Chapter Twenty Five.
Trapped Birds.
“Quick back to the seal hole!” whispered Vince; and the boys darted to the dark passage leading to the outer cave, and then stopped short, for the way was blocked by a man with a drawn cutlass, and two others were running up, while another was in the act of sliding down a rope from the fissure.
Directly after, thud, thud, thud came the sound of men dropping down into the inner cave, and in another moment there was a rude thrust from behind which drove Mike against Vince, and the two boys were forced onward through the opening to the outer cave, the man with the cutlass giving way sufficiently to let them enter, but presenting the point at Vince’s chest, while one of his comrades performed the same menacing act for Mike, the other two taking up a position to right and left, and effectually cutting off escape.
The next instant the figure of the big, broad-chested leader came out into the light, and upon the boys facing round to him his features were pretty well fixed upon their brains as they noted his smooth, deeply-lined brown face, black curly hair streaked with grey, dark, piercing eyes and the pair of large gold earrings in his well-formed ears. “Aha!” he cried, showing his white teeth, “bonjour, mes amis. Good-a-morning, my young friends. I hope you sal have sleep vairy vell in my hotel. Come along vis me: ze brearkfas is all vaiting.”
This address, in a merry, bantering tone, so different from the fierce burst of abuse which he anticipated, rather took Vince aback; and he was the more staggered when the man held out his hand naturally enough, which Vince gripped, Mike doing precisely the same.
“Dat is good, vairy good,” said the man, while his followers looked on. “You vill boze introduce yourself. You are—?”
He looked hard at Mike.
“Michael Ladelle,” said the owner of the name.
“And you sall be—?”
“Vincent Burnet.”
“Aha, yaas. I introduce myself—Capitaine Jacques Lebrun, at your sairvice, and ze brearkfas vait. You are vairy moshe ready?”
“Yes,” said Vince boldly; “I want my breakfast very badly.”
“Aha, yaas; and votre ami, he vill vant his. You do not runs avay?”
“Not till after breakfast,” said Vince, smiling.
“No? Dat is good. You are von brave. Zen ve vill put avay ze carving knife and not have out ze pistol. En avant! You know ze vay to ze salle-à-manger. You talk ze Français, bose of you. Aha?”
“I can understand that,” said Vince. “So can he. N’est-ce pas, Mike?”
A short nod was given in response, and the French captain clapped them both on the shoulders, gripping them firmly and urging them along.
“It is good,” he said. “I am so bien aise to see my younger friend. Up vis you!”
“Come along, Mike,” said Vince, in a low voice; “it’s all right.”
Mike did not seem to think so, but he followed Vince up the rope into the fissure, after one of the armed men; the captain came next, and he kept on talking in his bantering tone as they crept along the awkward rift.
“Vairy clever; vairy good!” he cried. “I see you know ze vay. It is magnifique. You see, I find I have visitor, and zey do not know ven ze déjeuner is prêt, so I am oblige to make one leetle—vat you call it—trap-springe, and catch ze leetle bird.”
A rope was ready at the other end of the fissure, and as Vince dropped down it was into the presence of half a dozen more men, while in the rapid glance that he cast round, the boy saw that a boat was drawn up on the sand and a fire of wood was burning close down to the water’s edge. Vince noticed, too, that one of the men who followed stopped back by the rope, with his drawn cutlass carried military fashion; and his action gave a pretty good proof that everything had been carefully planned beforehand in connection with the “trap-springe,” as the Frenchman called it.
Preparations had already been made for breakfast, one of the men acting as cook; and in a short time kegs were stood on end round a beautifully clean white tablecloth spread upon the soft sand; excellent coffee, good bread-and-butter, and fried mackerel were placed before them, and the French captain presided.
The boys felt exceedingly nervous and uncomfortable, for they could see plainly enough that their captor was playing with them, and acting a part. They knew, too, that they were prisoners, and shivers of remorse ran through them as the thought of the anxious ones at home kept troubling them; but there was a masterfulness about their fierce young appetites, sharpened to a maddening desire by long fasting, which, after the first choking mouthful or two, would not be gainsaid; and they soon set to work voraciously, while the captain ate as heartily, and his men, all but the sentry, gathered together by themselves to make their breakfast alone.
“Brava!” cried the captain, helping them liberally to the capital breakfast before them: “I can you not tell how vairy glad I am to see my young amis. My table has not been so honour before.”
At last the meal was at end, and the captain clapped his hands for the things to be cleared away, a couple of the men leaping up and performing this task with quite military alacrity.
The boys exchanged glances, and, without communicating one with the other, rose together; while the captain raised his eyebrows.
“Aha!” he said: “you vant somesings else?”
“Only to say thank you for our good breakfast, and to tell you that we are now going home.”
“Going home?” said the captain grimly. “Aha, you sink so. Yaas, perhaps you are right. You Anglais call it going home—à la mort—to die.”
“No, we don’t,” said Vince sharply. “We mean going home. We have been out all night.”
“Aha, yaas; and the bon papa and mamma know vere you have come?”
“No,” replied Vince quickly; “no one knows of this but us.”
“Vraiment?” said the captain, and he looked searchingly at Mike. “No one knows but my young friend?”
“No,” said Mike. “We found the cave by accident; we fell into the way that leads down, and kept it a secret.”
“Good boy; but you can keep secret?”
“Yes,” said Mike; “of course.”
“Aha! so can I,” said the captain, laughing boisterously. “Suppose I send you home my vay, eh? No one know ze vay to ze cavern.”
“I don’t understand you,” said Mike sturdily.
“Ma foi! vy should you understand? I send you home, and nobody know nosings. Les gens—ze peoples—look for you; they do not find you, and zey say—Aha, pauvres garçons, zey go and make a falls off ze cliff, and ve nevaire see them any more!”
Mike turned pale; Vince laughed.
“He does not mean it, Mike,” said the boy. “We know better than that, Captain Jacques.”
“Aha, you are so clever a boy. You vill explain how you know all ze better zan me, le Capitaine Lebrun.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” said Vince sturdily. “You don’t suppose we believe you would kill us because we came down here,—here, where we have business to come, but you have not?”
“Aha! c’est comme ça—it is like zat, my friend? You may come here, and I must not?”
“Of course,” said Vince. “This land belongs to his father, and you have no right to put smuggled things here.”
“Aha! you sink it ees like zat, eh, mon ami? Ve sall see. You vill put yourselves down to sit.”
“No, thank you,” said Vince. “We must go now.”
“To fetch ze peoples to come and fight and be killed?”
“No,” said Vince; “we will not say a word about where we have been.”
“But we must, Vince,” said Mike. “They will ask us; and what are we to say?”
“To be certain, my friend—of course,” said the captain, showing his teeth. “You see it is so. Zey vill ask vere you go all night, and you vill say to see le Capitaine Lebrun and his cargo of silk and lace and glove and scent bottaile and ze spice; and vat zen?”
Vince had no answer ready.
“You do not speak, my friend. Zen I vill. I cannot spare you to go and speak like zat. Nobodies must know that I have my leetle place to hide here. No, I cannot spare you. You will not go back chez vous—to your place vere you live. You understand?”
Vince looked at the man very hard, and he nodded, and went on:
“I am glad to see you bose. I make myself very glad of vat you call you compagnie. But I do not ask you to come; and so I say you go back nevaire more.”
“You don’t mean that!” said Vince, with a laugh that was very artificial.
“Aha! I do not mean? You vill see I mean. I sall see you vill sit down.”
“No,” said Vince firmly. “I am not frightened, and I insist upon going now.”
“It is so? How you go?”
“Out by the passage yonder.”
“Faith of a good man, no. I say to myselfs, ‘People have come down zere, and it muss not be,’ so ze place is stop up vis big stone—so big you nevaire move zem. But zere’s ze ozaire vay.”
“Well, we will go the other way,” said Vince firmly. “Ready, Mike?”
“Yes, I’m ready,” said Mike, pressing to his side.
“You know ze ozaire vay, my young friend?” said the captain.
“No: how do you go?”
“You take a boat, and a good pilot. You have ze good boat and pilot?”
“No,” said Vince, who had hard work to be calm, with a great fear coming over him like a cloud; “but you will set us ashore, please.”
The captain laughed in a peculiar way, and he was about to speak, when one of his men came up and said something.
“Aha!” he cried, “but it is good. You go, my young friends, and stay behind my cargo zere. You vill not come till I say you sall.”
He pointed to the upper part of the cavern, but Vince said firmly:
“We cannot stay any longer, sir. We must go now.”
The captain turned upon him savagely, and the next moment a couple of the men had seized the boys and run them up behind the pile of bales, and then stood on either side, with drawn cutlasses, to act as guards.
“What are we to do, Vince?” said Mike.
“I don’t know. It seems like nonsense, and playing with us; but we are prisoners, and— Who’s that?”
They both listened in wonder, for they heard their names mentioned angrily by the captain, who was speaking threateningly to some one who replied in a tone that they recognised directly.
“Aha! you lie to me. Ve sall see. Here, you two boy, come here, vite—vite!”
The guards made way for them, and followed just behind, as they marched back to where the captain was seated, with old Daygo standing before him.
The old man gave each of them a peculiar look, and then turned to the captain again.
“Now zen,” cried that individual, “you ’ave seen zis man. Him you know?”
“Yes,” said Vince; “of course we do.”
“Aha! ze old friend. And he tell you of ze cavern and ze smuggling, and how you find ze vay here?”
“No, not a word,” said Vince stoutly. “But I can see now why you wouldn’t bring us round by the Black Scraw, Joe.”
“Aha! ze vairy old friend. It is Joe!” said the captain fiercely.
“Well, why not?” said Vince quickly. “Old Joe has taken us in his boat scores of times fishing and sailing.”
“And told you of ze goods here in my cavern?”
“Not a word,” said Vince.
“I do not believe,” said the captain.
“’Course I never told ’em,” growled Daygo. “I dunno how they come here. I watched ’em times enough, and when I couldn’t watch I set a boy to see wheer they went. I couldn’t do no more, Capen.”
The Frenchman looked at them all in turn fiercely, and then he fixed his eyes on old Daygo again.
“And ze peoples up above, zey are look for zem—ze boy?”
“I dunno,” said Daygo. “I didn’t know they were here, and I dunno how they come. Dropt down with a rope, young gen’lemen?”
“No, zay come anozaire vay, my friend. It is good luck for you I do not find zey know how of you. But sink no one on ze island know?”
“I dunno,” said Daygo. “They don’t know from me.”
“You can go,” said the captain sharply, and the old fisherman thrust his hands very deeply down in the pockets of his huge trousers and was turning slowly away when Mike cried:
“Stop!”
Daygo turned slowly back, and the captain watched the boy with his dark eyes glittering as he sat facing the light.
“Are you going back home?” cried Mike.
“Ay, m’lad, when the skipper’s done with me.”
“Then never mind what he says: you go straight to the Mount and tell my father everything, and that we are kept here like prisoners.”
“Nay, young gen’leman,” said Daygo, rolling his head slowly from side to side, “I warnt you both agen it over and over agen, when you ’most downed on your knees, a-beggin’ and a-prayin’ of me to bring you round by the Scraw; but I never would, now would I, Master Vince?”
“No, you old scoundrel!” cried Vince hotly. “I can see now: because you’re a smuggler too.”
Old Daygo chuckled.
“Didn’t I tell you both never to think about it, because there was awful currents and things as dragged boats under, and that it was as dangerous as it could be? Now speak up like a man, Master Vince, and let Capen Jarks hear the truth.”
“Truth!” said Vince scornfully; “do you call that truth, telling us both a pack of lies, when you must have been coming here often yourself?”
“Eh? Well, s’pose I did, young gen’leman: it was on my lorful business, and you fun out fer yourselves as it’s no place for boys like you.”
“Look here,” said Vince fiercely: “you’ve got to do what Michael Ladelle says, and to tell my father too.”
“Nay, my lad; that arn’t no lorful business of mine.”
“Do you mean to say that you will not tell?”
“Ay, my lad: I’m sorry for you both, proper lads as you are; but you would come, and it’s no fault o’ mine.”
“You Joe,” cried Vince angrily: “if you do not warn them above where we are, you’ll never be able to live on the island again, and you’ll be severely punished.”
“Who’s to tell agen me?” said the old man sharply.
“Why, I shall, and Mike here, of course.”
“When?” said Daygo, in a peculiar tone of voice.
“As soon as ever we get back; and you’ll be punished. I suppose Captain Jacques here will have sailed away.”
“Soon as you get back, eh, young gen’lemen? Did Capen Jarks say as he was going to send you home?”
“No,” said Vince; “but he will have to soon.”
“I’m sorry for you, my lads—sorry for you,” growled Daygo; and a chill ran through both the boys, as they saw the Frenchman looking at them in a very peculiar way. “Sorry—yes, lads, but I did my best fer you, and so good-bye.”
“No, no,” cried Mike excitedly; “don’t go and leave us, Joe. Tell the captain here that if we say we’ll promise not to speak to any one about the place we’ll keep our words.”
Daygo shook his head.
“It’s o’ no use for me to say nothin’, Master Mike: he’s master here, and does what he likes. You hadn’t no business to come a-shovin’ yourself into his place.”
“It is not his place,” cried Mike indignantly; “it is my father’s property.”
“I arn’t got no time to argufy about that, my lad. He says it’s his, and all this here stuff as you sees is his too. Here, I must be off, or I shall lose this high tide and be shut-in.”
“No, no, Joe—stop!” cried Mike. “I’ll—”
“Hold your tongue, Ladle,” whispered Vince. “Don’t do that; they’ll think we’re regular cowards. Here you, Joe Daygo, if you go away and don’t give notice to Sir Francis or my father about our being kept here by this man—”
“Say the Capen or the skipper, my lad,” growled Daygo. “Makes him orkard if he hears people speak dis-speckful of him.”
“Pooh!” exclaimed Vince hotly. “I say, you know what the consequences will be.”
“Yes, my lad; they won’t never know what become of you.”
Vince winced, in spite of his determination to be firm, on hearing the cold-blooded way in which the old fisherman talked, but he spoke out boldly.
“Do you mean to say he will dare to keep us here?”
“Yes, my lad, or take you away with him, or get rid of you somehow. You see he’s capen and got his crew, and can do just what he likes.”
“No, he can’t,” said Vince; “the law will not let him.”
“Bless your ’art, Master Vince, he don’t take no notice o’ no law. But I hope he won’t drownd you both, ’cause you see we’ve been friendly like. P’r’aps he’ll on’y ship you off to Bottonny Bay, or one o’ they tother-end-o’-the-world places, where you can’t never come back to tell no tales.”
“I don’t believe it: he dare not. Don’t take any notice, Mike; he’s only saying this to scare us, and we’re not going to be scared.”
“Now, mon ami,” cried the captain, “you vill not get out if you do not depart zis minute. I cannot spare to have you drowned. I sall sail to-night, and you vill be here ready?”
“Ay, ay, I’ll be here,” growled Daygo.
“Then you are coming back?” said Vince quickly.
“That’s so, Master Vince. How’s he going to get the Belle-Marie out without me to pilot him? Yes, I’m comin’ back to-night, my lad; and I hope I shall see you agen.”
He said these last words in a whisper, which sent a chill through the lads, for that he was serious there could be no doubt.
By this time two men were down by the boat, that was now half in the water, which had risen till she was rocking sidewise to and fro; and smartly enough the old fisherman turned and trotted over the sand to join in thrusting the boat out, and then sprang in.
This was too much for Mike, who made a sudden dash after him.
“Come on, Vince,” he cried; and the boy followed, but only to catch hold of his companion as he clung to the bows of the boat.
“Don’t I don’t do that, Mike,” cried Vince; “you couldn’t get away.”
Three men who had rushed after them, and were about to seize the prisoners, refrained as soon as they saw Vince’s action; and the boat with old Daygo on board glided out among the rocks, and then passed off out of sight, round the left buttress of the cavern mouth.
This was enough: Mike turned furiously upon Vince and struck him, sending him staggering backward over the thick sand; and, unable to keep his balance, the lad came down in a sitting position.
“You coward!” cried Mike: “if it hadn’t been for you we might have got away.”
“Coward, am I?” cried Vince, as he sprang up and dashed at his assailant, with fists clenched and everything forgotten now but the blow. He did not strike out, though, in return, for an arm was thrown across his chest and a gruff voice growled out,—
“Are we to let ’em have it out, Capen Jarks?”
“No; mais I sink zey might have von leetle rights. Non, non, non! You do not vant to fight now, mes enfans; you have somesings else to sink. You feel like a big coward?”
“No, I don’t,” said Vince, to whom the words were addressed: “I’ll let him see if you’ll make this man let go.”
“Non, non, non!” said the captain, raising his hand to tug at one of the rings in his ears. “You do not vant to fight. Let me see.”
He began to feel the muscles of Vince’s arms, and nodded as if with satisfaction.
“It seem a pity to finish off a boy like you. I sink you vould make a good sailor and a fine smugglaire on my sheep. Perhaps I sall not kill you.”
“Bah!” cried Vince, looking him full in the face. “Do you think I’m such a little child as to be frightened by what you say?”
“Leetle schile? Non, non. Vous êtes un brave garçon—a big, brave boy. Zere, you sall not fight like you Anglais bouledogues, and vat you call ze game coq. You comprends, mon enfant.”
“Then you’d better take him away,” cried Vince, who was effervescing with wrath against his companion.
“Aha, yaas,” said the Frenchman, grinning. “You sink I better tie you up like ze dogue. But, faith of a man, you fly at von and anozaire I sall—”
He drew a small pistol out of his breast, and, giving both lads a significant look,—
“Zere,” he continued, “I sall not chain you bose up. You can run about and help vis ze crew. I only say to you ze passage is block up vis big stone, ze hole vere ze seal live is no good—ze rock hang over ze wrong vay. You try to climb, and you are not ze leetler mouche—fly. You fall and die; and if you essay to svim, ze sharp tide take you avay to drown. Go and svim if you like: I sall not have ze pain to drown you. But, my faith! vy do I tell you all zis? You bose know zat you cannot get avay now ze passage is stop up vis stone, and I stop him vis a man who has sword and pistol as vell. Go and help ze men.”
He walked away, leaving the boys together, carefully avoiding each other’s eyes, as they felt that they were prisoners indeed, and wondered what was to be their fate.
Vince took a few turns up and down upon the sand with his hands deep in his pockets. Mike seated himself upon the keg he had occupied over his breakfast, for in their frame of mind they both resented being ordered to go and help the men; but at that time the worst pang of all seemed to be caused by the fact that, just at the moment when they wanted each other’s help and counsel, with the strength of mind given by the feeling that they were together, they were separated by the unfortunate conduct of one.
Chapter Twenty Six.
The Pirate Captain of their Dreams.
The walk did Vince good, for the action given to his muscles carried off the sensation which made his fists clench from time to time in his pockets and itch to be delivering blows wherever he could make them light on his companion’s person.
He did not notice that he was ploughing a rut in the sand by going regularly to and fro, for he was thinking deeply about their position; and as he thought, the dread that the captain’s words had inspired, endorsed as they were by Daygo’s, began to fade away, till he found himself half contemptuously saying to himself that he should like to catch the skipper at it—it meaning something indefinite that might mean something worse, but in all probability keeping them prisoners till he had got away all his stores of smuggled goods.
Then, as the rut in the sand grew deeper from the regular tramp up and down, Vince’s thoughts flitted from the trouble felt by his mother, who must be terribly anxious, to his companion, whose back was towards him, and who with elbows on knees had bent down to rest his chin upon his hands.
Vince was a little surprised at himself, and rather disposed to think that he was weak; for somehow all the hot blood had gone out of his arms and fists, which were now perfectly cool, and felt no longer any desire to fly about as if charged with pugno-electricity, which required discharging by being brought into contact with Mike’s chest or head.
“Poor old Ladle!” he found himself thinking: “what a temper he was in! But it was too bad to hit out like that, when what I did was to help him. But there, he didn’t know.”
Vince was pretty close to his fellow-prisoner now; but he had to turn sharply round and walk away.
“Glad I didn’t hit him again, because if I had we should have had a big fight and I should have knocked him about horribly and beaten him well, and I don’t want to. I’m such a stupid when I get fighting: I never feel hurt—only as if I must keep on hitting; and then all those sailor fellows would have been looking on and grinning at us. Glad we didn’t fight.”
Then Vince began to think again of their position, which he told himself was very horrible, but not half so bad as that of the people at both their homes, where, only a mile or two away from where they were, the greatest trouble and agony must reign.
“And us all the time with nothing the matter with us, and sitting down as we did and eating such a breakfast! Seems so unfeeling; only I felt half-starved, and when I began I could think of nothing else.—Such nonsense! he’s not going to kill us, or he wouldn’t have given us anything to eat. Here, I can’t go on like this.”
Vince stopped his walk to and fro at the end of the beaten-out track in the sand, and turned off to stand behind Mike, who must have heard him come, but did not make the slightest movement.
Then there was silence, broken by the voice of the French captain giving his orders to his men, who were evidently rearranging the stores ready for removal.
“I say, Mike,” said Vince at last.
No answer.
“Michael.”
Still no movement. “Mr Michael Ladelle.”
Vince might have been speaking to the tub upon which his fellow-prisoner was seated, for all the movement made.
“Michael Ladelle, Esquire, of the Mount,” said Vince; and there was a good-humoured look in his eyes, which twinkled merrily; but the other did not stir.
“Ladle, then,” cried Vince; but without effect,—Mike was still gazing at the sand before him.
“I say, don’t be such a sulky old Punch. Why don’t you speak? I want to talk to you about getting away. Mike—Ladle—I say, you did hurt when you hit out at me. I shall have to pay you that back!”
No answer.
“Look here: aren’t you going to say you’re sorry for it and shake hands?”
Vince waited for a while and then burst out impatiently,—
“Look here, if you don’t speak I’ll kick the tub over and let you down.”
All in vain: Mike did not move, and Vince began to grow impatient.
“Here, I say,” he cried, “I know I’m a bit of a beast sometimes, but you can’t say I’m sulky. I did nothing; and if it was I, you know I’d have owned I was in the wrong and held out my fist—open; not like you did, to knock a fellow down.”
Another pause, and Vince exclaimed,—
“Well, I am—”
He did not say what, but stood with extended arm.
“I say, Mikey,” he said softly, “I know you haven’t got any eyes in the back of your head, so I may as well tell you. I’m holding out my hand for a shake, and my arm’s beginning to ache.”
“Don’t—don’t!” said Mike now, in a low voice, full of the misery the lad felt. “I feel as if you were jumping on me for what I did.”
“Do you? Well, I’m not going to jump on you. Come, I have got you to speak at last, and there’s an end of it. I say, Ladle, it’s too stupid for us two to be out now, when we want to talk about how we’re stuck here.”
“I feel as if I can’t speak to you,” said Mike huskily.
“More stupid you. Didn’t I tell you it’s all over now? You were in a passion, and so was I. Now you’re not in a passion, no more am I; so that’s all over. You heard what the pirate captain said about us?”
“Yes,” said Mike dolefully.
“Well, he and old Joe— Here, Ladle: I’m going to kick old Joe. I don’t care about his being old and grey. A wicked old sneak!—I’ll kick him, first chance I get, for leaving us in the lurch; but that isn’t what I was going to say. Here, why don’t you turn round and sit up? Don’t let those beggars think we’re afraid of them. I won’t be,—see if I am.”
Mike slowly changed his position, turning round and sitting up.
“Now, then, that’s better,” said Vince. “What was I going to say? Oh! I know. The pirate captain and old Joe wanted to make us believe that we were to be taken out to sea, to walk the plank or be hung or shot or something.”
“Joe said something about Botany Bay and sending us there.”
“No, he didn’t; he said Bottonny, and there is no such place. He couldn’t do it, and he couldn’t keep us prisoners here.”
“He might kill us.”
“No, he mightn’t. Bah! what a silly old Ladle you are! He couldn’t. People don’t do such things now, only in stories. I tell you what I believe.”
“What?” said Mike, for Vince paused as if to think.
“Well, I believe he feels that his old smuggler’s cave is done for now we’ve found out the way down to it, so he’s going to clear it out and start another somewhere else. He means to keep us prisoners till the last keg’s on board, and as soon as this is done he’ll go to his boat and take his hat off to us and tell us we may have the caverns all to ourselves.”
“Think so?” said Mike, looking up at his companion for the first time.
“Yes, I believe that’s it, Ladle; and if it wasn’t for knowing how miserable they must be over yonder I should rather like all this—that is, if you’re going to play fair and not get hitting out when we ought to be the best of friends.”
“Don’t—don’t, Cinder: I can’t bear it,” groaned Mike, letting his head drop in his hands. “I hurt myself a hundred times more than I hurt you.”
“Oh, did you! Ha! ha!” cried Vince. “Come, I like that: why, I shall have a bruise as big as the top of my hat! Oh, I say, Ladle, old chap, don’t—don’t talk like that! It’s all right. You thought I was fighting against you. Sit up. Some of the beggars will see.”
Mike sat up with his face twitching, and kept his back to the upper part of the cavern.
“That’s better. Well, I say I should really like it if it wasn’t for them at home. I call it a really good, jolly adventure, such as you read of in books. Now, what we’ve got to do is to wait till they’re asleep, cut off all their heads with their own cutlasses, seize the boat, row off to the lugger, wait till old Joe comes back, and then spike him with the points of cutlasses till he pilots us out safely. Then we’ve got to sail home as prize crew of the lugger, which would be ours. Stop! there’s something we haven’t done.”
Mike stared.
“Old Joe. As soon as we’re out of the dangerous passages we’ve got to batten him down in the hold, and that’s the end of the adventure.”
“How can you go on like that?” said Mike piteously. “Making fun of it all, when we’re so miserable.”
“That’s why: just to cheer us up a bit, and set us thinking about what’s next to do.”
“I can’t think,” said Mike. “It’s a pity we didn’t stop in the seal hole.”
“Stop there? We should have felt nice by now. Why, our legs would be all swollen, and we should be so hungry that— Here, I say, Ladle, you wouldn’t have been safe. I wonder how you’d taste?”
“I say, do be serious, Cinder. It’s too horrible to laugh at it.”
“Well, so it is, old chap, but I am thinking hard all the time, yet I can’t see any way out of it. I know we could swim almost like seals; but look at the water out there,—we couldn’t do anything in it.”
“No, we should be sucked down in five minutes.”
“Yes. The old pirate knows it, too, and that’s why he leaves us alone. I say, he does look like a pirate, though, doesn’t he? with that pistol, and the rings in his ears.”
“Oh! I never saw a pirate, only on those pictures we tried to paint. But what about the cliffs?”
“No good. They’re either straight up and down or overhanging. We couldn’t do it.”
“We might get over the other side and make signals.”
“Yes; there is something in that. But don’t you think we might get away by the passage? The sentry may go to sleep.”
“No good,” said Mike bitterly. “Those fellows daren’t.”
“S’pose not,” said Vince thoughtfully. “Old Jarks is the sort of chap to wake ’em up with his pistol. It’s of no use yet, Ladle; the idea hasn’t come. Yes, it has! Why can’t we wait our chance and seize the boat and get it off? We could manage.”
“Hush!” whispered Mike.
The warning was needed, for the captain came from the back of the stack of packages, and marched down towards where they were.
Chapter Twenty Seven.
What will he do with us?
“Aha!” he cried. “So you sall not try to escape any more?”
“No,” said Vince coolly, looking the speaker full in the face. “I say, what time do you have dinner?”
The Frenchman stared at him for a few moments fiercely, and then burst into a boisterous fit of laughter.
“You are a drôle de garçon” he said. “You are again hungry?”
“I shall be by the time it’s ready. But, I say, captain, how much longer are you going to keep us here?”
“Aha!” he said, with a shrug of the shoulders and a peculiar gesticulation with his hand, as if he were throwing something away, while he looked at them both sidewise through his half-closed eyes: “You are fatigue so soon? You vant to go somevere else?”
“We want to go home.”
“Good leetler boy: he vant to go home. But not yet, mes amis. You give the good capitain all zis pains to move his cargo, and you vill not help.”
“Oh, I’m ready enough to help,” said Vince. “So’s he; but they will be very anxious about us at home.”
“Ta ta ta ta ta!” cried the captain. “Vy, you sink so mosh of your selfs. Ze bon papa vill say to la maman, ‘Ah! ma chère, dose boy go and tomble zem selfs off ze cliff;’ and ze maman sall wipe her eye and say, ‘pauvre garçon—poor boy, it is vat I expect.’”
“And instead of that,” said Vince, “you are going to send us home, and then they will not be fidgeting any more.”
“Aha! you sink so. Vell, ve sall see. So I go to be vairy busy, and it is better zat you two do not fight any more. So come vis me.”
“Where?” said Vince suspiciously.
“Vere? Oh! you sall see, mon brave, vairy soon.”
The boys exchanged glances, but feeling that it was hopeless to resist, they followed the captain down to where the boat was lying, just as she had returned a few minutes before, without Daygo.
The men in her were just keeping her afloat, but they ran her stern on to the sand as they saw the captain coming, and one of them leaped out to hold her steady.
“In vis you!” said the captain sharply.
“All right, Mike,” whispered Vince. “Come on, and don’t seem to mind.”
He set the example by putting one foot on the gunwale and springing in lightly. Mike followed, and then the captain; while the man standing ankle-deep in the water waited till they were seated, and then, giving the boat a good thrust out, sprang on the stern, and climbed in as they glided over the transparent water, stepping forward quickly to seize an oar, and pulling sharply with his companion.
The boys gazed eagerly upward as soon as they were clear of the great overhanging archway, and saw the impossibility of escape by any cliff-climbing; for the mighty rocks were at least twenty feet out of the perpendicular, leaning over towards the little bay, whose waters were running, eddying and boiling like a whirlpool as they raced along, seizing the boat’s head and seeming about to drag her right along towards a jagged cluster of rocks, standing just above the surface, and amidst which the current raged and foamed furiously.
But the men knew their work. One pulled hard, the other backed water, and by their united efforts the boat was forced into an eddy close under the cliff; and to their amazement the boys found that they were being carried in the opposite direction to that in which the main body of the water was racing along.
“You vill escape and climb ze cliff? No, mes enfans,” said the captain: “you cannot climb. You vill take my boat to go avay? Aha! you sink so? No, it is not for you to manage ze boat. She vill capsize herself if you try.”
Vince said nothing, but eagerly looked around; but it was everywhere the same—the roaring waters tearing wildly along in the crater-like cove, and from their seat in the boat no entrance, no exit, was visible.
“Now I take you bose and drop you ovaire-board: you sink, you go home?” said the captain, showing his teeth. “Yaas, you go home, but not to see ze bon papa, ze belle maman. It is not possible. Von of my men say von day he have sick of me, and he vill go. He shump ovaire-board to svim, and he svim vis his arm and leg von, two, twenty stroke, and zen he trow les mains out of ze vater, and he cry for ze boat; but zere vas no boat, and he turn round upon himself two time, and go down a hole in ze vater. I stand and look at him, but he came up again nevaire. He vas a good man—bon matelot—but he go. You like to shump in and svim? Eh bien, you shake ze hand, shump in. Au revoir, but ve shall meet again nevaire. You go? Non? Eh bien! I make you ze offaire.”
The boys felt that it was all true, and marvelled where they were going, for the eddy was taking them along by the mighty rocks, which were overhanging them again; and, as far as they could make out, the cliffs under which they passed and the ridge away facing the cavern mouth, which they had imagined to be an island, were all one.
The captain seemed to be paying little heed to them, sitting with his eyes half-closed; but he was watching them all the time closely, and noted their astonishment as the men suddenly began to tug at their oars with all their might, apparently to avoid a rock, round one side of which the water was rushing with tremendous force, just as if the eddy stream along which they had been riding suddenly curved round it. The men were making for the other end, and as they drew nearer the water roared and splashed up, and it appeared to both that they must be carried right upon it by some undertow.
But every foot of the place, and all its difficulties, were perfectly familiar to the captain’s crew, and by making use of the many cross streams and eddies, they were able to guide the boat into safety, as in this case; for just as Mike seized the gunwale with one hand, to be prepared for the shock, and Vince clenched his fists and gave a glance to the left, the boat’s prow passed the end of the detached rock, they glided into an opening like a gash cut down through the massive rock-wall, and the next minute were swept into a comparatively calm pool, surrounded by towering cliffs, which seemed to overlap on their right; and there, right before them, rode by a couple of hawsers attached to great rings fixed in the rock-face behind, a long, low three-masted lugger of the kind known as a chasse-marée.
Vince looked sharply round for the channel by which this vessel must come and go—for it seemed certain that such a way must exist, since so large a boat could not by any means have entered the circular cove facing the cavern; and he was not long in seeing that, some twenty or thirty feet beyond her bow, the water was coming swiftly in round the cliff, which lapped over another to its right, but so calmly did the tide run that at the first its motion was unperceived.
Vince had hardly grasped this fact, when the boat was run up alongside, one of the men sprang into the lugger with the boat’s painter and made it fast, while the boat seemed to tug to get away, and the captain turned to his prisoners.
“Aboard!” he said sharply; and as there was nothing for it but to obey, Vince made a virtue of necessity, and going forward, climbed up and over the bulwark, to stand upon a beautifully white deck, and see that rigging, sails and spars were all in the highest state of order.
Six or eight men were waiting, and they came aft at once, to stand as if waiting for orders, while Mike and the captain stepped on board.
“Back at once!” said the Frenchman to a stern-looking, red-faced man, who appeared to be the mate. “All ze boats; and work hard to get all on board.”
This order was given in a low tone, but Vince’s ears were sharpened by his position, and he divined its full meaning.
The men hurried to the side, and rapidly began to lower one of the boats hanging to the davits; while in his close scrutiny Vince grasped the fact that they were upon no peaceful vessel: there being a couple of longish guns forward, and another pair aft, all evidently in the best of trim, and ready for use at a very short notice.
While the men were busy the captain came to where the boys were standing together aft, and laying his hands upon their shoulders, he led them forward to where one of the stout hawsers ran over the side to the great ring secured in the rock.
“You see zat hawser, mon ami?” he said.
“Yes,” said Vince wonderingly.
“Look you zen at ze ozaire.”
“Yes, I see it,” said Vince.
“Vat you make of zem?”
“They look strained too much, and as if they would part.”
“Good boy! You vould make a good sailor. Zey vill not part, for zey are new, and très fort—strong. Now you look here, mon ami.”
As he spoke he picked up a heavy dwarf bucket, with its rope attached, raised it above his head, and hurled it some twenty feet into the smooth water between the lugger and the high cliff face.
The water was like glass, and streaked with fine threads apparently; and the next minute the lads grasped the reason why, for the bucket had hardly touched the water when it began to be borne towards the lugger’s side, striking it directly after sharply, and then diving down out of sight.
Vince ran across the deck instantly to see it rise; and Mike followed, the captain joining them to lay his hands upon their shoulders once more.
“Aha! you see him come up again? No? Look encore and encore, and you nevaire sall see him. Vat you say to zat?”
“There must be a tremendous current,” said Vince. “Yais,—now,” said the captain. “Après, some time he run all ze ozaire vay and grind ze sheep close up right to ze rock. Vat you sink now? You shump ovaire, and svim avay? You creep along ze hawser and try to climb up ze cliff? No, I sink not now. You stay here on ze deck and vait till I vant you—ven ze boat come back. Dat is vy I show you how go avay ze bucket. Look now again.”
One of the boats was ready, and two men in her. The rope that held her to the side was cast off, and in an instant she glided away across the pool, towards an opening that had been unnoticed before, was deftly steered, and passed out of sight.
“Why, she must come out where we saw the water rushing at the other end of the rock!” thought Vince; and he stood watching while the other boats left the side of the lugger, to be cleverly guided to the same spot, and glide out of sight directly.
A feeling of helplessness came over the boys as they saw all this, and realised that now they were, beside the captain and a man who kept going in and out of a low, hutch-like place forward, the only occupants of the vessel; and that if their captor had any particular designs upon them, this would be the likely time for their happening. But they now had proof that this was not going to be the case, for the Frenchman took no further heed to them. He went to the cabin-hatch and descended, leaving them with the deck to themselves.
“What do you think of it now?” asked Mike dolefully.
“I don’t know,” said Vince, gazing up at the towering rocks, dotted with yellow ragwort and sea-pink, by which they were surrounded; “but it’s a change. I wouldn’t care if they only knew at home about our being safe. I say, isn’t it likely that some one may come along the cliffs and be searching for us, and then we can signal to him?”
“Who ever came along the cliffs and looked down here?” said Mike. “We’ve been about as much as any one, but we never looked down into this pool.”
“No,” said Vince thoughtfully: “it puzzles me. I hardly make out whereabouts we are. I say, though, look forward: that’s the galley, and the chap we saw is the cook.”
“Of course,” said Mike; “there’s the chimney, and the smoke coming out.”
“Let’s go and see what there is for dinner.”
Mike’s forehead wrinkled up, and he felt disposed to say something reproachful; but he was silent, and followed his companion to the galley door, where the man they had seen looked up at them grimly, and as if resenting their presence.
“What’s for dinner, old chap?” said Vince coolly.
The sour look on the man’s face passed away. Vince’s countenance, and his free-and-easy way, seemed to find favour, and he said gruffly,—
“Lobscouse.”
“What, for the skipper?” said Vince, who had a lively memory of the captain’s breakfast.
“Men,” said the man laconically.
“And for the skipper?”
The man smiled grimly, and took the lid off a pot, which arose an agreeable steam, that was appetising and suggested good soup. Then, without a word, he pointed to a dish upon which lay a pair of thick soles, and to another, on which, ready egged and crumbed, were about a dozen neatly prepared veal cutlets.
“Got any potatoes,” said Vince.
The man raised a lid and showed the familiar vegetable, bubbling away on the little stove, which was roaring loudly, and put the saucepan down again.
“Well, we shan’t starve,” said Vince, as they each gave the cook a nod and walked as far forward as they could. “Captain hasn’t a bad notion about eating and drinking.”
“And smuggling and kidnapping,” said Mike bitterly.
“Kidnapping!” said Vince cheerily. “Ah, to be sure, that’s the very word: I thought something had been done to us that there’s a proper word for. That’s it, Ladle—kidnapped. Yes, we’ve been kidnapped.—I say!”
“Well?”
“Look here: are we two chaps worth anything?”
“I don’t feel to be now,” said Mike; “I’m too miserable.”
“Well, so am I miserable enough, but I suppose we must be worth something, and that’s why the skipper’s going to feed us well.”
“What nonsense have you got in your head now?”
“Nonsense? I call it some sense. For that’s it, Ladle, as sure as you stand there; he has kidnapped us, and he’s going to take us right away somewhere. Ladle, old chap, I feel as sure of it as if he’d told us. It is all nonsense about making an end of us. I was sure it only meant trying to frighten us; but we’re two big, strong, healthy lads, and he’s going to take us right away.”
“Do you mean it? What for?”
Vince looked sadly at his companion in misfortune for a few moments, and then he said huskily,—
“To sell!”
Chapter Twenty Eight.
Prisoners, but not of War.
Michael Ladelle was a good-looking lad, as people judge good looks; but at that moment, as he stood with his hand resting on the bulwarks of La Belle-Marie, he was decidedly plain, so blank and semi-idiotic did he seem, with his eyes dilated, his jaw dropped and his brains evidently gone wool-gathering, as people say, so utterly unable was he to comprehend his companion’s announcement.
Still it was only a matter of moments before he shut his mouth, and then nearly closed his eyes, wrinkled up his face, and burst into a fit of laughter, which, however, was of so hysterical a nature that for a time he could not check it. At last, though, he mastered it sufficiently to say,—
“To do what with us?”
“To sell,” said Vince again, as he gazed sadly in his companion’s face.
“To sell!” cried Mike, growing more calm now; and his voice had a ring of contempt in it as he said,—
“Why, any one would think this was Africa, and we were blacks. What nonsense!”
“It isn’t nonsense,” said Vince. “That man will do anything sooner than have it known where his hiding-place is; and he won’t kill us—he dares not on account of his men; but he’ll get us out of the way so that we shan’t be able to tell.”
“Oh, I won’t believe it!” cried Mike angrily. “Such a thing couldn’t be done.”
“But it has been done over and over again,” said Vince: “I’ve read of it. They used to sell men and boys to sea-captains to take out to the plantations; and once they were there, they had no chance given them of getting back for years and years.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Mike sharply. “It might have been in the past, but it couldn’t be done now.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to think,” said Vince sadly; “but this wouldn’t be done in England. This is a Frenchman, and the French have colonies abroad, the same as we have. How do we know where he’ll take us?” Mike started at this, and looked more disturbed. “I say,” he said at last, “you don’t really think that, do you, Vince?”
“I wish I didn’t,” replied the boy sadly; “but it’s what has seemed to come to me, since we’ve been on board here. I don’t know where this man comes from, but he’s a regular smuggler, and there’s no knowing where he’ll take us.”
“But my father—your father—you don’t suppose they’ll stand still and let us be taken off without trying to stop it. Father’s just like a magistrate in the island.”
“Of course they wouldn’t stand still and allow it to be done; but how will they know?”
Mike was silent, and his face now began to look haggard as he stared at his companion.
“Whoever knew that this Captain Jacques had a place in the island where he stored rich cargoes of foreign things? Why, he may have been doing it for years, and your father, though he is like a magistrate, hasn’t known anything about it.”
“No, nor your father either,” said Mike sadly. “I don’t think anything of that,” continued Vince; “what I do think a great deal of is that neither you nor I, who’ve always been climbing about the cliffs and boating shouldn’t have found it out before.”
“But surely now we’re missing they’ll find it out,” cried Mike, who was ready to snatch at any straw of hope.
“I don’t see how,” said Vince. “They’re sure to think that one of us met with an accident, and that the other was drowned in trying to save him.”
Mike was silent for some moments, during which he stood gazing wistfully at his fellow-prisoner.
“That would be very nice of them to think that of us,” he said at last, slowly. “But do you think they would believe us likely to be so brave?”
“Oh yes, they’d think so,” said Vince quickly—“I’m sure they would; but I don’t know about it’s being brave. It’s only what two fellows would do one for the other. It’s what English chaps always do, of course, but it’s like making a lot of fuss about it to call it brave. I should say it’s what a fellow should do, that’s all.”
“And no one knows—no one saw us go to the hole,” said Mike bitterly. “Oh, I say, Vince, we have made a mess of it to keep it a secret.”
“Yes, we have, and no mistake.”
“And no one knows,” repeated Mike thoughtfully. “Don’t you think Lobster might know, and tell them?”
“No, I’m sure he can’t. Of course old Joe knows; but he won’t speak, because if he did, and told the truth, the captain here would be ready to shoot him.”
“And my father would have him locked up, and tried for what he has done.”
“Yes,” said Vince, nodding his head; “Joe won’t speak—you may depend upon that. Why, Mike, while we were fishing for that crab, and were so still, some one must have come across the cave behind us and never known we were there.”
“Yes, and then we were caught as fast as the crab was and—”
“Eh bien, mes enfans, my good boy, are you hungry for your dinner?”
“Not very,” said Vince, turning sharply as the skipper came silently up behind them. “We feel as if we should like to dine at home.”
“Aha! You not mean zat, my bon garçon. Not ven I ask you to have dine vis me. Let us go and demand vat ze cook man—ze chef—have to give us, for it is long time since ze déjeuner and ve have much to do after. Come, sheer up, as ze sailor Anglais say. You like ze sea?”
“Yes,” said Vince; “both of us do.”
“And you can reef and furl ze sail?”
“Yes, we’ve often been in a boat.”
“Brava! it is good; and, aha! ze brave cook go to prepare ze cabin for ze dinnaire. You sall bose be my compagnie cet—to-day.”
Just then Vince caught sight of one of the lugger’s boats, and noticed that it was particularly broad and punt-like in make, evidently so that it should carry a big load and at the same time draw little water—a shape that would save it from many dangers in passing over rocks, and also be very convenient for running in and landing upon the sands.
This boat was very heavily laden with bales, carefully ranged and stacked, while the boat’s gunwale was so close to the surface that a lurch would have caused the water to flow in.
But the men who managed her seemed to be quite accustomed to their task; and after a sharp look directed at them by the skipper, he paid no more attention, but walked away.
It was different, though, with the boys; who, having ideas of their own connected with escaping from their position, watched the approach of the boat with intense curiosity, wondering how it could be rowed so easily against a current which ran with such tremendous force.
“I can’t make it out,” said Vince, as the boat came closer, and apparently with very little effort on the part of the men after they had passed out by the opening by which the prisoners had been brought on board.
“How is it, then?” said Mike.
“I suppose it’s because they know all the currents so well. It’s very hard to see; but I think that, as the water rushes round this cove and goes right across, most of it passes through the openings into our bay and makes all that swirling there.”
“Of course it does,” replied Mike. “I can see that.”
“Well, you might let me finish,” said Vince. “All this water flows right across.”
“You said that before.”
“And then,” continued Vince, without noticing the interruption, “part of it which there isn’t room for at the openings strikes against the rocks, and can’t get any farther.”
“Of course it can’t.”
“Well, it must go somewhere: water can’t be piled-up in a heap and stay like that; so it’s reflected—no, you can’t call it reflected—it’s turned back, and forms another stream, which flows back this way.”
“It couldn’t be,” said Mike shortly.
“Well, that’s the only way I can see, and that boat has come as easily as can be. Yes, I’m sure that’s it, Ladle; and you may depend upon it that three or four feet down the water’s rushing one way, while on the surface it’s flowing in the other direction.”
“Ah, well, it doesn’t matter to us,” said Mike bitterly, as the boat was brought up alongside cleverly, made fast, and her crew began to rapidly pass the bales over on to the deck, all being of one size, and, as Vince noticed, of a convenient size and weight for one man to handle.
“But it does matter to us, Mike,” whispered Vince eagerly.
“Why?”
“Because you and I couldn’t manage one of those big boats unless the currents helped us; but if we knew how these men managed them—”
“We could slip into one of them in the dark and get away.”
Vince nodded, and Mike drew a deep breath.
“Don’t look like that,” whispered Vince; “here’s Jacques coming to ask us why we don’t help.”
But they were wrong, for the captain took them each by the shoulder, his hands tightening with a heavy grip, which seemed to suggest that he could hold them much harder if he liked; and in this way he marched them before him to the cabin-hatch.
“Down vis you!” he said. “To-day you sall be vis me; to-morrow vis ze crew.”
“Aren’t you going to let us go back to-morrow?” said Vince quickly.
“Non! Go down.”
That first word was French, but any one would have understood what it meant—the tone was sufficient.
The boys gave a sharp look round the little cabin, which was plain enough, with its lockers for seats, and narrow table, which just afforded room for the three who entered the place.
“Sit,” said the captain shortly; and, directly after, “Mangez—eat. You do not understand—comprends—ze Français?”
“We do—a little,” said Mike.
“Aha! zat is good,” said the captain, with a peculiar laugh. “Zen ve sall be bons amis—good friend, eh? Now eat. You like soup, fish, eh?”
“We don’t like to be taken off like this, sir,” said Vince, who turned away from the food, good as it was, with disgust, wondering the while how he could have eaten so hearty a meal with the captain before. “We want to know what you are going to do with us.”
“Ah, truly you vant to know,” said the captain, partaking of his soup the while. “But ze ship boys do not ask question of ze capitaine.”
“But we’re not ship’s boys,” said Mike haughtily. “We are gentlemen’s sons, and we want to know by what right you drag us away from home.”
“Aha! yes; you eat your soup, mon brave boy, vile he is hot. Perhaps ze storms come to-morrow, and you are vere you get no soups no more, eh?”
“Look here, sir,” said Mike, flushing in his excitement, “will you set us ashore somewhere if we promise not to tell?”
“Non,” said the captain shortly. “Ve talk about all zat before! Eat your soup.”
For answer Mike dropped his spoon upon the table, and the captain glared at him viciously, but passed his anger off with an unpleasant laugh.
“Aha,” he said, “you vill not eat. I know. Ze souris—ze mouse, you know, valk himselfs into ze trap and spoil ze appetite. Ze toast cheese is not taste good, eh?”
Vince had his own ideas, and he ate a few spoonfuls of the soup and took some bread; but it seemed to choke him, and he soon put down his spoon, and the man, who seemed to act as cook and steward, took away the tureen and brought in the fish—the soles they had seen—well cooked and appetising; but the boys could not eat, in spite of the easy banter with which the captain kept on addressing them, and the fish gave way to cutlets and vegetables.
“Ah, I see,” said their captor at last: “you vill not eat, and I know ze reason. Ma foi, and it is too late to make ze amende you call him. You bose mean to eat ze grand krebs you ’ave catch and ’ave give him to ze men. Hélas! it is, as you say, a pity. Now you forget him, and eat ze cotelette. To-morrow you not like ze dinner vis ze crew, and,” he added, with a grin, “you may bose be vairy sick—malade-de-mer, eh?”
He helped them both liberally, but they could not eat; and soon after they followed their host on deck, to find that the hatches were off, and the bales all carefully stacked below, while the emptied boat had disappeared and another was on the way, Vince paying great heed to the manner in which she glided up to the lugger just about amidships.
By the time it was dusk five heavy loads had been brought on board, and the hatches were then replaced, the boats all but one being hoisted to the davits, the other left swinging by its painter from a ring-bolt astern; and from the number of men aboard the boys judged that no one was left at the caves. They noticed too that, contrary to custom, no light was hoisted anywhere about the vessel, and that, though there were lanthorns in the men’s cabin forward, and in the captain’s aft, no gleam shone forth to play upon the water.
No one seemed to pay any heed to the prisoners, who went from place to place to gaze now up at the darkening rocks, with the stars above them beginning to twinkle faintly here and there, now down at the black waters, which, as the night deepened, began to reflect the bright points of light from the heavens. But soon after, to take their attention a little from their cares, they began to notice that the dark depths below them were alive with light—little specks, that looked like myriads of stars in motion, rising from below the vessel’s keel, coming rapidly towards the surface and then gliding rapidly away. Every now and then there was a flash of light, just as if a pale greenish-golden flame had darted through the water from below; and, after noticing this several times, Vince said quietly—
“Fish feeding.”
“Don’t,” said Mike petulantly. “Who’s to think about fish feeding, when we’re like this? You don’t seem to mind it a bit.”
“Don’t I?” said Vince quietly; “but I do. Every time I see one of those little jelly-fish sailing along there, it makes me think of the light in our window at home—the one mother always puts there when I’m up at your place, so that I may see it from ever so far along the road. Father always jokes about it, and says it’s nonsense, but she puts it there all the same; and it’s there now, Mike, for she’s sure to say I may have been carried out to sea in some boat and be coming back to-night.”
“Oh, don’t—don’t!” groaned Mike: “it seems too horrid to hear.”
“Hush! what’s that?” said Vince. “Only a seabird calling somewhere off the water.”
“No, it isn’t,” whispered Vince. “One of the men wouldn’t have answered a seabird like that. It’s a boat coming from somewhere out yonder.”
“No boat would come through such a dark night, with all these dangerous currents among the rocks.”
But a minute later a boat did glide out of the darkness, a rope was thrown over the bulwarks, made fast, and as a man climbed over on to the deck the captain came out of his cabin and went forward to where the fresh comer was standing.
It was so dark that they could not make out what he was like, but in the stillness every word spoken could be heard; and they recognised the voice directly, as, in answer to a growl from the captain about being late, the man said,—“Been here long enough ago, Skipper Jarks, if it had been any good, but she don’t rise to it to-night. I’ve been hanging about ever so long, but she don’t touch what she should. There won’t be enough water for you on the rocks to-night by a foot.”
“Peste!” ejaculated the captain; “and I vant to go. But after an hour, vat den?”
“Be just as she is now, skipper. Wind’s been agen it since sundown, and kep’ the water back: you won’t get off to-night.”
“Bah!” ejaculated the captain angrily; but he changed his manner directly: “Ah, vell, my friend Daygo, ve must vait, eh? You vill stay vis me here?”
“Nay,” said the man. “I’ll have to go back. I’m cruising about round the island a-looking for them two young shavers.”
The captain turned his head sharply round and looked aft; but, keen as his sea-going eyes were, the presence of the boys passed unnoticed, and, probably concluding that they were farther aft, the captain said in a lower tone, but still perfectly audible.
“Dey look for zem?”
“Look for ’em? The whole island’s been at it ’bout the rocks and cliffs, and with every boat out; but do you know, Skipper Jarks, they arn’t fund ’em.”
The old scoundrel chuckled, and Mike heard Vince’s teeth grate together; and then directly after, he drew a deep breath, like a sigh, for the captain said softly,—
“And zey vill not find zem, eh?”
“They’ve been all day a-looking for their corpusses—for they’re dead now.”
“Aha! so soon?”
“Ay, skipper; they say they’ve gone off the rocks and been drownded, and when they told me I says I wondered they hadn’t been years ago, for they was the owdaciousest pair as ever I see. They’d do anything they took in their heads.”
“Aha! is it so?” said the captain.
“Ay, Skipper Jarks, it’s so; but I’m ’fraid I shan’t find their corpusses to-night. What do you say?”
“Nosing, mon ami: I on’y sink zat ze brave pilot. Josef Daygo, who know evairy rock and courant about ze island, vill find zem if any ones do. But, my friend, vat you sink? Zey find ze vay down to ze cave?”
“Nay, not they. Nobody can climb down they rocks.”
“And you sink zere is no one who find ze leetler passage?”
“Sure of it, skipper. If any one had found that there way down do you think he’d ha’ kep’ it to hisself? Nay, I should ha’ been sure to ha’ heered it, and if I had I’d ha’ done some’at as ’d startled him as tried to go down. On’y one man in the Crag know’d of that till they two dropped upon it somehow. I dunno how. It’s been a wonder to me, though, as nobody never did. Well, I must be going back: I’ve got a rough bit to do ’fore I gets home, and then I’ve got to go up to the Doctor’s.”
“Vell, you vill eat and drink somesing,” said the captain. “Come to ze cabin, and ve sall see.”
As it happened, he led the way across the deck, and then along the port side aft to the cabin-hatch, from whence came soon after the call for the cook, who went to and fro carrying plates and glasses, while the two boys still stood in their former places, leaning over the bulwarks and apparently watching the phosphorescent creatures in the sea, but seeing none.
It was some time before either of them spoke, and then it was Vince who broke the silence.
“So we’re both dead and swept out to sea, are we?” he said.
He waited for a few moments, and then, as Mike did not speak, he said, in a low whisper:
“I say, Mike, shouldn’t you like to take a piece of rock and drop it through old Joe’s boat?”
“No.”
“Well, I should. Of all the old rascals that I ever heard of he seems to be about the worst. Why, he’s regularly mixed up with this gang. Did you hear? It seems that you can only get in and out at certain times of the tide, and nobody knows how to pilot any one in but old Joe Daygo.”
“Did you understand it to be like that?” said Mike eagerly.
“Yes, he seems to be the regular pilot, and comes to take this French lugger in and to steer it out among the rocks. Oh, it’s terrible; and we’ve got old Joe to blame for all our troubles. I wish we’d sunk his boat.”
“Shouldn’t we have sunk ourselves too?”
“Well, perhaps. I should like to drop something through its bottom.”
“I shouldn’t,” said Mike quietly. “Why not? It would serve him well right.”
“Because I should like to use it ourselves.”
“Eh? What do you mean?” said Vince excitedly. “Now, younkers,” said a voice behind them, “skipper says I’m to show you two to your bunks.”
It was a rough, hairy-faced fellow who spoke to them, though in the darkness they did not get a very good view of his features.
“To our bunks?” said Vince.
“Yes; come along. You’re lucky: you’ve got a place all to yourselves.”
He led them aft, to where a small hatchway stood, close to that of the captain’s cabin, from whence the sound of voices came so loudly that, regardless of his companions’ presence, the man stood and listened.
“But I tell you I must go back, skipper,” said Daygo, “and it’s getting late.”
“Oui—yais, I know zat, mon ami,” said the captain; “but I have ze good pilot on board, and it is late and ver’ bad for him to go sail among ze rock and courant. I say it is better he sall stay all ze night, and not go run ze risk to drown himselfs. I cannot spare you. I have you, Daygo. You are a so much valuable mans. So I sall keep you till I sail.”
“Keep me?” growled Daygo.
“Yais. You sall eat all as mosh as you vish, and drink more as you vish, but you cannot go avay. It is not safe.”
There was the sound of a heavy fist brought down upon the table, and then the man, who had picked up a lanthorn, turned to them and said,—
“Down with you, youngsters!”
The boys obeyed, and the man followed.
“Old Daygo don’t like having to stay,” he said laughingly. “There you are, lads!—just room for you both without touching. Shall I leave you the lanthorn?”
“Please,” said Vince. “Thank you.—I say—”
“Nay, you don’t, lad,” said the man, with gruff good humour; “you’ve nothing to say to me, and I’ve nothing to say to you. I don’t want the skipper to come down on my head with a capstan bar. Here, both on you: just a word as I will say—Don’t you be sarcy to the skipper. He’s Frenchy, and he’s got a temper of his own, so just you mind how you trim your boats. There, good-night.”
“One moment,” said Vince, in a quick whisper.
Bang! went the door, and they heard a hasp put over a staple and a padlock rattled in.
“Here, youngsters!” came through the door.
“What is it?”
“Mind you put out that light when you’re in your bunks. Good-night!”
“Good-night,” said Mike.
“Bad night,” said Vince. And then: “Oh, Ladle, old chap, what shall we do?”