way to it, you’ll be here for a week.”“Are we nearly there, sir?” said Jem, with a groan.“Nearly there? You yellow-faced lubber. What do you mean?”“Where we’re going to,” groaned Jem.“Nearly there? No. Why?”“Because I want to go ashore again. I’m no use here.”“We’ll soon make you of some use. There, get up.”“But aren’t we soon going ashore?”“If you behave yourself you may get a run ashore at the Cape or at Singapore; but most likely you won’t leave the ship till we get to China.”“China?” said Jem, sitting up sharply. “China?”“Yes, China. What of that?”“China!” cried Jem. “Why, I thought we were sailing round to Plymouth or Portsmouth, or some place like that. China?”“We’re going straight away or China, my lad, to be on that station for some time.”“And when are we coming back, sir?”“In about three years.”“Mas’ Don,” said Jem, dolefully; “let’s get up on deck, sir, and jump overboard, so as to make an end of it.”“You’d better not,” said the boatswain, laughing at Jem’s miserable face. “You’re in the king’s service now, and you’ve got to work. There, rouse up, and act like a man.”“But can’t we send a letter home, sir?” asked Don.“Oh, yes, if you like, at the first port we touch at, or by any ship we speak. But come, my lad, you’ve been sea-sick for days; don’t begin to be home sick. You’ve been pressed as many a better fellow has been before you. The king wants men, and he must have them. Now, young as you are, show that you can act like a man.”Don gave him an agonised look, but the bluff boatswain did not see it.“Here, you fellows,” he cried to the rest of the sick men; “we’ve given you time enough now. You must get up and shake all this off. You’ll all be on deck in a quarter of an hour, so look sharp.”“This here’s a nice game, Mas’ Don. Do you know how I feel?”“No, Jem; but I know how I feel.”“How’s that, sir?”“That if I had been asked to serve the king I might have joined a ship; but I’ve been dragged here in a cruel way, and the very first time I can get ashore, I mean to stay.”“Well, I felt something like that, Mas’ Don; but they’d call it desertion.”“Let them call it what they like, Jem. They treated us like dogs, and I will not stand it. I shall leave the ship first chance. You can do as you like, but that’s what I mean to do.”“Oh, I shall do as you do, Mas’ Don. I was never meant for a sailor, and I shall get away as soon as I can.”“Shall you?” said a voice that seemed familiar; and they both turned in the direction from which it came, to see a dark figure rise from beside the bulk head, where it had lain unnoticed by the invalids, though if they had noted its presence, they would have taken it for one of their fellow-sufferers.“What’s it got to do with you?” said Jem, shortly, as he scowled at the man, who now came forward sufficiently near the dim light for them to recognise the grim, sinister-looking sailor, who had played so unpleasant a part at therendez-vouswhere they were taken after being seized.“What’s it got to do with me? Everything. So you’re goin’ to desert, both of you, are you? Do you know what that means?”“No; nor don’t want,” growled Jem.“Then I’ll tell you. Flogging, for sartain, and p’r’aps stringing up at the yard-arm, as an example to others.”“Ho!” said Jem; “do it? Well, you look the sort o’ man as is best suited for that; and just you look here. Nex’ time I ketches you spying and listening to what I say, I shall give you a worse dressing down than I give you last time, so be off.”“Mutinous, threatening, and talking about deserting,” said the sinister-looking sailor, with a harsh laugh, which sounded as if he had a young watchman’s rattle somewhere in his chest. “Nice thing to report. I think this will do.”He went off rubbing his hands softly, and mounted the ladder, Jem watching him till his legs had disappeared, when he turned sharply to Don.“Him and me’s going to have a regular set-to some day, Mas’ Don. He makes me feel warm, and somehow that bit of a row has done me no end o’ good. Here, come on deck, and let’s see if he’s telling tales. Come on, lad. P’r’aps I’ve got a word or two to say as well.”Don had not realised it before, but as he followed Jem, he suddenly woke to the fact that he did not feel so weak and giddy, while, by the time he was on deck, it as suddenly occurred to him that he could eat some breakfast.“I thought as much,” said Jem. “Lookye there, Mas’ Don. Did you ever see such a miserable sneak?”For there, not half-a-dozen yards away, was the sinister-looking sailor talking to the bluff boatswain.“Oh, yes, of course,” said the latter, as he caught sight of the recruits. “So does every man who is pressed, and if he does not say it, he thinks it. There, be off.”The ill-looking sailor gave Jem an ugly look and went aft, while the boatswain turned to Don.“That’s right,” he said. “Make a bit of an effort, and you’re all the better for it. You’ll get your sea legs directly.”“I wish he’d tell us where to get a sea leg o’ mutton, Mas’ Don,” whispered Jem. “Iamhungry.”“What’s that?” said the boatswain.“Only said I was hungry,” growled Jem.“Better and better. And, now, look here, you two may as well set to work without grumbling. And take my advice; don’t let such men as that hear either of you talk about desertion again. It doesn’t matter this time, but, by-and-by, it may mean punishment.”
The first time the pressed men were mustered Don was well prepared.
“You leave it to me, Jem,” he whispered. “I’ll wait till our turn comes, and then I shall speak out to the officer and tell him how we’ve been treated.”
“You’d better make haste, then, Mas’ Don, for if the thing keeps on moving like this, I sha’n’t be able to stand and hear what you have to say.”
For a good breeze was blowing from the south coast, sufficient to make the waves curl over, and the sloop behave in rather a lively way; the more so that she had a good deal of canvas spread, and heeled over and dipped her nose sufficiently to admit a great wave from time to time to well splash the forward part of the deck.
Don made no reply, for he felt white, but he attributed it to the mental excitement from which he suffered.
There were thirty pressed men on deck, for the most part old sailors from the mercantile marine, and these men were drafted off into various watches, the trouble to the officers being that of arranging the fate of the landsmen, who looked wretched in the extreme.
“’Pon my word, Jones,” said a smart-looking, middle-aged man in uniform, whom Don took to be the first lieutenant, “about as sorry a lot of Bristol sweepings as ever I saw.”
“Not bad men, sir,” said the petty officer addressed. “Wait till they’ve shaken down into their places.”
“Now’s your time, Mas’ Don,” whispered Jem. “Now or never.”
Don was on the alert, but just as the officer neared them the vessel gave a sudden pitch, and of the men standing in a row the minute before, not one remained upon his feet. For it seemed as if the deck had suddenly dropped down; and as Don and Jem rolled over into the lee scuppers, they were pretty well doused by the water that came splashing over the bows, and when, amidst a shout of laughter from the sailors, the order was given for them to get up and form in line again, Jem clung tightly to Don, and said, dolefully,—
“It’s of no use, Mas’ Don; I can’t. It’s like trying to stand on running barrels; and—oh, dear me!—I do feel so precious bad.”
Don made no reply, but caught at the side of the vessel, for everything around seemed to be swimming, and a peculiarly faint sensation had attacked him, such as he had never experienced before.
“There, send ’em all below,” said the officer, who seemed half angry, half-amused. “Pretty way this is, of manning His Majesty’s ships. There, down with you. Get ’em all below.”
Don did not know how he got below. He had some recollection of knocking the skin off his elbows, and being half dragged into a corner of the lower deck, where, for three days, he lay in the most abjectly miserable state, listening to the sighs and groans of his equally unfortunate companions, and the remarks of Jem, who kept up in his waking moments a running commentary on the miseries of going to sea.
“It’s wuss than anything I ever felt or saw,” he muttered. “I’ve been ill, and I’ve been in hospital, but this here’s about the most terrible. I say, Mas’ Don, how do you feel now?”
“As if I’d give anything to have the ship stopped, for us to be set ashore.”
“No, no, you can’t feel like that, Mas’ Don, because that’s exactly how I feel. I am so ill. Well, all I can say is that it serves the captain and the lieutenant and all the rest of ’em jolly well right for press-ganging me.”
“What do you mean?” said Don, dolefully.
“Why, that they took all that trouble to bring me aboard to make a sailor of me, and they’ll never do it. I’m fit to go into a hospital, and that’s about all I’m fit for. Sailor? Why, I can’t even stand upright on the precious deck.”
“Well, my lads,” said a hearty voice just then; “how long are you going to play at being old women? Come, rouse a bit.”
“No, thankye, sir,” said Jem, in a miserable tone. “Bit? I haven’t bit anything since I’ve been aboard.”
“Then rouse up, and bite something now,” cried the boatswain. “Come, my lad,” he continued, turning to Don, “you’ve got too much stuff in you to lie about like this. Jump up, and come on deck in the fresh air.”
“I feel so weak, sir; I don’t think I could stand.”
“Oh, yes, you can,” said the boatswain. “That’s better. If you give way to it, you’ll be here for a week.”
“Are we nearly there, sir?” said Jem, with a groan.
“Nearly there? You yellow-faced lubber. What do you mean?”
“Where we’re going to,” groaned Jem.
“Nearly there? No. Why?”
“Because I want to go ashore again. I’m no use here.”
“We’ll soon make you of some use. There, get up.”
“But aren’t we soon going ashore?”
“If you behave yourself you may get a run ashore at the Cape or at Singapore; but most likely you won’t leave the ship till we get to China.”
“China?” said Jem, sitting up sharply. “China?”
“Yes, China. What of that?”
“China!” cried Jem. “Why, I thought we were sailing round to Plymouth or Portsmouth, or some place like that. China?”
“We’re going straight away or China, my lad, to be on that station for some time.”
“And when are we coming back, sir?”
“In about three years.”
“Mas’ Don,” said Jem, dolefully; “let’s get up on deck, sir, and jump overboard, so as to make an end of it.”
“You’d better not,” said the boatswain, laughing at Jem’s miserable face. “You’re in the king’s service now, and you’ve got to work. There, rouse up, and act like a man.”
“But can’t we send a letter home, sir?” asked Don.
“Oh, yes, if you like, at the first port we touch at, or by any ship we speak. But come, my lad, you’ve been sea-sick for days; don’t begin to be home sick. You’ve been pressed as many a better fellow has been before you. The king wants men, and he must have them. Now, young as you are, show that you can act like a man.”
Don gave him an agonised look, but the bluff boatswain did not see it.
“Here, you fellows,” he cried to the rest of the sick men; “we’ve given you time enough now. You must get up and shake all this off. You’ll all be on deck in a quarter of an hour, so look sharp.”
“This here’s a nice game, Mas’ Don. Do you know how I feel?”
“No, Jem; but I know how I feel.”
“How’s that, sir?”
“That if I had been asked to serve the king I might have joined a ship; but I’ve been dragged here in a cruel way, and the very first time I can get ashore, I mean to stay.”
“Well, I felt something like that, Mas’ Don; but they’d call it desertion.”
“Let them call it what they like, Jem. They treated us like dogs, and I will not stand it. I shall leave the ship first chance. You can do as you like, but that’s what I mean to do.”
“Oh, I shall do as you do, Mas’ Don. I was never meant for a sailor, and I shall get away as soon as I can.”
“Shall you?” said a voice that seemed familiar; and they both turned in the direction from which it came, to see a dark figure rise from beside the bulk head, where it had lain unnoticed by the invalids, though if they had noted its presence, they would have taken it for one of their fellow-sufferers.
“What’s it got to do with you?” said Jem, shortly, as he scowled at the man, who now came forward sufficiently near the dim light for them to recognise the grim, sinister-looking sailor, who had played so unpleasant a part at therendez-vouswhere they were taken after being seized.
“What’s it got to do with me? Everything. So you’re goin’ to desert, both of you, are you? Do you know what that means?”
“No; nor don’t want,” growled Jem.
“Then I’ll tell you. Flogging, for sartain, and p’r’aps stringing up at the yard-arm, as an example to others.”
“Ho!” said Jem; “do it? Well, you look the sort o’ man as is best suited for that; and just you look here. Nex’ time I ketches you spying and listening to what I say, I shall give you a worse dressing down than I give you last time, so be off.”
“Mutinous, threatening, and talking about deserting,” said the sinister-looking sailor, with a harsh laugh, which sounded as if he had a young watchman’s rattle somewhere in his chest. “Nice thing to report. I think this will do.”
He went off rubbing his hands softly, and mounted the ladder, Jem watching him till his legs had disappeared, when he turned sharply to Don.
“Him and me’s going to have a regular set-to some day, Mas’ Don. He makes me feel warm, and somehow that bit of a row has done me no end o’ good. Here, come on deck, and let’s see if he’s telling tales. Come on, lad. P’r’aps I’ve got a word or two to say as well.”
Don had not realised it before, but as he followed Jem, he suddenly woke to the fact that he did not feel so weak and giddy, while, by the time he was on deck, it as suddenly occurred to him that he could eat some breakfast.
“I thought as much,” said Jem. “Lookye there, Mas’ Don. Did you ever see such a miserable sneak?”
For there, not half-a-dozen yards away, was the sinister-looking sailor talking to the bluff boatswain.
“Oh, yes, of course,” said the latter, as he caught sight of the recruits. “So does every man who is pressed, and if he does not say it, he thinks it. There, be off.”
The ill-looking sailor gave Jem an ugly look and went aft, while the boatswain turned to Don.
“That’s right,” he said. “Make a bit of an effort, and you’re all the better for it. You’ll get your sea legs directly.”
“I wish he’d tell us where to get a sea leg o’ mutton, Mas’ Don,” whispered Jem. “Iamhungry.”
“What’s that?” said the boatswain.
“Only said I was hungry,” growled Jem.
“Better and better. And, now, look here, you two may as well set to work without grumbling. And take my advice; don’t let such men as that hear either of you talk about desertion again. It doesn’t matter this time, but, by-and-by, it may mean punishment.”
Chapter Nineteen.A Conversation.The gale was left behind, and the weather proved glorious as they sped on towards the tropics, both going through all the drudgery to be learned by Government men, in company with the naval drill.There was so much to see and learn that Don found it impossible to be moody; and, for the most part, his homesickness and regrets were felt merely when he went to his hammock at nights; while the time spent unhappily there was very short, for fatigue soon sent him to sleep.The boatswain was always bluff, manly, and kind, and following out his advice, both Jem and Don picked up the routine of their life so rapidly as to gain many an encouraging word from their officers—words which, in spite of the hidden determination to escape at the first opportunity, set them striving harder and harder to master that which they had to do.“Yes,” Jem used to say, “they may be civil, but soft words butters no parsnips, Mas’ Don; and being told you’ll some day be rated AB don’t bring a man back to his wife, nor a boy—I mean another man—back to his mother.”“You might have said boy, Jem; I’m only a boy.”“So’m I, Mas’ Don—sailor boy. You seem getting your head pretty well now, Mas’ Don, when we’re up aloft.”“That’s what I was thinking of you, Jem.”“Well, yes, sir, tidy—tidy like, and I s’pose it arn’t much worse than coming down that there rope when we tried to get away; but I often feel when I’m lying out on the yard, with my feet in the stirrup, that there’s a precious little bit between being up there and lying down on the deck, never to get up again.”“You shouldn’t think of it, Jem. I try not to.”“So do I, but you can’t help it sometimes. How long have we been at sea now?”“Six months, Jem.”“Is it now? Don’t seem so long. I used to think I should get away before we’d been aboard a week, and it’s six months, and we arn’t gone. You do mean to go if you get a chance?”“Yes, Jem,” said Don, frowning. “I said I would, and I will.”“Arn’t it being a bit obstinate like, Mas’ Don?”“Obstinate? What, to do what I said I’d do?”“Well, p’r’aps not, sir; but it do sound obstinate all the same.”“You like being a sailor then, Jem?”“Like it? Being ordered about, and drilled, and sent aloft in rough weather, and all the time my Sally thousands o’ miles away? Well, I do wonder at you, Mas’ Don, talking like that.”“It was your own fault, Jem. I can’t help feeling as I did. It was such a cruel, cowardly way of kidnapping us, and dragging us away, and never a letter yet to tell us what they think at home, after those I sent. No, Jem, as I’ve said before, I’d have served the king as a volunteer, but I will not serve a day longer than I can help after being pressed.”“T’others seem to have settled down.”“So do we seem to, Jem; but perhaps they’re like us, and only waiting for a chance to go.”“Don’t talk out loud, Mas’ Don. I want to go home: but somehow I sha’n’t quite like going when the time does come.”“Why not?”“Well, some of the lads make very good messmates, and the officers arn’t bad when they’re in a good temper; and I’ve took to that there hammock, Mas’ Don. You can’t think of how I shall miss that there hammock.”“You’ll soon get over that, Jem.”“Yes, sir, dessay I shall; and it will be a treat to sit down at a decent table with a white cloth on, and eat bread and butter like a Christian.”“Instead of tough salt junk, Jem, and bad, hard biscuits.”“And what a waste o’ time it do seem learning all this sailoring work, to be no use after all. Holy-stoning might come in. I could holy-stone our floor at home, and save my Sally the trouble, and—” Jem gave a gulp, then sniffed very loudly. “Wish you wouldn’t talk about home.”Don smiled sadly, and they were separated directly after.The time went swiftly on in their busy life, and though his absence from home could only be counted in months, Don had shot up and altered wonderfully. They had touched at the Cape, at Ceylon, and then made a short stay at Singapore before going on to their station farther east, and cruising to and fro.During that period Don’s experience had been varied, but the opportunity he was always looking for did not seem to come.Then a year had passed away, and they were back at Singapore, where letters reached both, and made them go about the deck looking depressed for the rest of the week.Then came one morning when there was no little excitement on board, the news having oozed out that the sloop was bound for New Zealand, a place in those days little known, save as a wonderful country of tree-fern, pine, and volcano, where the natives were a fierce fighting race, and did not scruple to eat those whom they took captive in war.“Noo Zealand, eh?” said Jem.“Port Jackson and Botany Bay, I hear, Jem, and then on to New Zealand. We shall see something of the world.”“Ay, so we shall, Mas’ Don. Bot’ny Bay! That’s where they sends the chaps they transports, arn’t it?”“Yes, I believe so.”“Then we shall be like transported ones when we get there. You’re right, after all, Mas’ Don. First chance there is, let me and you give up sailoring, and go ashore.”“I mean to, Jem; and somehow, come what may, we will.”
The gale was left behind, and the weather proved glorious as they sped on towards the tropics, both going through all the drudgery to be learned by Government men, in company with the naval drill.
There was so much to see and learn that Don found it impossible to be moody; and, for the most part, his homesickness and regrets were felt merely when he went to his hammock at nights; while the time spent unhappily there was very short, for fatigue soon sent him to sleep.
The boatswain was always bluff, manly, and kind, and following out his advice, both Jem and Don picked up the routine of their life so rapidly as to gain many an encouraging word from their officers—words which, in spite of the hidden determination to escape at the first opportunity, set them striving harder and harder to master that which they had to do.
“Yes,” Jem used to say, “they may be civil, but soft words butters no parsnips, Mas’ Don; and being told you’ll some day be rated AB don’t bring a man back to his wife, nor a boy—I mean another man—back to his mother.”
“You might have said boy, Jem; I’m only a boy.”
“So’m I, Mas’ Don—sailor boy. You seem getting your head pretty well now, Mas’ Don, when we’re up aloft.”
“That’s what I was thinking of you, Jem.”
“Well, yes, sir, tidy—tidy like, and I s’pose it arn’t much worse than coming down that there rope when we tried to get away; but I often feel when I’m lying out on the yard, with my feet in the stirrup, that there’s a precious little bit between being up there and lying down on the deck, never to get up again.”
“You shouldn’t think of it, Jem. I try not to.”
“So do I, but you can’t help it sometimes. How long have we been at sea now?”
“Six months, Jem.”
“Is it now? Don’t seem so long. I used to think I should get away before we’d been aboard a week, and it’s six months, and we arn’t gone. You do mean to go if you get a chance?”
“Yes, Jem,” said Don, frowning. “I said I would, and I will.”
“Arn’t it being a bit obstinate like, Mas’ Don?”
“Obstinate? What, to do what I said I’d do?”
“Well, p’r’aps not, sir; but it do sound obstinate all the same.”
“You like being a sailor then, Jem?”
“Like it? Being ordered about, and drilled, and sent aloft in rough weather, and all the time my Sally thousands o’ miles away? Well, I do wonder at you, Mas’ Don, talking like that.”
“It was your own fault, Jem. I can’t help feeling as I did. It was such a cruel, cowardly way of kidnapping us, and dragging us away, and never a letter yet to tell us what they think at home, after those I sent. No, Jem, as I’ve said before, I’d have served the king as a volunteer, but I will not serve a day longer than I can help after being pressed.”
“T’others seem to have settled down.”
“So do we seem to, Jem; but perhaps they’re like us, and only waiting for a chance to go.”
“Don’t talk out loud, Mas’ Don. I want to go home: but somehow I sha’n’t quite like going when the time does come.”
“Why not?”
“Well, some of the lads make very good messmates, and the officers arn’t bad when they’re in a good temper; and I’ve took to that there hammock, Mas’ Don. You can’t think of how I shall miss that there hammock.”
“You’ll soon get over that, Jem.”
“Yes, sir, dessay I shall; and it will be a treat to sit down at a decent table with a white cloth on, and eat bread and butter like a Christian.”
“Instead of tough salt junk, Jem, and bad, hard biscuits.”
“And what a waste o’ time it do seem learning all this sailoring work, to be no use after all. Holy-stoning might come in. I could holy-stone our floor at home, and save my Sally the trouble, and—” Jem gave a gulp, then sniffed very loudly. “Wish you wouldn’t talk about home.”
Don smiled sadly, and they were separated directly after.
The time went swiftly on in their busy life, and though his absence from home could only be counted in months, Don had shot up and altered wonderfully. They had touched at the Cape, at Ceylon, and then made a short stay at Singapore before going on to their station farther east, and cruising to and fro.
During that period Don’s experience had been varied, but the opportunity he was always looking for did not seem to come.
Then a year had passed away, and they were back at Singapore, where letters reached both, and made them go about the deck looking depressed for the rest of the week.
Then came one morning when there was no little excitement on board, the news having oozed out that the sloop was bound for New Zealand, a place in those days little known, save as a wonderful country of tree-fern, pine, and volcano, where the natives were a fierce fighting race, and did not scruple to eat those whom they took captive in war.
“Noo Zealand, eh?” said Jem.
“Port Jackson and Botany Bay, I hear, Jem, and then on to New Zealand. We shall see something of the world.”
“Ay, so we shall, Mas’ Don. Bot’ny Bay! That’s where they sends the chaps they transports, arn’t it?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“Then we shall be like transported ones when we get there. You’re right, after all, Mas’ Don. First chance there is, let me and you give up sailoring, and go ashore.”
“I mean to, Jem; and somehow, come what may, we will.”