Chapter Twenty Nine.
Longings for Liberty.
It was easier to ask that question than to answer it, and they cast a brief glance round the bare, cupboard-like place, with its two shelves, which represented the prisoners’ beds, each bearing a small horsehair mattress and a French cotton blanket.
“Put out the light,” was all the answer Vince received; and, after holding it to the side of the place for a moment or two, he opened the lanthorn door and blew the candle out.
“No good to keep that in. Only makes the place hot and stuffy. I’m going to open that light.”
The “light” was a sort of wooden shutter, which took the place of an ordinary cabin window, and as soon as he had drawn it wide open the soft night air entered in a delicious puff.
“Hah! that’s better,” sighed Vince. “Come here and breathe, Ladle, old chap. It’s of no use to smother ourselves if we are miserable. I say, isn’t it a beautiful night?”
“Who’s going to think anything beautiful when one’s like this? It’s horrible!”
“Pst!” whispered Vince, for the voice of the captain was plainly heard overhead, and the deep growl of old Daygo in answer, the way in which the tones grew more subdued suggesting that the speakers had gone right forward.
“I should like to pitch that old villain overboard,” said Mike, in a fierce whisper.
“Well, if you’d let me tie a rope round him first I’d help you, Ladle; but I shouldn’t like him to drown till he’d had time to get a little better.”
“Better?” said Mike: “he’ll never grow any better.”
“Well, never mind him,” said Vince. “Now then, let’s look the state of affairs in the face. You won’t tell us what to do, so I must see what I can think of.”
“Have you thought of anything?” cried Mike eagerly.
“If you shout like that, it won’t be much good if I have,” said Vince, in an angry whisper.
“I’m very sorry, Vince,” said Mike humbly. “I’ll be more careful.”
“We shan’t get away if you’re not.”
“Get away? Then you see a chance?” cried Mike eagerly.
“Just the tiniest spark of one if you’re ready to try.”
“I’ll try anything,” whispered Mike.
“Wouldn’t mind going into the seal hole again?”
“Vince, old chap, I’d do anything,” said Mike, seizing his fellow-prisoner’s arm and holding him tightly. “What shall we do?”
“I’m afraid it’s going to be very risky, for we don’t know anything about the rocks and currents, and we may be upset. Now do you see?”
“I see: you mean escaping in a boat,” said Mike eagerly; “but how?—what boat?”
“Don’t take much thinking to know that,” replied Vince; “the only thing that puzzles me is how they could be so stupid as to leave a boat there swinging to a painter.”
“Old Joe’s boat!” cried Mike joyously; and Vince clapped a hand over his mouth in anger, for just then they heard the voices of the captain and old Daygo as they walked forward again; and as far as the prisoners could make out, the two men were walking up one side of the deck and down the other, talking earnestly, but what was said the boys could not catch.
“Yes, old Joe’s boat,” said Vince in a subdued voice; “but if you’re going to shout we may as well go to bed and have a night’s rest.”
“I really will mind, Cinder—I will indeed,” whispered Mike. “I couldn’t help that, old chap. But tell me, how are you going to manage it?”
“There’s only one way,” replied Vince, with his lips close to his fellow-prisoner’s ear; “climb out of the window, and then over the bulwark to get down inside it where it’s dark; then creep along till we can feel the painter.”
“Then creep over the bulwark and drop down one after the other.”
“Cut the painter,” said Vince.
“And then we’re free.”
There was a pause, during which Mike got tight hold of Vince’s hand, and the latter felt that it was cold and wet from the boy’s excitement.
“I don’t know so much about being free,” whispered Vince. “We should be away from this wretched old lugger; but where should we be going then? Didn’t I warn you about the rocks and currents?”
“Yes; but we should have old Joe’s boat, and we can manage that easily enough.”
“Yes, if we’re in the open sea, even if she’s sinking, Ladle; but shut-in here among the rocks I don’t know how we should get along. But anything’s better than sitting down and not having a try.”
“Yes, anything,” said Mike, in a low, excited whisper.
“Yes, anything. We must try for the sake of those at home. I know my father is sure to say to me, ‘Didn’t you try to escape?’”
“So will mine,” said Mike. “Oh yes, we must have a good try. Think we can climb up?”
“I’m just going to try,” said Vince, kneeling down to take off his boots. “If you like to try you can. If not, you’ve got to go down on all fours under the window, so that I can step on your back and climb out.”
Mike was silent for a few moments, and then he said softly,—
“I’ll do which you like, Cinder.”
“Then I think I’ll try first. If I can’t manage it you can.”
“But stop a moment: suppose there’s any one on deck?”
“It will be very dark.”
“But there’ll be lanthorns burning and a watch kept.”
“I feel sure there’ll be no lights, because they might be seen from the cliffs; and as they know they’re so safe here, I don’t believe there’ll be any watch kept.”
“I wish I’d got a head like yours, Cinder.”
“Do you? Well, we can’t change. That’s it. My! how tight my boots were! It’s getting them wet and letting them dry on one’s feet.—Pst! Slip into your berth.”
Their needs and experience were beginning to make them obey a sharp order without question; and as Vince lowered down the shutter Mike crawled into the lower bunk silently enough, while, almost without a sound, Vince crept into the one above, stretched himself upon his back, and placed his hands together under his head.
The reason for this sudden action was that he had seen a gleam of light play for a moment beneath the rough door; and they were hardly in their places when there was the sound of descending steps on the ladder, the shape of the door marked out plainly by the light all round. Then came the rattling of a key in the padlock, which was drawn out of the staple, the door was flung open, and the hutch of a place was filled with the dull, soft light of a lanthorn, as a man stepped in.
It was hard work to lie there with the lanthorn held close up to them, but the boys both stood the ordeal. Mike was lying with his face close to the bulkhead, and of course with his back to their visitor and his features in the shade; but Vince’s was the harder task, for he had assumed his attitude as being the most sleep-like, and to give better effect to his piece of acting, he had opened his mouth, and went on breathing rather heavily, while the fact of his having his boots off, and one foot sticking out over the bunk side, helped materially over the bit of deception.
“I wonder who it is,” thought Vince; and, as if in answer, a familiar voice said, in a low tone,—
“Aha! Vous êtes not too much frighten to go fast asleep?”
Vince did not need to open his eyes, for he could see mentally vividly enough the swarthy, brown, deeply-lined face, with the keen dark eyes, and the crafty look about the mouth, drawn into an unpleasant smile, while the big earrings seemed to glisten in the soft light.
“You are fast asleep—hein?” said the man, rather sharply; but no one stirred, though Vince could feel the perspiration standing in a fine dew upon his forehead and by the sides of his nose.
“I came to see if you are good boys, and sall put out your light quite safe; for all ze powder is down underneas you, and you muss not blow yourselfs up and spoil my sheep. You hear, big, stupede boy?”
Vince gave vent to a low, gurgling sound, and made up his mind to babble a few words about the caverns; but his throat was dry, and his tongue refused to act.
Perhaps it was as well, for in doing so he might have overdone his part, which was perfect.
Then the light was withdrawn, the captain went out, and the door was carefully fastened, the light fading from round the door while something shook loudly as he ascended the ladder and dropped the trap down with a snap, which was followed by the crash of iron, as if another loop were passed on a staple.
“Hasn’t dropped any sparks, has he, Vince?” whispered Mike, turning softly in his bunk.
“Can’t see any,” was the reply. “Oh, I say, Ladle, and I blew out our candle and saw them fly!”
“But do you think it’s true? Is the powder here, or did he only say it to frighten us?”
“I don’t know,” whispered Vince. “There must be a powder magazine, for he has cannon on deck. But I didn’t see any trap door: did you?”
“Yes—just as you put out the light. You knelt on it when you took off your boots.”
“Oh dear!” sighed Vince. “I’m all dripping wet. Isn’t this place horribly hot?”
“Hot? I feel as if my things were all soaked.”
“Don’t talk. We must lie still now, and wait. I don’t think he’ll come again.”
“I do,” said Mike. “He’ll never be such a noodle as to believe we two will stop here without trying to escape.”
“I don’t know,” sighed Vince. “I’m afraid we’re quite safe?”
“What, to escape?”
“No—to stop in prison; for I expect we shan’t be able to get on deck.”
“But we’re going to try?”
“Yes,” said Vince through his closely set teeth; “we’re going to try.”
Chapter Thirty.
A Bold Dash for Freedom.
As the boys lay perfectly still in their bunks, gradually growing cooler, and feeling that even if they were over the part of the hold used as a powder magazine there was nothing to fear so long as there was no light near, they heard a step twice overhead, then all was perfectly still but the faint rippling of the swift current as it passed under the vessel and glided on across to the rocks.
They whispered to each other from time to time; Mike being impatient to begin their attempt, but Vince always refusing till he felt satisfied that all was still.
At last this feeling of satisfaction came, and, passing his legs out of his bunk, he dropped lightly on to the floor to begin feeling about, till his hand touched a rough hinge, and on the other side a ring which lay down in the woodwork of a trap door.
But he did not say anything, only rose and pulled open the light again, keeping it in that position by passing the leather strap which formed its handle over a hook in the ceiling, a slit having been cut in the piece of leather.
“Now, Ladle,” whispered Vince, “come and kneel here, then I can stand on your back.”
Mike obeyed at once, and then whispered quickly,—
“Vince, there is a trap door here: I’m right on it.”
“I know,—I touched it; but there’s no candle. Ready?”
“Yes.”
Vince took hold of the opening frame, which was only just big enough for him to pass through, stepped lightly on to his companion as he stiffened himself on all fours, and then began to creep out.
For a few moments he hesitated, for there was the black water beneath him, full of sparks, gliding rapidly along, so brightly that he felt that if any one were on deck looking over the bulwark he must be seen; but the thought of freedom and those at home nerved him, and as soon as he was in a sitting position, with his legs inside, he bent down and whispered to his companion, who had risen,—
“Take tight hold of my legs till I give a jerk, which means let me loose.”
Mike seized the legs firmly; and, thus secured, Vince stretched out his arms and began to feel about overhead, to find that the top of the light was just below the projecting streak, which runs, iron-bound, round the most prominent part of a vessel, from stem to stern, to protect the side from injury when it glides up to wharf, pier, or pile. This stood out about a foot, and Vince felt that if he could only climb on this, the rest would be easy.
He passed his hands cautiously over it, and, reaching in, found to his great delight a ring-bolt, through which it was possible to pass two or three fingers. Jerking his leg, he felt himself free, and rose up, getting first one foot and then the other on the sill of the opening.
There was no difficulty in standing like this, and as he did so he felt Mike’s arms tightly embracing his legs, an act which hindered further progress if he had meant to climb higher.
But he was satisfied with what he had done; after peering about a little, and listening for some minutes, he jerked one leg again, felt them freed, and began to descend.
To an active boy, whose nerves were firm, this was easy enough; and directly after he stood in the little cabin, breathing hard, but able to find words, and whisper to his anxious fellow-prisoner.
“It’s as easy as easy,” he said: “nothing to getting up a bit of stiff cliff;” and he then described what he had found, and how all seemed as still as could be. “Couldn’t you hear any watch on deck?”
“Not a sound of them. I believe every one’s below; and I say, Mike, we needn’t get over on deck at all. There’s plenty of room to take hold of the top of the bulwarks and walk along. All we’ve got to do is to mind the stays when we come to them, and step round carefully.”
“Yes, I understand perfectly,” said Mike. “Come on, and let’s get it over.”
“Wait till I’ve put on my boots. I shall want them.” The boy knelt down and hurriedly drew them on, and laced them as well as he could in the dark; then raising himself on to the window-sill without assistance, he drew himself into his old position, and reaching up and over the streak, found the ring-bolt, which rattled faintly, and, passing his fingers through, stood up on the sill, and then drew himself on to the projecting woodwork.
Here he crouched for a few moments listening, before rising erect, with one hand upon the top of the bulwark, over which he looked; but all was dark, and there was not a sound to be heard save the faint rustling below him made by Mike.
This was the most nervous part of the business. A certain amount of tremor had troubled the lad as he climbed out, and the thought of having a slip did once bring the perspiration out upon his forehead; but the effort needed dulled the fear, and he soon stood where he was in safety. But to listen to a companion undergoing the same trial in the darkness was another thing; and Vince felt ten times the dread as he listened and shivered to hear the ring-bolt seized and his companion slowly drawing himself upward so that he could stand.
Suppose he lost his nerve—suppose he slipped and tell with a splash into that black, spangled water—what could he do? Poor Mike would be swept away directly, and his only chance of life would be for him to swim steadily till he reached the rocks, and then try to find one to which he could cling, and draw himself up.
But Vince did better than think: he tightened his grasp of the bulwark rail by crooking his hand, and softly extended one leg over the streak.
This had the effect he desired. The next moment it was struck by a hand feeling about. Then the trouser was tugged at, and directly after the bottom was turned over and over, so as to form a good roll to grip. Then, with this for a second hand-hold, Mike was helped, and his climb on to the shelf-like projection became easier for the aid afforded, and he too rose to stand panting beside Vince.
They felt that everything depended upon their coolness, and hence they stood there, facing inward, holding on to the bulwark and listening.
But all was still; and at last, satisfied that it was time to move, Vince whispered “Now,” and began to edge himself along to the right—that is, towards the forward part of the boat.
Mike started at the same moment, taking step for step, their hands touching at every movement. It was an easy enough task this, for there was plenty of hold and standing room—the only danger being that they might be heard by some one on the watch, while there was the chance that they had been heard and this was a new trap to re-catch them.
But their hearts rose as they crept slowly and silently along in the silence, and then went down deeply into a sense of despair, for a thought suddenly struck Vince which made him stop and place his lips close to his companion’s ear, and whisper,—
“Suppose, as Joe is going to stop, they have hoisted the boat on deck?”
Mike replied promptly, and with a decision that was admirable under the circumstances,—
“Don’t make bugbears. Go on and try.”
It was rude enough to have brought forth a sharp retort at any other time; but then Vince felt its justice, and he went on again, and his hand touched the shrouds which held the mainmast in place, and a little care had to be exercised to pass round. But this was silently achieved by both; and Vince was gliding his right-hand along the top of the bulwarks once more, when it was as if an electric shock had passed through him, for he had suddenly touched something unmistakably like a man’s elbow.
For a few moments he was ready to doubt this; but the doubt passed away directly, for from close to him a heavy, snoring breath was drawn, and as he gazed with starting eyes he made out dimly the head and shoulders of a man who was evidently the watch, but who conducted his watching by folding his arms upon the bulwarks, laying his head thereon, and going off fast asleep.
Vince felt that all was over unless they went back some little distance, climbed over and crossed the deck to the other side; and once more placing his lips to Mike’s ear, he told him of the obstacle in the way, and suggested this plan.
Then Mike’s lips were at his ear,—
“Take too much time—may tumble over another—go on.”
The proposal almost took the boy’s breath away, but he was strung up by his companion’s firmness to do anything now, and, drawing a deep breath, he prepared to advance; but paused again, with his blood running cold, for there was an uneasy movement on the part of the watch and a low, growling muttering.
Silence once more; and then, nerving himself, Vince advanced his left hand till it was close to the sleeping man’s elbow, then, edging along a little, he reached out his right-hand till he could grasp the bulwark beyond the other elbow; but the position brought his face down close to the back of the sleeper’s head, and he could feel the warmth emanating from it and the man’s rising breath, while he trembled as he dreaded lest the man should feel his.
Then Vince felt that he ought to step back and tell Mike how to manage—as he was acting; but, knowing that all this meant delay and that speed was everything, and might mean success instead of failure, he knew that he must trust to his comrade’s own common sense. And now, with the feeling upon him that if the man awoke suddenly he would start and fall back into the sea, he tightened his hold of his right-hand, relaxed that of his left, edged along, and was safely past.
Naturally all these thoughts darted almost instantaneously through his mind, and a few moments only elapsed between Mike’s words and his being safe upon the other side; while now, as he stood thus, after leaving ample room for his companion, the strain upon his nerves seemed to be greater, for he had to try and see Mike’s movements, and listen in agony to the faint rustling sound he made.
Poor Mike had a harder test of his courage than that which had fallen to Vince’s lot; for as by instinct he took the same means of getting by the obstacle as the former, and was standing with arms outstretched, the man made a sudden movement and growled out some tongue-blundered word, at the same time raising his head and striking Mike’s chin slightly, to make the boy’s teeth go together with a sharp click.
“It’s all over,” thought Vince. But he was wrong: the man settled his head down again in a more satisfactory position, and uttered a low, grumbling sigh of resting weariness.
Then Mike was alongside of his partner in the flight, and they edged themselves rapidly along to the foremast shrouds—so short a distance, but to them, with their nerves on the strain, so far.
Now came another heart-compressing question to Vince. The boat, when Joe Daygo arrived, had been made fast a short distance in front of the foremast: was it there now?
A strange hesitation came over the lad; he did not like to pass beyond the fore-chains to test this, for he felt that if it had been removed and hoisted on board the disappointment would be so keen as to be almost unbearable, for to let it down unheard would be impossible; but once more mastering himself he passed on, holding by the light shrouds which gave at his touch, and then began to run his hand once more along the bulwark to feel the line, which had been passed over and twisted to and fro over one of the belaying pins.
No—no—no.
Yes!
There it was, and as he grasped it the boat answered to his touch as it swung alongside and grazed softly against the copper sheathing.
“Got it?” was whispered.
“Yes;” and Vince’s hand went to his pocket for his knife, as his busy, overstrung brain asked why it was that they had not been searched and their knives taken away.
But he did not withdraw the knife, for he found that it would be easy enough to cast the rope loose, and he turned to Mike.
“Down with you!” he said.
“No: you first.”
A noise as of a heavy blow.
A savage yell, followed by a scuffling sound from where the sleeping man had been standing, and the boys stood holding on there, paralysed for the moment.
“Curse you if you hit me!” began a rough voice from out of the darkness; but the speech was cut short by a sharp clicking, and the familiar voice of the French captain arose, sharpened by rage and sounding fierce and tigerish in spite of the peculiarity of his broken English, mingled with words in his native tongue.
“Dog! Canaille! Vite sleep-head fool! Anozaire vord I blow out you brain and you are ovaire-board.”
The sleeper growled something, which was again cut short by the French skipper.
“Vat? How you know zat ze boy do not get on deck to take a boat and go tell of my store cachette? To-morrow you are flog by all ze crew, and zey sall sare all ze monnaies zat vould come to you.”
Vince drew on the painter, and then pressed Mike’s shoulder for him to descend, while he began softly to cast off the rope.
Mike did his best to go down in silence, and Vince his to cast off without making a sound; but the boat ground against the side, the belaying pin rattled, and there was a rush from where the captain stood.
Mike was in the boat as the last turn was cast off from the belaying pin; and then, without a moment’s hesitation, Vince leaped down, fortunately alighting beyond his companion upon one of the thwarts, and then falling forward upon his hands just as there was a flash of light and a loud report.
The thrust given by Mike and the impetus of Vince’s leap sent the boat out to where it was caught by the current; but, instead of its bearing them away from the lugger, it seemed to keep them back for a few moments, but only for the bows to be seized by an eddy just as there was another flash, report, and simultaneously a dull thud, as of something being hit. Then the shouting of orders, the appearance of a light, and the hurrying of feet was more distant, as if the lugger had suddenly been snatched away; but the two lads knew that they were in one of the terrible rushing currents, and were being borne along at a tremendous rate. Where? In what direction?
They could not tell, for the tide had turned.
Chapter Thirty One.
The Perils of the Scraw.
In the hurry and confusion the boys crouched in the bottom of the boat for some minutes, gazing at the lugger, and seeing lanthorn after lanthorn dancing about. Then one descended like a glowworm apparently on to the surface of the water, and they knew that a boat had been lowered and that there would be pursuit. And all the time they felt that without effort on their part they were being borne rapidly along as fast as any one could chase them; but they were in a boat familiar to them, and furnished with oars and sails if they could only reach the open water. Then a despondent feeling came over them as they realised that they were surrounded by towering rocks, and as they crouched lower they fully expected from moment to moment to hear a grinding sound, and feel a sharp check as a plank was ripped out by some sharp granite fang, and then hear once more the rippling of the water as it rushed into the boat.
And this in the darkness; for the bright stars above and the phosphorescent atoms with which the black waters were dotted did not relieve the deep gloom produced by the overhanging cliffs.
“Hurt, Vince?” whispered Mike at last.
“Yes, ever so.”
“Oh! Want a handkerchief to bind it up?” cried Mike, in horror.
“Well, it does bleed—feels wet—but it don’t matter much.”
“But it does,” said Mike excitedly. “Where did it hit you?”
“On the shin; but it didn’t hit me—I hit it.”
“What! The bullet?”
“Go along! don’t joke now. I came down against an oar. Oh, I see: you thought he hit me when he fired.”
“Of course.”
“Pooh! he couldn’t aim straight in the dark. I’m all right. But I say: there’s water in the boat. Not much, but I can hear it gurgling in. Why, Mike,” he cried excitedly, after a few moments’ search, “here’s a little round hole close down by the keel. There, I’ve stopped it up with a finger; it’s where his bullet must have gone through. Got your handkerchief?”
“Yes.”
“Tear off a piece, to make a plug about twice as big as a physic-bottle cork.”
There was the sound of tearing, and then Mike handed the piece of cotton, which was carefully thrust into the clean, round hole, effectually plugging it; after which Vince proposed that they should each take an oar.
“Can’t row,” said Mike shortly.
“No, but we may want to fend her off from a rock. Hullo! where are the lanthorns now? I can’t see either the lugger or the boat.”
Mike looked back, but nothing was visible.
“We’ve come round some rock,” said Vince. “We shall see them again directly.”
But the minutes glided on, and they saw no light—all was black around as ever, but the loud, hissing gurgle of the water told that they were being borne along by some furious current; and at last came that which they had been expecting—a heavy bump, as the prow struck against a rock-face so heavily that they were both jerked forward on to their hands, while the boat was jarred from stem to stern.
They listened with a feeling of expectant awe for the noise of water rushing in; but none came, and a little feeling about was sufficient test to prove that there was no more than had come in through the bullet hole. But while they were waiting there came another heavy blow, and their state of helplessness added to their misery.
“Oh, if it was only light!” groaned Mike.
“Yes, we could use the oars or hook to fend her off.”
Bump went the boat again, and they caught at the side to save themselves, conscious now, in the thick darkness, that they were being whirled round and round in some great whirlpool-like eddy, which dealt with the boat as if it were a cork.
“Don’t seem as if we can do anything,” said Vince at last, as the boat swept along, with the water lapping and gurgling about them just as if it were full of hungry tongues anticipating the feast to come as soon as they were sucked down.
“No,” said Mike, “it doesn’t seem as if we can do anything.”
“’Cept one thing, Mike,” said Vince in a low deep tone, which did not sound like his own voice.
“What?”
“Say our prayers—for the last time.”
And in the midst of that intense darkness, black as ebony on either side, while above and below there were still the bright glittering and softened streaks of light, there was an interval of solemn silence.
Vince was the first to break that silence, and there was something quite cheerful in his tones now as he said,—
“Shake hands, Mikey: I’m sorry you and I haven’t always been good friends. I have often been a regular beast to you.”
Mike grasped the extended hands in a firm grip with both of his, as he said, in a choking voice,—
“Not half so bad as I’ve been to you, Cinder. I’ve got such a hasty temper sometimes.”
“Get out!” cried Vince sharply. “There, I’m better now. I’m afraid we’re going to be drowned, Ladle, but I feel as if we ought to be doing something to try and save ourselves. It’s being so cowardly to sit still here. They wouldn’t like it at home.”
“But what can we do? I’m ready.”
“So am I; but it’s so dark. I say, though, we must be going round and round in a sort of hole.”
“Then we shall be drawn right down somewhere into the earth.”
“Not that! I tell you what, it’s like one of those great pot-holes in the big passage, only a hundred times as big; and the water’s sweeping the boulders round, and grinding it out and carrying us along with it. Look here, we shall be kept on going round and round here, if we don’t get smashed, till daylight; and then old Jarks’ll come and find us, and we shall be worse off than ever. I say, though, don’t you think we could do something with the boat-hook?”
“What?”
“Wait till we bump against the rocks again, and then try and hold on.”
“If you did the water would come over the stern.”
“I don’t know. Well, look here: I’ll try. If it does I’ll let go directly.”
Taking hold of the boat-hook Vince knelt down right forward, thrust the iron-armed pole over the bows, and holding it like a lance in rest he waited, but not for long. Very soon after the iron point touched against stone, and he was thrown backward, nearly losing the pole, while the boat was sent surging along on one side for a few moments, bumped on the other side, then back again as if she were being sent from side to side, and directly after the keel came upon a rock which seemed to slope up like a great boulder standing in their way. There for a brief moment or two it was balanced, and made a plunge forward like a dive, the water came with a rush over the bows, and surged back to where Mike was kneeling, and then they were rushing onward again more swiftly than ever.
For a few moments the pair were too breathless to speak, but Vince recovered from the confusion caused by the shock and the rapidly following exciting incidents, and he shouted aloud,—
“Bale, Mike, bale! It’s all right: we’re out of that whirlpool, and we’re going along again.”
“You’ve got the baler forward,” said Mike huskily.
“Eh? So I have in the locker here. I say, how deep do you make the water? There’s hardly any here.”
“Only a few inches.”
“Then we’re all right yet; but we may as well have that out.”
He felt for the locker, and drew out the old tin pot, crept aft to where his companion knelt, and, after lifting the board which covered in the keel depression, he began to toss out the water rapidly, and soon lowered it so that the pot began to scrape on the bottom, while Mike listened with a feeling of envy attacking him, for he felt that it must be a relief to be doing something instead of kneeling there listening and wondering whether the pursuing boat was anywhere near.
“There!” said Vince at last, in a triumphant tone; “that’s different to baling when you feel that the water is coming in as fast as you throw it out. I haven’t got it all, but as much as I can without making a noise.”
He replaced the bottom board and then returned the pot to the locker, and Mike moved a little forward now to meet him half-way.
“Think we’re going as fast now as ever?” whispered Mike.
“Eh? I don’t know. I was too busy to think about it. No, not quite, and— I say, are we going right?”
“Right?”
“Well, I mean as we were. We seemed to be going south, as far as I could make out by the stars; and now we’re going north.”
“Nonsense! impossible!”
“Look, then! I’m sure we had our backs to the pole star, and that meant going south, and out to sea; but now we’ve got our faces due north.”
“Yes,” said Mike, after a few moments’ pause; “that’s right: we’re going north.”
“Well, that isn’t out to sea.”
“No,” replied Mike thoughtfully.
“And running along at such a rate as we are, we ought to have been ever so far away by this time, instead of rushing along here deep down among the rocks, as if we were in a narrow channel. I can’t make it out: can you?”
Mike remained thoughtful and silent again for a time, and then said wearily,—
“No; I can’t understand it. It gives me the headache to think; and being whirled along like this is so confusing. My thoughts go rushing along like the water.”
“Don’t talk so loud, Mike,” said Vince, after a pause, “or we shall be heard. But we must have left them a long way behind, or else they’ve covered over their lanthorn so as to come upon us by surprise.”
“Think they are near us, then?”
“Must be, because the tide would carry them along as fast as it does us; and they have the advantage of knowing the way. Oh! I do wish we could get out in the open sea; and then, once we were clear of the rocks, we’d show them what the boat could do. It would puzzle them to—”
He was going to say “catch us then,” but he stopped short, gazing upward, out of the black chasm in which they were, at the stars.
“What is it? See the light?” whispered Mike.
“No: I was trying to make out our course. The passage has wound off to the right, and we’re going east.”
“Of course it would zigzag and turn about,” said Mike wearily; “but we’re in deeper water here, for we don’t seem to go near any small rocks.”
“No; but we’re going by plenty of big ones on the left. The current runs close to them, I’m sure, though it’s ever so much wider now. I believe I could almost have touched either side with the boat-hook a bit ago; now I can only touch one side.”
“It’s more ripply, too, now, isn’t it?”
“Ever so much: seems to boil up all about us, and you can’t see the bright specks sailing about so fast. The top of the water was as smooth as glass when we were in the great lugger.”
“That’s a sign we are near the sea, then,” said Mike, with more confidence in his tones.
“Yes, and I don’t like it,” said Vince thoughtfully.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been thinking that there must be another way out; and knowing all about it, as they do, they’ll be waiting at the mouth of this horrible zigzag place along which we’re dodging all this time, and catch us after all.”
“Oh, Cinder!” cried Mike passionately, “don’t say that: it would be too hard. It may be too dark for them to see us if we lie close and don’t make a sound. And look,” he said joyfully: “we really are close to the sea now, for we’re going due south.”
“Due south it is,” assented Vince, as if he were standing at a wheel steering. “Yes, I suppose you’re right, for I can hear the sound of surf. Listen.”
“Yes, I can hear,” replied Mike; “but it sounds smothered-like.”
“Rocks between us, perhaps. Now then: only whispers, mind!—close to the ear. Don’t let’s lose our chance of getting away by telling them where we are. I say!”
“Yes.”
“If there was a boat anywhere near us, could you see it?”
Mike turned his eyes to right and left before answering:
“Sure I couldn’t on that side, and I don’t think I could on this.”
“That’s what I felt, and if we’re lucky we’ll escape them after all. Now then, silence, and let’s get the oars across and each take his place on the thwarts, ready to row hard if we are seen.”
Each from long practice felt for the thole-pins and placed them in their proper holes; then, softly taking up their oars, they laid them right across the boat, with handle standing out on one side, blade on the other, and waited in silence, with the boat gliding on.
At the end of about a quarter of an hour, during which minute by minute they had expected to be swept out into open water where the great Atlantic tide was rolling along by the solitary island, Mike whispered,—
“I say, the boat has turned quite round more than once. Doesn’t that account for the stars seeming different?”
“No, because we can tell we are sometimes going forward and sometimes back.”
“But look! we’re going north now.”
“Yes, I know we are,” said Vince; “and I’m beginning to know how it is.”
“Well, tell me. It’s so horrible to be puzzled like this.”
Vince was silent.
“Why don’t you speak?”
“Because I was thinking. Ladle, old chap, we’ve gone through too much, what with the seals’ cave, and being caught and then put down in that stifling hole over the gunpowder. We’re both off our heads—in a sort of fever.”
“I’m not,” said Mike shortly. “You are, or else you wouldn’t talk such stuff.”
“I talk such stuff, as you call it, because my father’s a doctor, and I’ve heard him tell my mother about what queer fancies people have when their heads are wrong.”
“Two people couldn’t be queer in the same way and with the same things. What’s the good of talking like that?”
“Very well: you tell me how it is. I can’t understand it, and the more I try the more puzzled I am. It’s horrible, that’s what it is, and I feel sometimes as if we had been carried away by the tide to nowhere, or the place where the tides come and go in the hollows of the earth.”
“We shall be out at sea directly, and then we shall be all right.”
“No, we shan’t be out at sea directly, and we shan’t be all right; for we’ve got into some horrible great whirlpool.”
“What!” cried Mike excitedly. “A whirlpool?”
“Yes, that’s it; and we’re going round and round, and that’s why it is that we are sometimes looking south and sometimes north.”
“But you don’t think—if it is as you say—that at last we shall be sucked down some awful pit in the middle?”
“I don’t know,” said Vince. “I can’t think properly now. I feel just as if my head was all shut up, and that nothing would come out of it. I say, Mike!”
There was no reply, for Mike was gazing wildly up at the stars, trying to convince himself of the truth or falsity of his companion’s words; but he only crouched lower at last, with a feeling of despair creeping over him, and then he turned angrily, as Vince began to speak again, in a low, dreamy voice.
“That’s it,” he said: “we are going round and round. I wish we’d had some more of old Jarks’ dinner, and then gone to sleep quietly in our bunks. We couldn’t have been so badly off as we are now.”
“Then why did you propose for us to escape?”
“Because I thought we ought to try,” said Vince sharply, as he suddenly changed his tone. “There, it’s of no use to talk, Mike. We’re in for it, and I’m not going to give up like a coward. I don’t know where we are, and you don’t; but we’re in one of those whirls that go round and round when the tide’s running up or down, and we can’t be any worse off than we are now, for there are no rocks, seemingly.”
“But the middle—the hole.”
“They don’t have any hole. Why, you know, old Joe sailed us right across one out yonder by the Grosse Chaine, and we went into the little one off Shag Rock. It’s one like that we’re in, and I daresay if it was daylight we could see how to get out of it by a few tugs at the oars, same as we got out of that one when we went round and round before. Oh, we shall be all right.”
Mike did not speak, for the words seemed to give him no comfort.
“Do you hear, Ladle?” continued Vince. “If we had been likely to upset, it would have been all over with us long ago; but we go on sailing round as steadily as can be, and I feel sure that we shall get out all right. What do you say to lying down and having a nap?”
“Lie down? Here? Go to sleep?” cried Mike in horror. “I couldn’t.”
“I could,” said Vince. “I’m so tired that I don’t think I could keep awake, even if I knew old Jarks was likely to come and threaten me with a pistol. But, I say, Ladle, that wretch shot at us twice. Why, he might have hit one of us. Won’t he have to be punished when we get away and tell all about him?”
“Yes, I suppose so—if ever we do get away,” said Mike sadly.
Then they relapsed into silence, both watching the stars to convince themselves that they were going round and round, making the circuit of some wide place surrounded by the towering rocks, which made the sea look so intensely black.
At last, thoroughly convinced, the strain of thinking became too great, the motion of the boat and the constant gliding along in that horrible monotonous whirl began to affect Mike as it had affected Vince, and, in spite of his energetic struggles to rouse himself from it, was now attacking him more strongly than ever. They were surrounded by dangers, the least of which was that of the pursuing boat with the exasperated captain; for so surely as the boat grazed upon a rock just below the surface she would capsize. But all this was as nothing to the mentally and bodily exhausted lads. Nature was all-powerful, and by degrees the head of first one then of the other drooped, and sleep, deep and sudden, fell upon them.
But the sleep was not then profound. The mind still acted like the flickering of a candle in its socket, and urged them to start up wakeful and determined once more. And this happened again and again, the sufferers telling themselves that it would be madness to go to sleep. But, madness or no, Nature said they must; and almost simultaneously, after seating themselves in the bottom of the boat, so as to prop themselves in the corners between the thwart and side, they glided lower and lower, and at last lay prone in the most profound of slumber, totally unconscious of everything but the great need which would renew with fresh vigour their exhausted frames.
Chapter Thirty Two.
A Strange Awakening.
The grey gulls were wheeling round and round, dipping down from time to time to pick up some scrap of floating food or tiny fish from out of a shoal; the cormorants and shags were swimming here and there, and diving down swift as the fish themselves, in chase of victim after victim for their ravenous maws, and the fish, crowded together, were playing about the surface, and leaping out at times like bars of silver, to fall back again with a splash, while the sun made the water sparkle as it rippled and played and foamed among the rocks.
It was a glorious morning; and the heather, gorse and purple-hued lavender blossomed, sea-pinks glistened and flashed, as the sun played and sent off rays of dazzling iridescent hues from the evanescent gems with which the night mists had bedewed them.
Everywhere all was life and light, save where a boat went gliding along upon a swift current stem first, stern first, or broadside on, as the various curves and jutting rocks at the foot of the huge cliffs affected the hurrying waters and made them react upon the boat.
All at once there was a desperate quarrel and screaming for as a diver rose from its plunge, and was flying towards one of the cliff shelves to enjoy its morning meal in the shape of a large, newly caught fish, it was attacked by a huge pirate of a black-backed gull, which pounced down upon it with open beak, secured the fish, and as it flew off was followed and mobbed by a score of other birds, when such a wild clamour of sharp metallic screams arose, that it startled one of the occupants of the boat, making him spring up, rub his eyes, stare, and then bend down to rouse his companion.
“Here! Hi! Mike! Ladle! Wake up!”
The other obeyed, sprang to his feet, and stared wildly at his companion, with that dull, heavy, dreamy look in the eyes, which tells that though the muscular energy of the body may be awake, the mind is still fast plunged in sleep.
Then both rubbed their eyes, and Vince did more: he knelt down, leaned over the side of the boat, and plunging both hands in, scooped up the cool sparkling water, and bathed face and temples till his brain grew clearer, and he stood up again, dabbing his face with his handkerchief.
“Do as I do. Do you hear, Mike? I say, you’re asleep!”
“Sleep?” said Mike, looking at him vacantly.
“Yes, asleep. Rouse up and look! It’s wonderful! Here, if you won’t, I must. Kneel down.”
He pressed upon the boy’s shoulders; and Mike, without making the slightest resistance, knelt in the bottom of the boat. He yielded too as Vince pressed a hand upon the back of his head, and then splashed some water in his face.
The effect was electrical. The next minute Mike was bathing his brows, throwing up the water with both hands; and as he felt the refreshing coolness send an invigorating and calming thrill through every nerve, he rose up and stood drying himself and gazing round, wondering whether he was yet awake, or this was part of some strange, wild dream.
Vince did not speak, but stood there watching him, while the boat glided on, as it had all through the night, with unerring regularity; and there before them was the great watery oval they had gone on traversing, dotted with sea-birds, while now, instead of the mighty cliffs around, looking black, overhanging and forbidding, they were beautiful in the extreme, both in the morning light and their deep empurpled shades.
Mike looked and looked up at the highest cliffs on his left, over the rapidly gliding water to his right, where the great ridge was dotted with sea-birds, and away to fore and aft, where the lofty overhanging rocks were repeated.
“I say,” cried Mike at last, “am I awake?”
“If you’re not, I’m fast asleep,” said Vince.
“But how did we get here?”
“I don’t know. Through some narrow passage, I suppose; and then, as soon as we got in, we must have been going on round and round, and round and round, thinking that we were getting out to sea. I say, no wonder it seemed so far!”
“Then it is true,” said Mike excitedly. “I don’t know that cave, though.”
“No, we never saw that before,” said Vince, as they were swept by a low archway, and then onward by a broad opening, which, seen from their fresh point of view, looked beautiful but strange.
“Is that—” began Mike, in a dubious, hesitating way.
“Yes, of course. Look: we don’t know it from out here, but there’s the seal hole and our fishing place, where we caught the crab. It’s all shadowy inside, or we could see our kitchen and fishing tackle.”
“No, no; it can’t be,” said Mike despairingly: “if it was, we should come directly upon the smugglers’ place.”
“Yes, you’ll see: we shall be carried by directly.”
“But there’ll be some one there. Here, quick: let’s row away,”—and Mike seized an oar.
“You can’t row against a current like this,” said Vince quietly; “and if anybody had been in there they would have been awake and seen us long before this.”
“Then I don’t believe this is the cove, and that can’t be our cavern,” cried Mike sharply.
“Very well; but you soon will. Now look: here we go. I say, how smooth the walls of rock are worn by the water!—that accounts for our never having been upset in the night. We shall see the big cave directly. Shall we try and land?”
“Yes; no; I don’t know what will be best to do. Yes; but let’s make sure first.”
“And land when we come round again?” said Vince.
“Yes, if you like. I don’t know what to say.”
“Seems best way,” said Vince thoughtfully. “And yet I don’t know. We might hide, for they’ve blocked up the passage; but they’d hunt us out, as we couldn’t keep hidden very long. And they’d know we were there, because they’d find the boat.”
“Perhaps they’d think we were drowned,” said Mike; and then, excitedly, “Why, it is the big cavern, Cinder!”
“Yes, it’s the big cavern, sure enough; and if it wasn’t so dark inside we could see the stack of kegs.”
There was no room for further doubt, as they glided by the mouth of the great opening, with its wonderful beach of soft sand, and directly after began to recognise the piled-up masses of rock. As they went on, they saw the outlying masses round which the waters foamed and bubbled, but became quite bewildered as they tried to make out which was the outlet by which the smuggler crew had taken them and the captain through on the previous day. They passed narrow rifts, but the water always seemed to be flowing swiftly into the great basin in which they were and joining the seething waters in their continuous round.
Vince pointed to this and then to that gap between the rocks, as the one through which they must have come overnight, but he could never be in the least sure; and as they went on, he had to content himself with looking up at the ridge which faced the caverns, and beyond which they believed the sea to be.
Everywhere at the foot of the cliffs the water was deep, and so clear that they could see the rocks at the bottom, smooth, and treacherous-looking, apparently rising up to capsize the boat; but they glided over all in safety, the great basin being worn smooth by the constant friction of the currents, and at last began to approach the end opposite to where they had been deftly taken out by the men.
Here they looked eagerly for another way of getting out—the rift through which the waters must pass back into the sea—but, if it existed, it was shut from their sight by the heaped-up rocks, and the current carried them on and on with unchecked speed.
“No wonder I thought we were a long while getting out to sea!” said Vince at last: “we can’t have gone near the big channel through which the lugger must come and go.”
“Never mind that,” said Mike impatiently; “there must be another way out from this basin. We saw signs of it from up above, when you sat up there and I held the rope.”
“Yes,” said Vince gloomily; “but sitting up there’s one thing, and sitting down here’s another. Think we shall find another way out this end? Must, mustn’t we?”
Mike nodded as he stood up and searched the rocks for the opening that was hidden from their eyes, from the fact that it was behind one of the barriers of rock and far below the surface current which swept them along.
As far as they could judge, they were going on for half an hour, making the complete circuit of the great watery amphitheatre; and then, as they passed the caverns again, they determined to examine the other end more carefully, for the exit used by the smugglers, which must, they knew, be ample and easy if they could master the knack of getting the boat in. For they had some hazy notion of learning how it was done and then hiding till night, when they might manage perhaps to pass out unseen.
“But if we did,” said Mike despondently, “we should perhaps be swept in here again, or be upset and drowned. I say, Cinder, did you ever see such an unlucky pair as we are?”
“Never looked,” said Vince; “but I tell you what: we shall have to land in the big cave, and get through to ours.”
“What for?”
“Breakfast. There’s all our food, if they haven’t found it.”
“Could you eat now?” said Mike, with a look of horror.
“Eat? I could almost eat you,” replied Vince.
“Ugh!” said Mike, with a shudder. “I feel so faint and sick and sinking inside, I couldn’t touch anything.”
“Shouldn’t like to trust you,” said Vince, whom the bright sunshine and the beauty of the place were influencing in his spirits. “But now, then, let’s have a good look this time.”
They were going round swiftly enough, and noted the entrance to the first low, arched cavern, which was some forty or fifty yards to the westward of the seal hole; then they glided by the others in turn, and tried hard to make out how the men had managed to thrust the big boat through the running waters beyond that great beach and into the eddy which bore them in the other direction.
“Do you see?” asked Mike.
“No, not yet; but perhaps I shall when we come round again. But, I say, we can’t keep on sailing round like this. We must land.”
“But Jacques and his men, they won’t be gone till to-night. You heard what was said by old Joe?”
“Don’t mention his name,” cried Vince passionately. “I should like to see the old wretch flogged.”
“I should like to do it,” said Mike grimly. “They’ll come back and find us here, for certain, if we don’t hide,” said Vince; “but I don’t know that I shall much mind now, for I’m afraid we shan’t get away.”
They glided round again, and in passing the spot where they believed the exit to be, Vince fancied he detected an eddy among some rocks, but he could not be sure; and at last they were once more approaching the cavern, with its low arch, when Vince, who was watching the far end and trying to fit together the means for getting away, suddenly snatched up the boat-hook, thrust it out, and, leaning over the stern, caught hold of a projecting rock, some two feet above the water. Then hauling hard, hand over hand along the ash pole, he checked the progress of the boat and drew it close in. Next, quick as lightning, he made another dash with the hook and caught at another projection, missed, and, as the boat was gliding back again, made another—a frantic—dash, and caught the hook in a rift, while Mike thrust out an oar against a rock to help.
This time he drew the boat right up to the mouth of the new cavern, and whispered sharply to his companion:
“Now—quick! help me run her in. Mind! duck down!”
Mike obeyed, and the boat glided in under the low arch, which just cleared their heads as they sat in the bottom of the boat, and passed on out of the bright sunshine into the chill darkness of the cave.
“Think they saw us?” whispered Vince.
“They? Saw us?”
“Didn’t you see them coming through among the rocks quite quickly?”
“No: did you?”
“Just the tops of their caps: they were behind one of those low rocks where the water rushes round.”
“Are you sure, Vince?”
“Sure?—yes. Ah, mind! that oar!” cried the boy.
He crept past Mike, after seizing the boat-hook, and, reaching over the stern, made a dash at the oar his companion had been using to thrust with against the rocks, and which had been laid-down when they passed right in, so that Mike could use his hands.
How it had slipped over the gunwale neither could have said; but when Vince caught sight of it, the oar was floating just in the entrance, and the sharp dash he made at it resulted in the hook striking the blade so awkwardly that he drove it farther out, where it was caught by the current and drawn swiftly away.
“Gone!” said Mike despairingly.
“Gone! Yes, of course it’s gone; and now they’ll find out where we are.”
“No, they’re not obliged to,” said Mike; “that oar may have been washed from anywhere, and they haven’t found it yet.”
“Oh no,” said Vince bitterly—“not yet; but you’ll see.”
Mike made no reply, but helped, without a word of objection, to thrust the boat farther in along the passage, which greatly resembled the seal hole, as they called it, but was nearly double the width, and afforded plenty of room for the boat.
As soon as they felt that they were far enough in to be hidden by the darkness, they sat watching the entrance, through which the bright morning light poured, and listened intently for some sound to indicate that the smugglers’ boat was near.
But an hour must have passed, and Vince was fidgeting at something which took his attention, when Mike suddenly whispered,—
“I say, do you notice anything strange about the way in yonder?”
Vince was silent.
“Why don’t you speak?” said Mike sharply. “You have seen it. Why didn’t you speak before?”
“Felt as if I couldn’t,” said Vince hoarsely.
“Then it is so,” said Mike. “The tide is rising, and the hole’s getting smaller. Come on: we must get out at once.”
“Too late,” replied Vince gloomily. “The water’s too high now. If we tried we should be wedged in.”
“But— oh! we must try, Vince, or we shall be drowned! Why didn’t you speak before?”
“I wasn’t sure till it began to run up so quickly; and what could we do? If we had gone out we should have been seen directly. Perhaps it won’t rise any higher now. It never covered the seal cave.”
“That was twice as high,” groaned Mike. “Look at the limpets and mussels on the roof: this must be shut right in at every tide.”