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Cutlass and Cudgel, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 22 |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
There was a way into his prison, and that way, he vowed, should by some means or other be his way out. The first thing to do was to find that lanthorn, of whose position he seemed to have some vague idea; but, after a little search, he found that all idea of locality had gone, and he had not the slightest idea of the direction to go next. "I must leave it to chance," he said. "I shall find it when I'm not trying;" and, wearying of the search, he set himself now to try and make his way to the place where his visitors had come into the old quarry. Here, again, he was utterly at fault, for the cavern was so big and irregular, and he was still so haunted by the thought that he might be at any moment on the brink of some deep hole, half full of water, that he dared not search so energetically as he would have liked. He had many narrow escapes from falls and blows against projecting masses of stone, and he found himself, after hours of wandering, so tired and faint, that he would gladly have found the basket and the resting-place; but the more he searched the more convinced he grew of the ease with which he could lose himself entirely in the darkness, and when he did come upon any spot again which he recognised by touch as one that he had felt before, it seemed to him that he stumbled upon it quite by accident, and the moment he left it he was as helpless as before. Wearied out at length, he determined to go in a straight line from where he was to the extremity of the vault; then to curve back, and from this point strike out to the left in search of his resting-place and the basket. It took him just about an hour, and when he had done all this he could find no traces of his food, but he heard a noise close behind him which nailed him to the spot, and he stood motionless, listening. According to his idea, he was at the end of the cave farthest from where his gaolers approached, but unless there were two entrances he was quite wrong, for he had wandered close up to the place whence Ram and Jemmy had come, and, the noise continuing, he stooped down to let whoever it was pass him, while he made for the entrance and slipped out. Directly after there was the soft glow of a lanthorn, which suddenly came into view round a corner, high up by the ceiling, and the bearer began to descend a rough slope. Archy saw no more, for he dropped down and hid behind a stone, watching the glare of light, and then, as it passed him going on toward the other end of the cave, he crept from behind the stone and made for the rough slope, which was thoroughly printed on his mind, so that he could almost picture every rock and inequality that might be in his way. The door would be open, he thought; and, if he could, he would have a clever revenge, for he determined to turn the tables on his enemies, shut them in, and he hoped to make them prisoners till he could signal for help from the cutter, and get a boat's crew ashore. As he crept on quietly he glanced over his shoulder once, saw the light disappearing behind the great square, squat pillars, and then with a feeling of triumph that thrilled through him, he went cautiously up the rest of the slope, his arms outstretched, his breath held, and in momentary expectation of hearing an exclamation from the other end of the cave. "They'll think I'm somewhere about," he said to himself, as he crept on, expecting to pass through an opening into daylight the next moment; but it did not turn out as he anticipated, for he stopped short with his nose against some one's throat, his arms on each side of a sturdy body, and the arms belonging to that body gripped him tight. "Steady, Ram, lad!" came in a gruff whisper. "Light out?" Archy's heart beat heavily, and he felt that, to escape, he ought to try and imitate the boy's voice, and say "Yes." But he could not only stand panting, and the next instant his opportunity, if opportunity it was, had gone. For Ram's real voice came from right at the other end, echoing along the roof. "Look out, Jemmy. He aren't here." "No, he aren't there, lad," said the smuggler with a laugh. "Bring your lanthorn, I've ketched a rat or some'at. Come and see." Archy made a violent struggle to escape, but the man's arms were tight round his waist, he was lifted off the slope, and as he fully realised that, in a wrestling match, no matter how active and strong seventeen may be, it is no match for big, well-set seven-and-thirty. "No good, youngster," growled the smuggler, as he carried the midshipman down the slope, and held him at the bottom. "Very good idea, but you see we didn't mean you to get out like that." Feeling that he was exhausting himself for nothing, Archy ceased his struggling, and was held there motionless, as Ram came up with the lanthorn to begin grinning. "Bring him along, Jemmy," he said. "His dinner's ready." "Shall I carry him, lad?" "Look here," cried Archy haughtily. "You two are, I suppose, quite ignorant of the consequences of keeping me here?" "What's he talking about, Jemmy?" said Ram. "Dunno, lad: something 'bout consequences." "As soon as it is known that you have seized and kept me here, you will both be arrested, and have to suffer a long term of imprisonment, even if you get no worse off." "But suppose no one knows you are here?" said Ram. "But it will be known, so I give you both fair warning." "Thank ye," said Ram mockingly. "And thank ye for me too, my lad." "So now, take my advice, open that door, and set me free. If you do this, I'll promise to intercede for you two, and I daresay I can save you from punishment." "Well, that's handsome; isn't it, Jemmy?" said Ram mockingly. "Do you hear me?" cried Archy. "Oh, I can, quite plain," said Jemmy. "So can I," said Ram; "but your dinner's ready, Mr Orficer; so come and have it." "Enough of this," cried Archy, wrenching himself free. "Open that door, and let me go." "Better carry him, Jemmy." "If you dare!" cried the angry prisoner, beginning the struggle, but Jemmy Dadd's muscles were like steel, and he whipped the young midshipman off his feet, and carried him, kicking and struggling with all his might, right along the cave, Ram going first with the lanthorn; and in spite of its feeble, poor, dulled light, the prisoner was able to get a better idea of the shape and size of the place than he had had before. The captive ceased struggling, and keenly watched the various pillars and heaps they passed, noting too how the cavern seemed to extend in a wide passage right on before them, and seemingly endless gloom. "There you are," said Jemmy, as he set his burden down; "quite at home. Is he going to ask us to dinner, Ram, lad, and send for his skipper to jyne us?" Archy paid no heed to the man's jeering words, for he was thinking of the place, and trying to fix it all in his memory, for use when these two had gone. He knew that he must have been over the parts he had seen again and again in the darkness, but beyond the memory of the great pillars he had marked, the place had made no impression; but now he had seen the way out, and the way further in, and throwing himself down, he without apparent reason took up a long narrow piece of stone, handled it for a moment or two, and set it down carelessly, but not with so much indifference that he did not contrive that it should act as a rough pointer, ready to indicate the direction of the door. Feeling that it was useless to say more to his gaolers, especially after his attempt to escape, he half lay on the old sail; while, as if the darkness were the same to him as the light, the smuggler said laconically, "Going back!" turned on his heel, and disappeared in the black gloom. "Brought you some bacon and some fried eggs, this time," said Ram, looking at him attentively, but Archy made no reply. "No use to rile," continued the boy, "and you can't get out, so take it easy. Father'll let you go some day." "Where is the cutter?" said Archy sharply. "I d'know. Gone." "Gone?" "Yes, she went off somewhere. To look for you, pr'aps," said the boy grinning, "or else they think you're drownded." "Look here," said the midshipman suddenly, "you behaved very treacherously to me, but I'll forgive you if you'll let me go." "Look here," replied the boy, "you behaved very treacherously to us, dressing up, and spying on us; but I've got you, and won't let you go." "I was doing my duty, sir." "And I'm doing my dooty--what father telled me." "How much will you take to let me go?" "How much will you give?" said Ram, grinning, and the midshipman's heart made a bound. "You shall have five pounds, if you'll let me go now, at once." "There's as much as you'll eat till I come agen," said Ram abruptly; "and if I don't forget you as I did my rabbits once, and they were starved to death, I'll bring you some more.--I say!" Archy looked at him fiercely. "Don't try to drink what's in them tubs. It's awful strong, and might kill you." "Stop a moment; leave me a light." "What do you want with a light? You kicked the last over, and thought you'd get out in the dark. You may have the one you kicked." "But it is so dark here," said Archy, as the boy picked up the empty basket. "Course it is when there's no light," said the boy coolly; and swinging the lanthorn as he rose, he continued, "You'll find the road to your mouth, I daresay. I did not bring you a knife, because you're such a savage one." "Where is my dirk?" "What d'yer mean? Your little sword?" "Yes." "Father's got it all right; said it was a dangerous thing for a boy!" Ram gave his prisoner a nod, and went off whistling, the prisoner following at a distance, and getting pretty close up to the beginning of the slope as the lanthorn disappeared round a corner. Then, as he listened, it seemed to him that the boy climbed up somewhere, talking the while to his companion, their voices sounding hollow and rumbling, then there was a pause, the dull thud of a closing door, the drawing of bolts, and soon the rattling of heavy stones, and once more all was silent. _ |
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