"Sail Ho!" (continued 6)

“Say sixteen. You must give them a pretty good dose.”

“Yes; but not strong enough to be risky,” said Mr Frewen; and he signed to me to go with him to his cabin, where he opened his medicine-chest, and after a little thought, carefully weighed out, from a stoppered bottle, an absurdly small portion of a whitish powder and placed it in a square of white paper.

“There,” he said, “take that to Mr Brymer, and tell him to give it a good stir round, or we shall be killing some of the scoundrels, and letting others off scot free.”

“Yes,” I said, looking with no little interest at the powder which he had turned out of the tiny scales he had used. “The cook is sure to stir it well too. But, Mr Frewen, will that little pinch or two of stuff be enough?”

“Plenty,” he said. “It is as far as I dare go, for it is most potent.”

“And it will send them off to sleep?”

“Into a sleep so deep that it would be impossible to awaken them for some hours.”

“Ugh!” I ejaculated, as I took the little packet and thrust it into my pocket. “I hope, if ever you give me any physic, you’ll be careful not to give me any out of the wrong bottle.”

“I’ll take care,” he said. “Mind you warn Mr Brymer to be very careful too.”

I nodded and went out of the cabin, took a turn along the deck to see that the men were keeping watch by the forecastle-hatch, and then turned in at the galley to say a word or two to the cook, asking him what we were to have for our dinner. I went straight back to where Mr Brymer was down in the captain’s store-room with a lantern, by whose light I could see before me two of the large well-known drum-shaped tins of portable soup.

“Got it?” he said in a whisper.

I handed him the packet without a word.

“Look here,” he said. “There are two kinds, with blue label and yellow label. You see I shall put the stuff in the yellow labelled tin.”

“Yes, I see,” I replied; and he opened the packet, shook out the contents, so that it lay spread on the top of the brown-looking gluey meat essence, and then stirred it well round with a knife, till it could not help being well mixed.

“There, we must chance that,” he whispered, “but it seems a very small dose.”

“Mr Frewen said it was wonderfully strong,” I said.

“Well, we must hope so. Take the tins. You will not make any mistake?”

“Oh no, I’ll take care,” I said. “The yellow one for the men, the blue for us; but you don’t catch me touching it.”

“Nor me, Dale,” he said, with a nod. “And look here, I shan’t open this, but here’s a big tin of kangaroo-tail; give him that too for warming up for our dinner.”

I went away pretty well loaded, and walked to the galley.

“Here,” I said, trying to speak merrily, but it was all forced, for I felt exceedingly nervous. “I was asking you just now what was for dinner. Here you are—kangaroo-tail for our dinner, and that soup in the blue tin; and you’re to put plenty of water to this other one, and make a half-bucket-full of soup for the men in the forecastle. How soon will it be ready?”

“Five minutes. I’ve plenty of boiling water. Who opened them?”

“We did,” I replied. “They are all right, but some of the tins are going bad.”

“Yes; I’ve had some I was glad to pitch overboard, sir, and if I had my way I’d make the folks as sells such rubbish for poor sailors eat it themselves.”

“And serve ’em right. You understand you’re to keep this one for us, and get ready the yellow tin?”

“All right, Mr Dale.”

“Hulloa, cookie, what’s for dinner?” said the man who had just been relieved from taking his trick at the wheel. “Oh!—didn’t know you were here, sir.”

“Chump end of a hurdy-gurdy and organ sauce, messmate,” said the cook, meaning to be very facetious, while I walked out of the galley, passing the man who had been sitting aft talking to the steersman.

I reported the progress of what I had done to Mr Brymer, and then waited for further orders.

“I think I’ll stand out of this business altogether now, Dale,” he said. “Wait a few minutes and then take one of the men, say Dumlow, and serve out the stuff to them, passing down a fresh supply of biscuits as well. What’s the matter?”

I flushed up.

“I—I don’t quite like doing it, Mr Brymer,” I said.

He looked at me angrily, but his face softened directly.

“No,” he said, “it is not a pleasant task. It seems treacherous and cruel, but I cannot show myself in the matter. They might turn suspicious. Some one in authority must go, and it is a work of sheer necessity. You will have to go, Dale.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll go,” I said firmly. “I don’t like it, but I know it is right.”

“Go on then, my lad, and carry it through for all our sakes. Be careful that the man with you does not touch it.”

I nodded, and the time being near, I thrust my hands into my pockets, and began to whistle as I walked forward, passed the galley, and I was about to speak to Dumlow, who was on the watch, when a voice came out of the hatchway sounding smothered but unmistakable as Jarette’s.

“Now then, you sirs. Are there to be any rations served out, or are we to set fire to the ship?”

“Can’t you wait a few minutes?” I said, trying to speak coolly as I saw the two men who had been by the wheel smoking their pipes near the galley and looking on.

“Minutes, you whipper-snapper!” he snarled; “we’ve been waiting hours.”

“If you’re not civil I’ll tell the cook to keep the soup back for an hour.”

“Soup? What soup?” he cried.

“Soup the cook’s getting ready; Dumlow, go and get the biscuit-bag.”

Jarette uttered a grunt, and there was a buzz of voices from below whose tones plainly enough told of eager expectation, for they had been pretty well starved since they had been shut down in the cabin.

Dumlow fetched the bag of biscuits, and with the men watching me I prepared to go forward.

“Better let me do it, sir,” growled Bob Hampton; “they may shoot.”

“No, I don’t think they will,” I said quietly, as I looked aft to see that my friends were, like the men hard by, watching me, and Barney Blane right aft at the wheel. “Look here, below there,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, for I felt horribly nervous, and could not help thinking that if anything went wrong the mutineers would visit what had been done on me.

“Look here, you, I’m going to serve out biscuits and soup. I shall hand the tins down through the hole in the hatch. Fair play. No pistols now.”

“Let’s have the soup, and don’t chatter, boy,” said Jarette, sharply, and just then the cook came out smiling with a bucket nearly full of steaming, fragrant-smelling soup, and the man who had been by the wheel came behind him carrying a dozen tin mugs whose handles were strung on a piece of rope.

“Here we are!” I said, strung up now to get the miserable business over as quickly as I could, and just then the cook set the bucket down on the deck, and began to stir it with a big iron ladle.

“Lot o’ preserved vegetables and herbs and all in it, sir,” he exclaimed. “If I don’t stir they’ll go to the bottom.”

“Oh, keep stirring!” I said huskily, as I took a tin, made Dumlow lay some biscuits on the wooden boarding over the hatch, and I held the tin ready while the cook filled it from the ladle.

The next minute, with my hand trembling, I handed the first tin and a biscuit down, for both to be snatched from me. Then I shivered and felt that all was over, for a familiar voice said—

“Taste that, one of you, and see if it’s all right.”

“Oh, that’s all right! Mister Jarette. Plenty o’ salt, pepper, and dried herbs in it,” said the cook.

Then there was a peculiar noise below, slightly suggestive of pigs, and a voice said—

“Jolly hot, but—suss!—good—capital!”

“Here, look sharp, skipper, make haste! Here, I’m first,” and a dozen other expressions greeted my ear, as, gaining courage, I had a second one filled and passed it down, leaving it to Dumlow now to hand down the biscuits, while as every portion was served there were grunts of satisfaction, and the cook smiled and looked as proud as could be.

“Here you, cookie, bon chef,” cried Jarette; “I’ll promote you as soon as I come to my rights. Ladle away.”

The cook did ladle away, and I handed the tins, moved by a kind of frenzy, so eager was I to get the horrible task over, while my heart beat furiously. I shivered as I heard the men below laughing and talking, as they praised the cook’s performance, little imagining the hand I had had in the preparation. But I thought of how horrible it would be if the drug proved too strong for some of the men, or if others got more than their share through its settling down, and in spite of the vigorous use the cook made of his ladle as we neared the bottom, I felt worse and worse, feeling as I did at last, that we were sending down to some of the men that which might prove to be their death.

“That’s all!” shouted the cook at last, giving the upturned tin bucket a loud banging with his ladle, and a loud murmur of disappointment came up through the opening.

“Be good boys, then, and I’ll make you another lot to-morrow. Why, Mr Dale, sir,” he said, turning to me, “it has made you hot; your face is all over great drops.”

“Is it?” I said, rather faintly; “I suppose it is very hot.”

But all the same I felt cold and ready to shiver, while to escape notice I hurried aft and entered the saloon where the gentlemen were waiting, Mr Brymer following me in.

“Well!” he said eagerly.

“They’ve taken it to the last drop,” I panted, and then to the doctor—“Oh, Mr Frewen, I feel as if I had been committing a dozen murders. I wish I had not said a word about the soup.”

Chapter Thirty.

Seeing how thoroughly upset I was, the mate told Mr Frewen to speak to me as soon as he was gone; for he was about to join the men on the watch by the forecastle-hatch, so as to be ready to take action as soon as possible after the drug had acted.

“How soon will it be?” he asked Mr Frewen.

“I cannot tell you. I never administered it like this before, only in small doses as an opiate in cases of intense suffering. It may be soon, it may be an hour or two. If they have, as we suppose, an ample supply of spirits and tobacco below, it is possible that they may retard the action.”

“Well,” said Mr Brymer, “be ready to come well-armed when I give the signal—two whistles, mind. I shall call upon you the moment I fancy it can be done. Hist!—the men.”

For the two sailors whom we had made prisoners through their being at the wheel had been apportioned the duty of taking the steward’s place, that poor fellow having without doubt gone overboard on the night of the rising; and as Mr Brymer left the cabin, these two quickly and roughly prepared the table for our mid-day meal, went forward, and brought back a tureen of soup, with a kind of ragout of the kangaroo’s tail from the tin.

The dinner was just ready, when there was a noise from forward; and we hurried to the door-way, but it was only to hear a roaring chorus rise from the forecastle-hatchway.

“They have begun at the spirits,” said Mr Frewen. And then telling the two sailors to ask Mr Brymer to come and join us, the men went forward, spoke to the mate, and he came to the saloon entrance.

“Better come and join us, Brymer,” said Mr Frewen. “You want food: and we can tell by the cessation of the noise they are making when the time for action has come.”

“Oh, I can’t eat, man, at a time like this!” said the mate, excitedly.

“You must, to keep up your strength. Will Miss Denning join us?”

This to Mr Denning, who shook his head.

“No; let her stay in her cabin. She would only be in our way. I will take her in some dinner.”

“You had better keep up appearances, so that the men may not notice anything. Mr Preddle, help the soup.”

I shuddered, and every one turned pale.

“Oh, there is no risk,” said the mate quickly. “But here, make the plates and spoons look as if they had been used, and then throw all the soup out of the stern-window.”

I brightened a little at hearing this, for the possibility of the cook having made a mistake was always before my eyes. So after satisfying ourselves that the men were not likely to return yet, I was one of the busiest in dirtying the plates and spoons, and ended by emptying the soup from the window with a feeling of the most intense relief.

“Will it send the fishes to sleep, Mr Frewen?” I whispered, as I placed the empty tureen back in its place.

“Bad for them if it does,” he said, with an attempt at looking merry. “For their enemies are safe to swallow them while they are napping.”

“With both eyes open,” said Mr Preddle.

The departure of the soup acted like a charm on all; and after Mr Brymer had been down once more as far as the forecastle, we all began to partake of the savoury Australian dish the cook had prepared, with an abundance of rich gravy, and the whole surrounded by a thick wall of beautifully cooked white rice.

Though our meals had been rough and unsatisfactory for many hours, every one began his dinner with manifest distaste, for it was impossible to avoid thinking of what had been done; but after a portion had been taken into the cabin by Mr Denning for his sister, and a little of the gravy and rice to the captain by the doctor’s orders, first one made a little pretence of eating by nibbling at his biscuit, then another tasted the savoury-looking dish and commented upon it, and a minute later, as a jovial chorus came rolling out of the forecastle-hatch, Mr Frewen began to eat.

“Come, Dale,” he said, “have some dinner, and forget all that. It was your duty, my lad.”

“Yes; I will try,” I said; and making an effort, I mastered my disinclination and swallowed a mouthful.

“Capital, isn’t it?” said Mr Frewen, smiling.

“Yes, it is good,” I replied; and I went on, feeling surprised at my returning appetite.

The result was that Mr Brymer and Mr Denning fell to, and we were all—perhaps in a forced manner, to encourage each other—loud in our praises of the dish, of which we ate heartily.

In fact, when I had nearly finished my plateful, a thought struck me, and after a little hesitation I turned to Mr Brymer.

“Well?” he said. “What is it, Dale?”

“I was thinking, sir,” I said.

“What of—the gang singing? They’re passing the bottle round pretty freely.”

“No, sir,” I said. “I was thinking how tantalising it must be to hear this dinner going on, and smell it, and not get some.”

“Oh, we’ll call the men to finish it when we’ve done. Poor fellows! they work hard for us, and we will not stand on ceremony now.”

“I meant Walters, sir,” I said.

“Humph! The treacherous young hound! Why, you don’t mean you want to take him some?”

“Yes, I do, sir,” I said quickly. “I don’t like him, or defend him, but I’d give him a plate of this.”

Mr Brymer looked round the table and frowned.

“Well,” he said, “take him some, but mind he don’t get out.”

I rose eagerly. Mr Preddle smiled all over his round, plump face, and well filled a plate, which I bore to the cabin in which Walters was prisoned, and unfastening it, bore it in.

He was leaning against the ship’s side, gazing out of the cabin-window, and would not turn his head.

“I’ve brought you some dinner,” I said, but he paid no attention, and I repeated the words, but still he did not move. “Oh, very well,” I said. “If you like to be sulky, be so. I’ll take it back.”

He faced round in an instant. Hunger is, after all, very taming.

“Set it down,” he said shortly; and thereat our eyes met, and he saw my bruised and disfigured features. His face expanded in an unpleasantly triumphant grin.

“Oh, all right,” I said, setting the plate and biscuit down on the locker, though feeling all the time as if I should like to take it back. “Laugh away; you don’t look so very beautiful, Mr Pirate Lieutenant.”

He gave an angry start, and the smile changed to a savage frown, which did not improve a pair of terribly black eyes and a cut and swollen lip.

But I was ready to give him quite as defiant a look as I opened the door, and then going out I re-locked him in, and went back to my place, ready for some more of the kangaroo stew.

“Well, was he very grateful?” said Mr Brymer.

I shook my head, and finished my dinner in silence, listening the while to the men, who were singing uproariously.

“Your prescription seems to agree with them, Mr Frewen,” said the mate significantly, as we all rose.

“Yes; but wait a wee, as the Scotch folk say.”

“Yes, up by the forecastle,” said the mate. “Put your pistols in your pockets, and we’ll keep watch and listen to the effects of the drug while the men have their meal. Dale, my lad, take Blane at the wheel a portion, while I send the others to have theirs.”

I hastily obeyed, taking a pretty good ration for Barney Blane, who must have been having pretty good sniffs of the savoury food to slacken his appetite, and he grinned hugely as he saw me approach.

“That’s your sort, sir; I was getting hungry.”

“Can you eat and steer too, Barney?” I said.

“Can I eat and steer too?” he cried. “You just set that theer on the binnacle, sir, and come back in ten minutes and see.”

“I will, Barney,” I said, “and bring you some grog too.”

“And I’ll say you’re a real gentleman, Mr Dale, sir, that I will, and drink your health.”

“You shall, Barney,” I said, turning to go.

“But I say, sir, ain’t they pretty lively down in the forksle?”

“Yes, very.”

“What did you serve out? Were it rum?”

“No, Barney, soup,” I said; “but wait a bit and they won’t be quite so merry.”

“No, sir, they won’t. It’s unlimited grog, for they’ve got plenty down below; but, as you say, wait a bit. They will have done by-and-by.”

“They will,” I said to myself, with a faint shiver of nervousness coming over me again as I descended the ladder, just as, relieved from duty, Bob Hampton and Neb Dumlow came aft.

“In with you,” I said, “and eat away. The others coming?”

“No, Mr Dale, sir; they’ve been having their snack along with the cook in the galley, and got it done.”

“The more for you then,” I said, trying to laugh, but feeling very serious indeed.

They entered on tip-toe as if afraid of disturbing the captain and Miss Denning, and directly after were eating ravenously at the remainder of the meal.

It was a lovely day, and I could not help thinking what a pity it was that Miss Denning should not be on deck watching the blue sea and the silvery, fleecy clouds. Every now and then some fish sprang out of the clear water as if disturbed by the Burgh Castle’s prow as she glided along due south almost upon an even keel. One moment I felt disposed to suggest to Mr Denning that he should bring her out to where the sails cast a shade, but the singing of the men in the forecastle and the anxious looks of Mr Brymer and the gentlemen with him reminded me of the serious business in hand.

The cook was busy in his galley, and the two men were lolling about talking to him now and then, and occasionally glancing aft, waiting for Bob Hampton and Dumlow to finish before going aft to clear away, and fetch the things to the galley, where they would get hot water to wash up.

How beautiful and calm and peaceful it all seemed! The ocean looked so lovely, and I felt so happy and so much at peace that it seemed a pity for me to have that pistol stuck in my belt, for it was in my way as I laid my arms on the bulwarks and my breast against them to listen to the singing of the mutineers. For they were not shouting now. Their voices sounded pleasant and sweet, though I could not make out the words, which came softer and softer, and then there was the chorus almost as soft. I knew why this was. The drug was beginning to take effect, and I felt that before long their voices would be quite hushed. They would be asleep, and I did not mind it now. It was all my exaggerated fancy, I felt, for it would do them good, and bring them to their senses to find themselves separated and away from the influence of Jarette.

I turned to look toward the forecastle, near which Mr Frewen was standing with Mr Brymer, and they were evidently listening attentively, while Mr Preddle and Mr Denning were close up to the bulwarks on the starboard side, I being to port.

After a time Mr Frewen approached me, and I began to think that he was a very much taller man than I had been in the habit of supposing, and his face was bigger too. It looked larger round than Mr Preddle’s and there was a peculiar, light, rainbow-like look around it as if I was gazing at him through a spy-glass.

Then I started, for though he was a long way off he took hold of my shoulder with an arm like a telescope, and shook me.

“What’s the matter, Dale?” he said. “Don’t look like that, my lad. Not well?”

“Not well?” I said, or rather it was as if somebody a long way off said so. “Of course I am. Quite well, thank you.”

“Well, don’t go to sleep, boy.”

He shook me just as I felt as if I was beginning to fly right off over the blue sea, and away into the fleecy clouds, and as I made an effort to get rid of the clutch upon my shoulder, he said, or somebody else said—

“Great heavens! what does this mean?”

I distinctly heard Mr Frewen say that, and wondered what he meant. For it did seem absurd that he should come slowly up to me till his eyes were looking close into mine, and then gradually shrink away again till he was right off on the other side of the ship, and then over the bulwarks and away at sea, till he was no higher than my finger before he came back again.

But though he appeared to be so distant, I could hear him breathing hard all the time.

I was so disgusted that I determined to take no notice of him, and looked instead at the two sailors by the galley. One of them was laughing and the other staring at me very hard. Then he began behaving in the same manner as Mr Frewen, till the doctor said suddenly—

“Drink this.”

It was cold water, and tasted, delicious.

“Thank you,” I said, with my voice sounding a long way off, and I think it was Mr Brymer who spoke then, but his voice sounded too as if he were distant, though his words were perfectly distinct.

“Over-excitement, isn’t it, and the heat of the sun?”

Then after a very long pause Mr Frewen said—

“Perhaps, but I am beginning to be afraid. Yes, that’s light, my lad, sit down here in the shade. Take off your cap.”

That lad—I did not know who it was then—sat down on the bottom of a tub, and leaned his head back against the bulwarks for the soft breeze to play through his hair; and very pleasant and dreamy and restful it all was for him, whoever he was, while I listened, too, to what was going on.

A great deal appeared to be going on about me just then, and I quite enjoyed it, and somehow it was as if everything was surrounded by beautiful colours. Mr Brymer came and went just as if I were seeing him through a cut-glass decanter-stopper, but he was not half so striking as Mr Preddle, who came and stood over me looking gigantic, but his face and even his clothes were prismatic. So was the air, which now began to descend rapidly, as if it were some brilliant waterfall coming down from the clouds.

“Will you fetch me a cane seat off the poop?”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

It was Mr Preddle’s highly-pitched voice which I heard, and it was the sailor who had sat talking to the steersman who answered, and soon after I heard the chair squeak very loudly, as big Mr Preddle, looking as large as an elephant now, sat down by the boy on the tub, and leaned his head back against the bulwarks.

He talked to him about the fish, and said that the hot weather did not agree with them, and that he was afraid that kangaroo-tail was too rich a dish to agree with them, for it was indigestible, and made people drowsy.

The boy did not make any answer, but sat staring at Mr Preddle sidewise, wondering why the big stout naturalist also should keep on going and coming in that telescopic fashion, which was so puzzling to me as well as to that boy, who was, however, exceedingly stupid, for he did not say a word, but only stared with his mouth half open.

Then I was listening to Mr Brymer, who was talking anxiously to the doctor, as they stood watching the forecastle-hatch, from which came a deliciously sweet chorus, and I knew why it sounded so pleasant—it was because the men were so far away in the bows, for the Burgh Castle grew longer and longer, till the bowsprit seemed as if it were miles away, but with every rope and block as distinctly seen as if it were still close to me.

“Well, my lad, how are you?” said Mr Frewen just then; but the boy leaning back against the bulwark only stared at him, and I felt ready to kick him for being so rude, and then I wanted to punch Mr Preddle, for he began to snore abominably.

“I don’t like it, Frewen,” said somebody just then. “What do you say? You don’t think it possible that—”

He did not finish speaking, for just then I saw Mr Frewen go to the boy on the tub, and dash some water over his face.

“Now, my lad,” he said, “you must get up and walk about.”

He took hold of the boy’s arm, but did not pull him up, for the lad fought against him angrily, and then I knew I was that boy staring hard at the doctor, and then at Mr Denning, who came along the deck from the companion-way far-distant, crying—

“Doctor—my sister—come directly—she’s dying!”

The doctor went away directly, and I saw him going what seemed to be miles away, but so gently and easily that it was like something in a dream. Mr Brymer went after him, and the cook and the two men stood watching them till they disappeared through the saloon entrance, while the men in the forecastle kept on singing a chorus, sounding now loud and now soft, just as one hears the music of a great organ when the performer opens and closes the swell.

I don’t know how long it was afterwards, but it did not seem to matter, for everything was so pleasant and calm, before I saw Mr Brymer come back with the doctor, and directly after, though he seemed to be still a long way off, Mr Brymer said—

“I must send another man. He is hanging fast asleep over the wheel.”

Then I saw Mr Frewen catch at one of the shrouds and stand gazing at him vacantly, and then I felt quite pleased, for Bob Hampton was there along with Neb Dumlow.

“It is all going to be right now,” I thought, though I did not know that anything was wrong, and I felt as if I was just dropping off into a delicious sleep.

But all was quite clear and plain again, as I heard Bob Hampton say—

“Some one has been playing larks with the grub, sir. I can’t go to the wheel, for I can’t—can’t—can’t—can’t— Here, hold up Neb, lad; don’t lurch about like that.”

“I’m a-going down, matey, I’m a-going down,” growled Dumlow, and I saw him sink on the deck.

“You scoundrels, you’ve been at the rum!” cried Mr Brymer, and he drew his pistol, but only gave a stagger, and caught about in the air to try and save himself from falling. “Help—Frewen—something—give me something,” he panted, and Mr Frewen came to him, feeling his way with his arms stretched out just as if he were playing at blindman’s buff.

He came on as if from a great distance, till he touched Mr Brymer, and I heard him whisper the one word—“Treachery.”

“I knew it!” cried the mate, fiercely, and cocking his pistol he staggered for a moment just as I saw Bob Hampton sink down on the deck holding his head.

Directly after, as Mr Frewen stood swaying to and fro, the mate rushed to where the cook and the two men stood by the galley-door.

The two sailors shrank away to right and left, while Mr Brymer seized the cook and dragged him away, forcing him down upon his knees, holding him by the collar with one hand, and swaying to and fro as he said thickly—

“You dog, you drugged that dish you sent in to dinner!”

“No, sir—’pon my word, sir—I swear, sir!” shrieked the poor fellow.

“You treacherous hound, you’ve poisoned us!” stammered out the mate.

“I swear I haven’t, Mr Brymer, sir. Don’t, sir—that pistol, sir—pray, sir—indeed, indeed, I haven’t!”

Mr Brymer was shaking the pistol about threateningly, as he rocked to and fro over the cook, who as he knelt clasped his hands in agony, and I heard him say something very indistinctly, for he was sobbing about his wife and child.

Then there was a loud bang as the pistol fell, and directly after I saw Mr Brymer glide down as it were on to the deck, and roll over toward where Mr Frewen already lay—though I had not seen him fall—with his arms now folded, and his face upon them as if he were asleep.

And still it didn’t seem to trouble me in the least. Even when Mr Brymer was gesticulating with his pistol, it did not alarm me, for it was all something interesting going on before me just as if it were part of a dream which would all dissolve away directly, and then I should wake up and think of it no more.

I think my eyes must have been closing then, but they opened widely again, and at one glance I saw my companions perfectly motionless from where I sat back against the bulwark, and heard Mr Preddle snoring heavily by my side. For the cook exclaimed passionately—

“I swear, if it was the last word I had to titter, I’ve done nothing! I never drugged nobody’s food!”

“All right, matey,” said the sailor I had seen talking to the steersman; “it warn’t you—it was me.”

“You?” cried the cook. “You’ve poisoned them!”

“Not I, my lad,” said the man, laughing; and every word he uttered rang in my ears as if it was being shouted by some tremendous voice, for my senses were at that moment abnormally clear. “Not I, my lad. I was up yonder, when I saw Brymer and the rest of ’em get together to have what old Frenchy calls a parley, and they hadn’t been there long, leaving me wondering what game was up, and what they were going to do about the lads down below, when I see the sky-light opened a bit. So of course I crep’ along the deck to hear what they’d got to say.”

“And did you hear?”

“Every word, mate. They were going to get the doctor to find the stuff to send all the lads to sleep, and then they were going to open the hatch and shove Jarette by himself, and the others some in the cable-tier and some in the hold.”

“Yes, yes!” cried the cook, eagerly, while I listened hard.

“Well then, that warmint yonder said it ought to be put in the soup, and so they settled it.

“‘Two can play at that game,’ I says, and I listened till they spoke so low that I opened the light a bit wider, and it slipped out of my hands and went down bang. So I nipped back to set alongside o’ Tommy here, and my gentleman comes up to peep, sees me right away, and goes back again. I thought perhaps they’d give it up then, but I kep’ my eyes open, and bimeby I sees my nipper here come to you with three tins, and he tells you what to do with them.

“‘All right,’ I says, ‘I can see through that dodge,’ so I lays low and waits my chance, empties the tin of soup you’d put aside into a pan, and then pours the one you were going to use into the one you’d set aside, and that out of the pan into the tin, but I washed it out first, and put it ready for you to use.”

“You couldn’t; I was here all the time,” said the cook, angrily.

“Oh, was you? Didn’t go round to the back to fetch taters, did you?”

“Of course. I forgot.”

“Ah, that’s right,” continued the man. “But I warn’t satisfied then, for I says to myself, ‘Them poor beggars down below won’t get the dose now, but I should like t’others to have a taste;’ and to make sure as they did, I takes the tin as you’d got the lumps o’ meat in, pours out all the pieces and fills it up from the tin they’d doctored, and filled it up again with the juice I’d poured out; now I says to myself, whichever lot they have’ll give ’em what they meant for some one else—and so it did. My word, they mixed it pretty strong.”

“Why, the tins were wet and sticky!” cried the cook.

“Course they was, mate; I had to be in such a hurry for fear of your coming back.”

“And I couldn’t make out about that pan.”

“Hadn’t time to wash it, messmate.”

“Then I gave the lads down below the soup the cabin was to have had?”

“You did.”

“And them in the cabin the soup and kangaroo they’d physicked?”

“That’s so, matey, and their games are over again. You’ll jyne us, won’t you?”

“I? Join you?” faltered the cook, looking across at me; “here, what are you going to do?”

“Let the lads out again. It’s their turn now.”

And just then the men in the forecastle finished a chorus and began to cheer.

“I shall wake up from this dream directly,” I remember thinking, but I did not, for all was black, and I was in the deepest sleep that I ever had in my long life.

Chapter Thirty One.

Hot! So hot that I could hardly breathe, and so dark that I could not see across the cabin. My head ached, and I was terribly sleepy, with a heavy, unsatisfied drowsiness, which kept me from stirring, though I longed to get out of my cot and go and open the window, and at the same time have a good drink from the water-bottle.

I was lying on my brick, and there was the impression upon me that I had been having bad dreams, during the passing of which I had been in great trouble of some kind, but what that trouble was I could not tell; and as soon as I tried to think, my brain felt as if it was hot and dry, and rolling slowly from side to side of my skull.

I was very uncomfortable and moved a little, but it made my head throb so that I was glad to lie still again and wait till the throbbing grew less violent.

“It all comes of sleeping in a cabin in these hot latitudes with the window closed. Mr Frewen ought to know better,” I thought, “being a doctor. I’ll tell him of it as soon as he wakes.”

This is how I mused, thinking all the time how foolish I was not to get up and open the window, but still feeling no more ready to cool the stifling air of the cabin.

“What makes men snore so?” I thought then, and began to wonder how it was that so gentlemanly a man as the doctor should make such a noise in his sleep. I had never heard him do so before. As a rule he lay down, closed his eyes, and went off fast, breathing as softly as a baby till he woke in the morning. Now his breathing was what doctors call stertorous, heavy and oppressed.

“Oh, how I wish he would wake up and open the window!” I thought; but he did not wake up nor cease breathing so heavily, and I lay thinking about coming to bed on the previous night. That is to say, I lay trying to think about coming to bed, for I could not recall anything. I had some dreamy notion of its having been my watch; but whether I had taken it, or whether it was yet to come and some one was due to rouse me up soon, I could not tell.

“It’s all due to having such a headache,” I thought, “and of course through this horrid air. Why doesn’t he wake up and open the window?”

How long that lasted I cannot tell, but it must have been for some time, during which my brain burned and my thoughts came in a horribly confused manner. I could hear the sounds on deck, and feel that the ship was careening over with the breeze, but these facts suggested nothing to me, and I must have been in quite a stupor, when I was roused by a voice saying angrily—

“Well, what is it?”

I knew the voice from its rough harsh tones, and I lay waiting for some one to answer, but there was no reply, and all was blacker and hotter than ever, when there came the peculiar smacking noise of one passing his tongue over his dry lips, and once more he spoke.

“D’yer hear, what is it?”

There was no reply, and it seemed to me that the speaker was settling himself down to go to sleep again, for he moved uneasily.

“What did yer say, Neb?”

I had not heard Neb Dumlow say anything, and I wondered why I had not, for I did not think I had been to sleep. But I felt that I must have been, or I should have heard.

“Mussy me, what a head I’ve got!” muttered the voice. “Did the gents give us some rum?”

There was a pause.

“Must ha’ done, but I don’t recklect. Why, it must ha’ been a whole lot.”

My head must have been growing less confused, for now I began to be puzzled about how it was that Bob Hampton was sleeping in our cabin instead of just under shelter with the others at the entrance of the saloon. It was very strange, but I was too stupid to arrange things. Once I wondered whether I really was in the cabin along with Mr Frewen, but I got no farther with that line of reasoning, and I was sinking back into my stupor or lethargy when Bob Hampton spoke again.

“Here, Neb—Barney, open something, and let’s have some fresh air. My, how hot!”

He had a headache too then, and could hardly breathe for the hot closeness of the place. This roused me, and I lay thinking how strange it was that he should be just as much indisposed as I was to move. But he was a fore-mast man and I was an officer, so I had only to speak to be obeyed, and after making two or three efforts which only resulted in a dull muttering sound, Bob Hampton exclaimed—

“Here, whatcher talking about? Who is it, and what do you want?”

“I say, open the window, Bob, and let’s have some fresh air.”

There was a quick rustling movement close by me, as if some one had risen upon his elbow, and he exclaimed—

“What d’yer say?”

“Open the window, Bob; I’m half-stifled.”

“So’m I, my lad. Here, what’s the matter? What are you doing here?”

“No,” I said; “what are you doing here in the cabin, Bob?”

“I arn’t in the cabin, my lad, and you arn’t in the cabin, for this arn’t in it, and—Here, I say, what’s up?”

“I don’t know,” I said peevishly, “but it’s so hot I can’t bear it; do open something.”

“Blest if I— Look here, my lad— There arn’t anything to open anywheres, and my head won’t go. Would you mind telling me where the sky-light is, for I s’pose I had too much grog last night like a fool, and I arn’t werry clear in the head.”

“I don’t know, I can’t tell, Bob. It’s all a puzzle.”

“And it’s so plaguey dark, my lad. Wait a bit and I’ll feel round with my fingers, for eyes aren’t no good here.”

“Well,” I said, for there was a good deal of rustling, “what can you feel?”

“Chesties and casks, my lad, and we’re a-lying on ’em—leastwise I am. What are we two a-lying on chesties and casks for?”

“I don’t know, Bob. But who’s that snoring so?”

“Where?”

“Somebody was snoring just now, but it stopped when you spoke.”

“Then I s’pose it must ha’ been me, my lad. I have heard say as I could play a pretty good toon on my nose when I was very fast asleep.”

“No. There it goes again,” I said in a hoarse whisper, as the noise which I had first heard recommenced.

“Oh, there’s no gammon ’bout that, my lad. That there’s Neb Dumlow. If ever you’re anywheres and hears a sound like a vessel blowing off her steam under water, all snort and bubble, you may take your oath it’s Neb Dumlow. Here, I’ll stop that.”

“Wait a moment, Bob,” I said. “I want to know first where we are.”

“So do I, my lad, but it seems to me, as my old mother used to say, that want’ll be your master. I dunno, my lad; arn’t dead and buried, are we?”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” I said peevishly. “Look here,—were you on the middle watch last night?”

“Dunno, my lad,—were you?”

“I can’t recollect, Bob. But do try. We must be somewhere in the dark, and it’s that which puzzles us.”

“Oh yes, there’s no gammon about that, my lad; we’re somewheres in the dark, and it’s ’bout the solidest, thickest darkness I ever found myself in. Here, I’ll wake up old Neb. He’s very ugly and precious stoopid, but he’ll tell us where we are in a jiffy. Here! Hi! Avast there! Neb!”

“Hullo!” came in answer to what sounded like a heavy shaking after Bob Hampton had crept by me.

“Now, my lad, rouse up a bit.”

“Our watch, old man?”

“No; not yet.”

“Bless yer. Good-night.”

Snore.

“No, no; rouse up.”

“Well, all right, messmate. That there’s flesh and blood you’ve got hold on, not suit. Don’t skin me.”

“Then wake up.”

“Well, I’m woke up. What is it? Who’s dowsed the lantern?”

“I d’know. Here’s Mr Dale wants you to tell him where we are.”

“Mr Dale?”

“Yes; I said so, didn’t I, stoopid?”

“Course you did, matey, but what’s he doing here?”

“That’s what he wants you to tell him, only he wants to know first where here is.”

There was the sound of some one feeling about, and I fancied I could hear some one else breathing, but I was not sure, and I listened patiently for what Neb Dumlow was going to say. But Bob Hampton was the first to speak, and he said in a gruff whisper—

“He’s a awful thick-headed chap, sir, but I think he’ll hit it off for us directly.”

“Messmate!” came from a little way off.

“Well?”

“Has some one been having a lark with us?”

“I dunno, and I don’t know anything,” growled Bob. “You arn’t wanted to ask questions, but to answer what Mr Dale wants to know. Now, then, what d’yer make of it?”

“Nowt.”

“Well, where are we?”

“Dunno.”

“What!—can’t yer tell?”

“Can’t find bottom, my lad; only seem to arrive at one thing.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Well, it’s this here; if it was me and you and old Barney—where is old Barney?”

“Here, messmate.”

“Oh, come then, I might be right, on’y you see we’ve got Mr Dale with us.”

“Look here, what are you fogging about? Why don’t you say what yer mean, my lad? Now then, out with it. Where are we?—’cause Mr Dale wants to know.”

“Well, as he’s here, we can’t be here,” growled Dumlow.

“What d’yer mean, stoopid?”

“Why, we can’t be where I thought we was.”

“And wheers that?”

“Why, my lad, it looks like this here ’cording to what I feels. But stop a moment, let’s ask Barney a question. Barney, old lad!”

“Hullo!”

“How’s yer head?”

“Just as if it was a beehive, and all the bees swarming.”

“That’s it. Then we are here, and all I’ve got to say for myself is, as I wonder I could ha’ been such a fool, and I’m sorry as Mr Dale don’t know better.”

“Then where are we, Dumlow?” I said hastily; “for I don’t know any better.”

“Then you ought to, sir; you a orficer and brought up proper. I wonder at you a-leading men into trouble, and there’ll be an awful row when old Brymer finds us out.”

“He’s got it, sir,” said Bob Hampton. “It’s what I thought, and it’s a rum ’un.”

“Then, where are we?” I said pettishly; for my head kept on feeling as if it was spinning round.

“Why, sir,” said Dumlow; “we’re down in the hold among them sperrit casks as was stowed by themselves, and some one’s been opening one of ’em with a gimlet and letting us all drink.”

“Hist!”

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

A long, low knocking as of knuckles against a bulk-head.

“Come in!” growled Bob Hampton. “Here’s the cook brought your shaving-water, sir.”

The tapping was repeated, and sounded some little distance off.

“Answer them, whoever it is, Bob,” I said; for this seemed to be something, if not tangible, at all events certain.

There was a little rustling about, and the tapping came again.

“Why don’t you answer them?” I said tetchily.

“What do you mean, sir—shout?”

“No, no; tap again.”

“But there arn’t nothin’ to knock on, sir. It’s no good to hit the top, or the floor.”

“But there must be a partition somewhere,” I said.

“Dessay there is, sir; but I can’t tell where it is.”

“Are we not somewhere near the forecastle?”

“Dessay we are, sir; but my head’s some’at like a lump o’ solid wood. What did you bring us down here for?”

“I! Bring you down! Nonsense, man. I did not bring you.”

“Then how did we come, sir? Do you know, Neb?”

“No.”

“Do you, Barney?”

“No. I only knows here we are, and my head’s a rum ’un.”

“But there must be some reason for us being here,” I said piteously, as I struggled vainly to get beyond what seemed to be a black curtain hanging between the past and present.

“Yes, sir,” said Bob, coolly; “there must be some reason.”

“Then what is it, Bob?”

“Oh, don’t ask me, sir; I arn’t no scholard. I’m all muzzly like. Seems to me that we’ve been to one o’ they casks,—and all the time it don’t. No; we arn’t had no drink. We shouldn’t with all that there trouble a-hanging over us.”

“Yes, Bob,” I said eagerly, for he had touched a chord which set me thinking—I mean trying to think; “that trouble hanging over us. There was some trouble, wasn’t there?”

“Oh yes, sir; we was in a lot o’ trouble about something, but blest if I know what it was.”

“Well; try, man,” I cried. “Think about trouble. What trouble was it?”

“No, sir, I dunno,” he cried, after a pause. “We’re aboard the Burgh Castle still, arn’t we?”

“I don’t know,” I began. “Yes, of course we are, and we must be down in the hold. It’s coming now, I think. Why did we come down here? Surely one of you must know.”

“It arn’t likely, sir, if you don’t,” growled Dumlow.

“But what were we in trouble about?” I said, for—I cannot describe it—there was the thick feeling of something having happened; but strange as it may seem, neither I nor the men could make anything out about what had preceded our unnatural sleep.

“It’s a rum ’un,” said Bob Hampton at last. “I dunno. It’s a rum ’un.”

“But cannot either of you think at all?” I cried in agony. “It seems so horrible to be here like this in black darkness, and not know how or why.”

“Or what?” suggested Bob.

“I think I’ve got it now,” said Dumlow.

“Yes; what is it?”

“All gone mad wi’ being so much out in the sun.”

“You may be mad, Neb, I arn’t, and I don’t mean to. I’ll take my trick at the wheel and box the compass with any on yer. Wheel—wheel,” he added, thoughtfully—“steering. Why arn’t I at the wheel now?”

“’Cause you’re here, messmate,” said Dumlow.

“But I was a-steering when you comes, Mr Dale, sir, and brings me a plate o’ wittles, and you says, says you—”

“Oh!” I cried excitedly.

“No, you didn’t, sir, beggin’ your parding; you says something about could I steer and eat too, and I says—no, you says—no, it was I says; well, it was one or t’other of us, I can’t quite ’member which says, ‘put it on the binnacle,’—and it was put there, and I ate it, and it was very good.”

“Oh!” I cried again, as I pressed my temples with my hands, for I could see a faint gleam of light peeping through into my head, or so it seemed; but it kept on dying out again, and I was blank of memory again as ever.

“Did you say wittles?” cried Dumlow, suddenly.

“Ay, mate, I did.”

“Why, I ’members something ’bout wittles. O’ course. Me and you, Bob.”

“When? Where?”

“Ah, I dunno when it was, nor wheer it was, but—”

“She’s dying—she’s dying,” I cried; for those words came cutting through the black silence, and gave me quite a pang.

“Who’s she? And what’s she a-dying for?” growled Bob Hampton.

“Toe be sure, mate,” said Dumlow, “that’s what Mr Denning says as he come out of his cabin. ‘She’s dying,’ he says, and you and me got up and sat down again feeling as silly as two booby birds.”

“Here, you don’t know what you’re talking about, messmate,” said Bob Hampton.

“Yes, he does,” I cried excitedly, for a greater light seemed to have now flashed into my brain. “You did go into the saloon to have— Oh, Bob Hampton, I recollect it all now.”

“Do you, sir? Then let’s have it,” he said gruffly.

“There was a great mistake made,” I cried.

“Seems like it, sir.”

“And, yes,” I continued, “I know Barney went to sleep at the wheel.”

“That’s a lie!” he rapped out. “Leastwise, I beg your pardon, sir; I mean I arn’t the sort o’ man to go to sleep on duty.”

“No, no; of course not, Barney,” I said piteously; “but you did, and Bob Hampton and Neb Dumlow came and laid down on the deck, and I saw it all, and heard it, and, oh dear, oh dear! what a terrible mess!”

“Arn’t he going off his head, matey?” whispered Dumlow; but I heard him.

“No, no, man; it’s all coming back now. You don’t know, but you must now; it was a plan to give the mutineers stuff to send them all to sleep, and it was changed and given to us instead.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Bob Hampton; “but hadn’t you better lie down and go to sleep again?”

“Why, Bob?”

“’Cause, to speak plain English, you’re talking nonsense, sir.”

“No, man; it’s sense. That fellow Dean heard all, and changed the tins.”

“Now, do lie down, sir; it’s o’ no use for you to go on worrying yourself about tins.”

“I tell you I can see it all now, man,” I cried angrily. “We took the stuff, and the prisoners got off. They’re out now, and we’re prisoners. Don’t you see?”

“No, sir; it’s too dark. But—”

“I tell you I’m all right. My head is come clear again, and I can think. We were all confused through taking Mr Frewen’s stuff.”

“I never took none o’ the doctor’s stuff,” growled Dumlow. “And I don’t never mean to.”

“Are you sure o’ what you’re saying, sir?” said Bob Hampton.

“Certain, Bob.”

“I arn’t.”

“You hold your tongue, and don’t be sarcy, Neb,” growled Bob. “I’m a-beginning to see now. Mr Dale’s right. If he warn’t, how could we be shut up down here with our heads as thick as if we’d been having ’em stuffed? That’s it, sir, though I don’t half understand what you say. Then we’ve all been hocussed, and Jarette’s got the upper hand again?”

“Yes, Bob, I’m afraid so.”

“Well, that’s ugly, my lad; but there’s no help for it now, and the sooner we get to work and take the ship again, I suppose, the better.”

“Yes, Bob,” I said. “Of course.”

“Very well, my lad, then here goes. I’m glad it’s how you say, for I was beginning to think I’d got crazed, and been shut up for being violent. That’s a comfort anyhow, for I don’t hold with a man going off his head.”

“Then it’s all right, messmate?” growled Dumlow.

“Right as it can be in a place like this, matey. Yer can’t breathe, nor you can’t see, and—well now, that’s queer. You seem to ha’ set my head working again, Mr Dale, sir; and I recklect sittin’ in the s’loon eating our dinner arter you gents had done, and then coming over all pleasant and comfble like, and then I don’t seem to ’member no more till I woke up down here.”

“And that knocking we heard must be some of the others,” I cried excitedly.

“That’s sartain, sir.”

“Is there any one else here beside us four?”

“If there be,” says Barney, “we’re a-lying on ’em, for there arn’t no room without as I can see.”

“Yer can’t see,” growled Dumlow.

“Well, I didn’t mean with my eyes, Neb; so don’t be so chuff on a fellow. I meant with my understanding.”

“Don’t. Don’t get arguing together,” I cried impatiently. “It is suffocating down here. I want to understand how we are placed, and I can’t quite make it out yet.”

“Well, sir, p’r’aps I can help you a bit,” said Bob. “Seems to me as they pulled up a hatch and pitched us in, and then battened it down again.”

“And where are our friends?”

“Why, they’d shove ’em where we shoved they, down in the forksle, I should say, unless they’ve stuffed ’em in the cable-tier.”

“Yes, perhaps so,” I said thoughtfully.

“Why, o’ course,” growled Dumlow.

“What? They are in the cable-tier?”

“Oh, I dunno, sir; I was a-thinking about our taking they wittles in the s’loon, and it’s come back like sort o’ bells ringing in my ear, and Mr Denning saying she’s dying. Oh yes, I recklect that, and the doctor coming. That’s ’bout as far as I can get.”

“I ’member the wittles on the binnacle quite plain now,” said Barney; “and, yes, o’ course, I kep’ coming over all soft like, and wantin’ to sing songs, and listen to moosic, and couldn’t sing; but it was all silver and gold and sunshine and beautiful birds in beautiful trees. Yes, it’s all right, sir. You see now, don’t you, Neb?”

“No, I can’t see nowt; but I dessay it’s all right. I don’t want to know; it don’t matter to me.”

“Hush!” I whispered. “There’s that knocking again.”

There it was quite plainly, and then came a repetition seemingly close at hand,—three smart taps as of knuckles on a chest.

“There’s some one else, and quite near,” I said in a low voice.

“No, my lad, that was me. Here’s a big case behind me, and I let go on it.”

There were three more taps at a distance.

“Knock again,” I said, and this time Bob struck twice.

A few moments later there were distinctly heard two knocks.

“They heard us,” I said, and answered. “Try again with one.”

He struck once as loudly as he could, and we waited excitedly to hear one blow given apparently on a bulk-head.

“Those are our friends there,” I cried excitedly.

“If it arn’t old Frenchy gammoning us, sir,” said Barney.

“I think it must be our friends,” I said, feeling unwilling to give up the idea; and I was going to add something, when there came to us plainly enough the sound of feet passing somewhere overhead, and directly after a voice shouted something, but what we could not hear.

Chapter Thirty Two.

Our heads, on comparing notes, began to feel more bearable, and as the throbbing gradually died away we could feel that the effort to think was easier, while our thoughts were clearer, and before long we began to feel about so as to learn what kind of place we were in, and made out that it was an oblong kind of space between cases, and with barrels underneath, and upon which we had been lying when we began to come to. We could learn nothing further, and there were no replies now to the tappings we gave from time to time, a fact which made my heart sink rather low. For I knew that there must be some reason for this, and I was trying to puzzle it out, when Barney Blane said suddenly—

“Say, messmates, arn’t it ’bout time as some ’un came round to feed the crew?”

“Ay,” said Bob, “and the sooner they do it the better. I’m getting wild for want o’ somethin’ to stow in my hold. They’ve got to bring something too, or I’ll soon let ’em know.”

“Know what, Bob?” I said anxiously, for the man’s voice sounded fierce and strange.

“Why, sir, they threatened us as to what they’d do; fired it right into my ear, Jarette did. He says to me he says, ‘If yer don’t soon let us out, I’ll set fire to the ship.’”

“Yes, I know he did,” I said.

“That’s ’robborative evidence, messmates, when yer orficer says you’re right. Well, then, what I says to him is this, I’ve got a box o’ matches in my pocket, and if they don’t soon let us out, or put us somewhere so as we can breathe, I’ll set the blessed old Burgh Castle alight myself and burn our way out.”

“Nonsense,” I cried; “you’re mad.”

“And ’nuff to make me, sir. That there stuff we took’s set up a reg’lar fierce annymile or something in my inside, as goes on gnaw, gnaw, gnaw, till I shan’t be able to stand it much longer, and shall have to break out.”

“Well, you are a rum ’un, Bob,” said Barney. “Why, you’re not going to turn canniball, are yer, at your time o’ life?”

“What d’yer mean?”

“Talking about eating your messmates.”

“Who did? What yer talking about? Nobody wouldn’t want to eat you, Barney. If I wanted to get the flavour o’ ’bacco in my mouth I’d get it from a quid, and while a man could get at a bit o’ oak or an old shoe he wouldn’t think o’ trying to gnaw old Neb. What d’yer mean?”

“Then what d’yer talk o’ roasting us for in that there mad way, matey?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know as I meant it, messmate, but I’m that hungry just now as never was.”

“That will do,” I said, asserting my position as officer. “Silence, please.”

“All right, sir; all right,” growled Bob. “I’m ready. What yer going to do?”

“Try and feel about, Bob, to find where the hatch is. We must get some air somehow.”

“That’s right, sir. Come on, lads, and have a try. Who’s got knives?”

“I have,” said Barney. “Me too,” growled Dumlow. “That’s right, then; we may have to use ’em.”

Then a rustling sound began, and I knew that the men were feeling about overhead; while being able to think pretty clearly now, I came to the conclusion that we had been thrown down here, the hatches put on again, and the tarpaulin spread over them, and that was why it was so airless and hot.

I had an endorsement of my opinion a minute later, for Bob growled out—

“Here’s the hatches, sir, and they’re all battened down and the ’paulins is nailed over ’em. I’ll soon have some fresh air in.” And before I could grasp what he was going to do, I heard a curious ripping sound, which told me that he had passed the blade of his long Spanish spring-knife through between two of the cross-hatches, and was cutting through it.

“There!” he said, as a gleam of light struck through, so brilliant that I knew it must be broad daylight; and even that ray sent a thrill of hope through me, for it seemed to bring me nearer to the living world after feeling as if I had been buried alive.

“Don’t cut any more yet, Bob,” I whispered.

“But that there hole won’t give enough air for one man to sniff, sir. You must have another to let out the steam.”

“But listen first,” I said. “Can you hear any one on deck?”

There was perfect silence for some minutes, and then came a deep—

“No.”

“What time should you think it is?”

“’Bout four bells, I should say, sir. Sun’s shining down so as the tarpaulin’s made the hatch hot.”

“Then the lubbers are all having a caulk,” growled Dumlow. “Tell him to have another cut, sir, and a good long ’un this time.”

I hesitated for a few moments, shrinking from doing anything to let the enemy know that we were trying to get out; but the heat was so terrible that I was obliged to give the order at last.

“Cut, Bob,” I whispered, and there was a low buzz of satisfaction as the knife ripped through the tarred canvas, and we could see a long streak of bright light.

“’Nother, sir?” said Bob.

“Yes,” I said desperately, “we shall be suffocated if you don’t.”

Rip went the tarpaulin again, and another streak of light a short distance from the others appeared, while directly after, without waiting for orders, Bob lengthened the first cut he had made till it equalled the two latter.

“Won’t be much better,” he growled, “but it’s better than nothing. Shall I get under the end of one of the hatches now, sir, and try and push it up?”

“No, not yet. If we do that it ought to be after dark. But I don’t think there will be any chance, for they are sure to be well fastened down. Listen again. There must be some one on deck.”

“Yes, sir, for sartain, but they’ll be up at the other end. Dessay they’re a-feeding o’ themselves, and got plenty to drink.”

“Ay, trust ’em, messmate,” growled Dumlow, “but it’s no use to grumble. Ups and downs in life we see. We’re down now, and it’s their turn.”

“Now,” said Barney.

“Hush!” I whispered.

We all listened, and plainly heard a step overhead, as if a man was walking along the deck. It passed by, sounding fainter, and died away, but at the end of a minute we heard it again, and knew that whoever it might be, he was returning and would pass by us again.

This happened, and I feared that he would notice the cuts in the tarpaulin, but he went on, the footsteps grew fainter, and I fancied that I heard them continue on the ladder as the man ascended to the poop-deck.

“Could you tell who that was, Bob?” I said.

“Ay, sir. No mistaking that pair o’ legs. They don’t go like an Englishman’s would. That was old Jarette.”

I set my teeth hard, and almost writhed at the feeling of impotence which troubled me. To have been so near success, and then for that scoundrel, who had promised to work faithfully for us if he were forgiven, to have played the spy, and contrived after hearing our plot to change the contents of the tins. For it was all clear enough now in my memory, and I could recall every word the man had said to the cook.

“We ought to have kept some one on the watch while we made our plans,” I said to myself, but felt how absurd it was to murmur now that the mischief was done.

The heat seemed a little less intense now, but it was so terrible that the throbbing in my head commenced again, and I was ready to order an attempt to be made to force up one side of the hatch, when there was a whisper.

“What say, Bob?” I replied.

“Didn’t speak, sir,” was the reply.

“You then, Dumlow?”

“No; not me, sir.”

“Well then, Barney, it was you,” I said tetchily. “What do you want?”

“I never spoke, sir,” said Barney, in an ill-used tone. “What do they want to say it was me for?”

“Cheer up!” came now quite plainly.

“Eh? Who spoke?”

“Friend,” was whispered again.

“Yes, what? Who is it?”

“Pst!”

I waited for whoever it was to speak again, but there was not another sound, and I turned to where I believed Bob to be lying.

“Who could that be?” I said.

“Well, sir, when a man blows his words down through a slit in a tarpaulin—”

“You think it came down through the hole you cut?”

“Yes, sir, sure on it; but as I was a-saying, when a man blows his words down like that he might just as well be whistlin’ a hornpipe for all you can tell who it is. But if I was put upon my oath afore a judge I should swear as it were Plum Duff.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Well, sir, old Byled Salt Pork.”

“The cook?”

“That’s him, sir.”

“But he whispered ‘Friend,’” I panted excitedly.

“Yes, and that’s what bothered me. If it had been any one else it would ha’ been all right, but one can’t quite believe in a cook being your friend at any time. After what has taken place just lately I should say he was the worsest enemy we ever had.”

“No, no,” I cried eagerly, “the man could not help it. He was innocent enough. It was that scoundrel who did the mischief.”

“All right, sir; have it your own way. I’m willing.”

“Then we have one friend on deck.”

“Yes, sir, and s’pose he’ll doctor the lot of ’em this next time and have us all up on deck again. Good luck to him. I hope he’ll look sharp about it.”

“Hist! What’s that?”

It was the three knocks again plainly heard from forward somewhere, and plain proof that we had other friends who would gladly join us in a combination against our common enemy.

Chapter Thirty Three.

We answered the knocks, which were repeated, and we soon found that we could signal to or talk to our friends forward, for we had pretty well made out now which was fore and which aft, though it was evidently a dead calm again, and the ship was rolling slowly from side to side.

But though we could signal and converse, there was no code for the signals, and our conversation was in an unknown tongue.

I suppose it was the heat, or the fact that I had gone through so terrible an experience from the narcotic, which made me feel so intensely irritable, for after our knocking and tapping had gone on for some time, I exclaimed—

“I wish to goodness they wouldn’t. What is the good of their keeping on doing that? It means nothing, and does no good.”

“Oh, but it do mean something, sir,” said Bob.

“Well, then, what?”

“They keep on tapping to show us where they are, and means us to go to them.”

“Why don’t they come to us?” I said, in a tone full of vexation.

“’Cause they can’t, sir.”

“And we can’t go to them,” I cried pettishly.

“Well, I don’t know, sir; I’ve been thinking as perhaps we could.”

“But how, man? We can’t get through all these cases and barrels and things.”

“No, sir; but praps we might manage to creep along over ’em. One on us ought to volunteer to try.”

“All right; volunteer it is,” growled Dumlow. “I’ll go.”

“There you are, Mr Dale, sir. Never say die. Wait a minute, Neb, old man, and let’s set my fingers and thumbs to work to try whether they can see a hole as ’ll soot you to go along by.”

“There can’t be any holes, Bob,” I said.

“Mebbe not, sir; but I tell you what cargo does in a voyage, specially if you get a storm or two to shake it together. You may pack it and jam it as much as you like when you’re in dock, but it’s sure to settle a bit, and leave some room up at the top. I’m going to try whether there arn’t some o’ that room here.”

We waited almost breathlessly, and listened to our fellow-prisoner as he rustled about; and then my heart gave a bound, for he exclaimed—

“Here’s plenty o’ room here, sir, just at the top, but it goes aft. This can’t be toward the bows. But it was this way as the knocking came, warn’t it?”

“No, no, no,” we all cried. “The other way.”

“Look at that,” growled Bob. “My head can’t be right yet, or else it’s the darkness as confooses a man. It’s like being in a thick fog and having to steer.”

“Try again,” I said.

“Ay, ay, sir; I’ll try again, o’ course.”

“I say, don’t kneel on a man’s chesty like that, messmate,” grumbled Dumlow.

“Then why don’t you put your chesty somewheres else?” growled Bob. “You’re allers lying about all over the deck.”

“Nay, I arn’t, matey,” remonstrated Dumlow. “Speak the truth, my lad, if you can.”

“Why, you’re spreadin’ about on your back now, arn’t yer?”

“Course I am, mate; I was trying how flat I could make myself ’fore I started on the adwenter.”

“Try, pray try the other way, Bob, and don’t quarrel so—”

“Now hark at that, Barney, when I’m trying all I can to be as civil and smooth as butter, on’y Neb let out at me.”

There was a pause, and we could hear Bob grunting as he felt about in the other direction, sending joy into all our hearts directly, just as the tapping began again.

“It’s just as I said, Mr Dale, sir,” he whispered. “The knocking comes along over the cargo here, and there is just room for a man to creep along.”

“Hush! let me answer the knocking first,” I whispered.

“Never mind the knocking, sir; let’s get to ’em ’fore we misses the chance. Now, Neb, lad; ready?”

“Ready it is, messmate.”

“Here you are then; on’y go face downwards.”

“Would yer? Can’t breathe so well if you turns yer fizzy mahogany down.”

“And yer can’t crawl so well if yer goes with it up.”

“You had better crawl, Dumlow,” I whispered; “but try and go straight toward where the knocking came from.”

“He’ll be ’bliged to, sir. No doubt about that, ’cause there arn’t no other way. Now then, I’ll give yer a hyste. Can you manage it?”

There was a loud breathing and panting, and though Barney Blane and I could see nothing with our eyes, yet we could mentally picture the great slow-moving sailor crawling into an aperture between the beams and the heterogeneous stowing of bales and boxes, casks and crates of all kinds of goods en route for our destination.

Now we knew that his head and chest were in, for his voice came in a half-smothered tone.

“Deal hotter in here, messmate. Just take hold o’ my hind legs, as if they was part of a wheelbarrow, and give ’em a lift and a shove at the same time.”

“That right?”

“Yes; that’s good. Steady!”

“Steady it is.”

“Now another. With a will, my lad.”

“Right. How far are yer in?”

“Up to the middle, lad; and if yer give another shove I can get a bit of a pull here. That’s yer sort.”

“I can’t get you up no farder, messmate,” said Bob. “Yes, I can, if you clap your foots together. I’ll plant my hands again ’em, and ram yer along that way. Ready?”

“Ay, ready,” came in smothered tones.

“There you goes then,” growled Bob. “Now another. I’ll shove yer feet with my hands.”

There was a loud grunting and rustling, and Bob said, panting—

“There he goes. I’ve sent him in as far as I can reach. He must do the rest hisself.”

We crouched there just under the streaks of light which came down from the cuts, listening for a good ten minutes to the scuffling, scrambling noise made by the big sailor, but they all sounded close to us, as if he was not making much way; but I concluded that this was because the opening conducted the sound so well, and in hopeful anticipation I saw the brave fellow going on and on along the top of the cargo till he reached the forecastle bulk-head, upon which our friends must have tapped their signals. Then we should be able to arrange a plan of co-operation, and perhaps succeed in re-taking the vessel, when crash! down went my card castle.

“Bob!” came in smothered tones.

“Hullo.”

“Can’t get any farder, mate.”

“Why?”

“I’m too big.”

“Well, then, come back and let me try.”

“Can’t, mate.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I’m stuck fast, and can’t move either way a hinch.”

Bang, bang! came on the hatches overhead, in company with a loud talking, and above it the voice of Jarette.

“Have it off, my lads. Only one, my braves. And below there, be quiet all of you. Make a movement, and I’ll shoot you down like dogs.”

Those were terrible moments. The sudden glare of light by the removal of the hatch dazzled us, a couple of pistols were thrust down, and a bucket of water was lowered. Then some biscuits were thrown to us, as if we were the dogs of which Jarette had spoken; and I crouched there motionless, thinking only of Dumlow jammed in there amongst the cases, and expecting moment by moment to hear him call out for help.

But, poor fellow, he was as silent as we were, feeling as he did and afterwards said to me, that it would have been like telling Jarette that we had a chance of getting out.

But before the hatch was rattled on again, and hammered down into its place, I managed to get a glimpse of the opening in among the cargo, into which we had been thrown, and in that rapid glance I grasped the fact that it had evidently been made by the removal of a number of cases, probably hoisted out by Jarette’s men.

I did not breathe freely again till the hatch was replaced, but I did then, from the fact that the strain was taken off my mind, and the hatch had been off long enough for the foul hot air below to rise, and be replaced by fresh.

To my great delight the tarpaulin was not put down over the opening, and consequently there were a few vivid pencils of light to brighten our prison.

We waited till the men had gone forward, and then I spoke to Dumlow.

“Are you sure you can’t get any farther?” I whispered.

“Yes, sartain, sir.”

“Then make another trial and get back at once.”

“Can’t, sir.”

“Nonsense,” I cried, speaking sharply to inspirit him; “if the hole was big enough for you to go in, it’s big enough for you to come out.”

“No it arn’t, cause it’s like a rat-trap, and the corners and things keeps you from getting back, sir.”

The perspiration began to stand out on my forehead, and a strange feeling of horror came over me as I thought of the man’s position, and of what might happen if he could not get back; while just as thoughts of suffocation ensuing came rushing through my mind, the object of my thoughts suddenly said in a low husky voice—

“Bob, lad?”

“Hullo, mate!”

“You and Barney get hold of a leg each, and haul me back, or I shall be suffocated.”

“Yah! not you; wiggle yourself back, matey.”

“There arn’t no wiggle left in me, lad, and it’s so hot that I can’t breathe.”

“Have another try,” whispered Barney.

We heard a rustling, struggling sound as if some one was striving hard to get forward or back, but without result, and then the voice came more husky and smothered than ever.

“No go, lads. Look sharp and have me out, or I’m a goner.”

“Get out,” growled Bob, quite excitedly. “You don’t half try.”

“I did, mate, but I’m getting worse,” came back faintly, “I’m a-swelling up and fitting tighter every moment. Can’t yer get me out?”

“Here, ketch hold of one o’ his legs, Barney,” growled Bob, hurriedly. “We must have him out somehow. Got him?”

“There arn’t no room, messmate.”

“Lie up close to me and reach in together. Head in too.”

A low groan now came from the hold, and though I could not see, of course I knew what was going on, and could estimate the difficulties of the position. Dumlow’s two messmates, in their efforts to help him, were making his position more perilous, for they were forcing their heads and shoulders into the opening, and stopping off what little air could get to him.

There was another groan.

“Don’t make a row, lad, we’re doing our best,” came in a distant voice which sounded as far away as poor Dumlow’s groans. “Got him, matey?”

“Ay, ay.”

“Both together. Yo ho, ahoy!”

This was all quite in a smothered tone, and accompanied by jerking and dragging sounds, which as they were kept up were accompanied and followed by feeble groans.

“Quick, quick!” I cried. “Have him out, or they’ll hear on deck.”

No one answered, and I moved forward and tried to help by clasping Bob round the waist.

“Ahoy! Ahoy! Haul away—hoy!”

All in quite a smothered whisper, and then there was another moan.

“Now again. All together.”

I joined in and dragged with all my might, but our efforts were in vain, Barney paused to get a fresh messmate’s legs.

“He’s worked himself on till he’s regularly jammed in,” growled Bob. “Now then, once more; we must have him, or he’ll be a dead ’un. Haul. Now then!”

We all dragged together. There was a sudden giving way, a rush, and I was on my back with two men—it felt like three—upon me, and I dare not call out in my horror and pain, but had to lie there listening to passing footsteps overhead until they had gone, and then to my greater horror Bob Hampton growled out—

“Well, we’ve got his legs, anyhow.”

There was a smothered groan once more.

“It’s all right, messmate,” said Barney. “Here’s his uppards and head come too. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. Are you hurt?”

“Hurt?—yes!” I said angrily, “but never mind me. How’s Dumlow?”

There was a low groan in answer.

“Oh, he’s all right, sir,” said Barney. “We didn’t break him. He’s all out.”

“No, he arn’t all right,” growled Bob, who was feeling about in the dark. “He’s in a reg’lar muddle, I dunno what’s the matter with him. Strikes me we’ve pulled him inside out.”

“Go on with yer. It’s all right. It’s on’y his jersey pulled right over his head and shoulders, and most off his arms. That’s the way. There you are. You’re all right now, arn’t you, Neb?”

“Oh, my heye!” muttered the great fellow, and I felt a profound sense of satisfaction in hearing him speak again. “I began to think I was a goner.”

“Not you,” said Bob.

“Warn’t the skin all off o’ me, Barney?”

“Nay, not it, lad.”

“Sure? Felt as if you was a-stripping of it all off o’ me when I began to come.”

“Nay, you’re in your skin right enough, messmate.”

“Sure, Barney? ’Cause I feel precious sore uppards.”

“Sure? Yes. There, I’m glad we got you out without breaking.”

“So’m I, mate, werry glad indeed. I’m two sizes too big for a hole like that, and I don’t think it’s any use for me to try again.”

As he spoke there came the three signal knocks, and as Bob answered them he growled out—

“Oh yes, we know you’re there. Look here, Mr Dale, sir. I’m two sizes smaller than Neb; I’m going to have a try.”

“No, you’d better not, Bob,” I whispered. “Let’s wait and try to break through the hatch.”

“Nay, sir, we ought to get along with them if we could. I’ll just try, I’m quite two sizes smaller than Neb, and I won’t be such an old silly as to go and ram myself in fast. Say I may go, sir.”

“Yes, sir, let him go,” said Dumlow. “It’ll take some o’ the conceit out on him when he gets stuck fast.”

“Well then, go, Bob, but pray be careful.”

“Ay, ay, sir, I’ll be careful, for I’ve got a great respeck for Bob Hampton, mariner. But you’ll lend a hand, Neb, if I want hauling out?”

“I just wall,” growled the big fellow. “You shall have it, messmate.”

I felt very much disposed to stop him, but while I was hesitating there was the old scuffling noise, and I could mentally see Bob Hampton shuffling in the opening above the cases, and soon after there was a grunting and panting, followed by a low muttering in the hole.

“What d’yer say, messmate?” whispered Barney.

Pat!

“Here, I say, mind what you’re arter,” cried Barney, angrily. “You kicked me right in the chin. I don’t want my teeth loosened that how.”

“Why, he’s a-comin’ back,” growled Neb.

For the shuffling and rustling was continued, and the next minute Bob Hampton was back and lying along the casks.

“Couldn’t you get any farther?” I said, feeling greatly relieved at his return.

“No, sir. Neb’s two sizes too large for the place, and I’m one size. I got as far as he did, and if I’d moved a bit farder I should ha’ stuck.”

“Yer didn’t go as far as I did.”

“Yes, I did, mate.”

“How d’yer know?”

“’Cause I brought back your knife as lay just where I reached.”

Neb Dumlow grunted, and Bob drew a series of very long breaths.

“Rayther hot in there, sir, and Neb had swallowed up all the fresh air there was.”

“And precious little too. I could ha’ swallowed bucketsful more if I’d had it.”

“Lor’! what a fuss you two chaps make,” said Barney. “I knowed that’s how it would be. There, shut your eyes, both on you, and see yer father do it.”

“You’re not going, Barney?” I whispered.

“Oh yes, I am, sir. I can do it.”

“Yes, sir, let him go,” said Bob. “He’s a reg’lar conger-eely sort o’ fellow, as can wiggle hisself through a gas-pipe a’most. You let him go, and see what he can do.”

“Yes, sir, let me have a try,” said Barney, and I reluctantly consented, though I had very little hope of his getting through.

“Hadn’t us better have a biscuit and a drink of water first, sir?” said Bob Hampton. “I’m strange and hungry yet.”

In my excitement I had forgotten all about the food, and giving the word, we squatted down round the bucket of water to nibble our biscuits and have a good drink from time to time; and in spite of the heat and closeness of our prison, that was one of the most enjoyable meals I ever ate.

We had just finished when we heard Jarette and his followers talking above us, and the subject of their discourse, as far as I could make it out, seemed to be something about a boat.

Then I heard Jarette say something that sounded like—

“Bah, my brave! He won’t die. Well, let him. He’ll be out of the way.”

Then there was a good deal of thumping and stamping about, and I fancied that they were going to open the hatch again.

Under these circumstances I did not let Barney, who was thoroughly eager to show his prowess, make the trial; but at last all was quiet on deck, save that there was a good deal of talking and singing right aft, and as it seemed to me in the saloon.

“They’ve got some good stuff forrard there, lads,” said Barney, suddenly.

“Why, o’ course. I know,” growled Bob Hampton, “and they might ha’ left one or two lots for us.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Why, sir, here’s where there was a whole lot o’ cases o’ champagne stored, and they fished them out, and left this here hole as we’re in. I wouldn’t mind a drop o’ that now to cheer us up again. It’s werry good stuff, ain’t it?”

“What, champagne, Bob? I don’t know. They say it is, but I never tasted it.”

“More didn’t we, sir,” said Bob.

“You speak for yourself, old man,” said Barney.

“Well, you ain’t tasted it, and you know it,” growled Bob, “so tell the truth.”

“Well, I can’t say as ever I did taste champagne,” said Barney, “but I’ve had a bottle—ay, bottles and bottles—o’ what comes next to it, and fizzles up wonderful.”

“Why, what does?”

“Joeydone, or Sueydone, or something like that they calls it. It arn’t so very bad. Might go now, sir, mightn’t I?”

“Well, yes, if you mean to try.”

“Oh yes, I mean to try, sir,” he said. “Dessay I can manage it. Shall I start?”

“Yes,” I replied, and without a moment’s pause he rose, thrust his head and shoulders into the hole, and as he drew himself in, he began to whistle.

“He’d better save his wind,” grumbled Dumlow. “He’ll want it soon.”

“Ay, that’s the worst o’ young chaps, they’re so wasteful,” muttered Bob Hampton. “But they thinks they knows best. How are you getting on, messmate?”

“Tidy—tidy!” came back. “It arn’t so very tight.”

The rustling went on, and I heard Dumlow whisper—

“When he holloas, let’s fetch him out with a will.”

“Ay, ay, but he don’t holloa,” said Bob. “Why, he’ve got farder than we did.”

“Nay, not he. Why, he have though!”

For the whistling went on, just a softened hissing, and it was evident that Barney had got some distance in. What was more was that he was still progressing.

“He’s going to do it, Bob!” I cried excitedly.

“Getting a bit farder, sir, that’s all,” replied Bob. “But what I wants to know is, how are we going to get hold on his legs when he gets stuck? There won’t be no reaching on ’em, as I can see.”

“Hadn’t yer better hail him to hold hard, and come back for us to hitch a line round one of his fins?”

“Which line would you use, messmate?” said Bob dryly. “The old ’un or the noo ’un?”

“Eh? Which on ’em?”

“Ay. Why, there arn’t no line down here, is there? What yer talking about?”

“No,” muttered Dumlow, thoughtfully; “there arn’t no line down here, o’ course. I never thought o’ that. But s’pose he gets stuck fast, as he will farder on, what’s to be done?”

“I d’know, without old Jarette comes and has the cargo out. Why, where’s he got to!”

I was listening intently, but the whistling and rustling had ceased, and half in alarm, half hopeful that he would find a way through to where our companions were imprisoned, I strained my ears longingly for some suggestion of how far Barney could be. All at once the sound recommenced, stopped, began again, and then much nearer than I had expected there came a struggling and panting, which made my blood run cold.

“He’s hitched,” muttered Bob Hampton, and then in quite a low voice he cried into the opening—

“Where are you, mate?”

“Here,” came back in a smothered voice.

“I knowed he would,” growled Dumlow. “He’s got fast, and now what’s to be done?”

It was very horrible, shut down there in that close, hot place, listening to the struggles of a fellow-creature who was in such a position that wanting help he was beyond the reach of those who were eager to render it. The perspiration once more streamed down my face, and my hands trembled as I called upon myself to act in a manly way. Neither of my companions could go to Barney’s help. They were, as had been proved, too bulky, and yet help must be given, and quickly too. Everything pointed to the fact that the task must fall upon me to creep forward to render aid; but when I got there in that confined place, what would my strength be toward getting the poor fellow back? All I could do would be to creep along to him and say a few words of encouragement to incite him to make a fresh effort or two to struggle free, and if that failed, stay beside him and talk of hope while the men gave the alarm, and help was brought to take off the hatches right along, and drag out cargo until the man was reached and set free.

“Ahoy, messmate!” cried Bob now. “Are you stuck fast?”

“Ay, ay.”

The words sounded so stifled and strange that I knew the moment had come for me to make an effort to save him, and mastering the horrible sensation of shrinking cowardice that came over me, I drew a long, deep breath, and seized Bob Hampton to draw him aside.

“What’s wrong, my lad? What is it?” he said, almost surlily. “It arn’t my fault; I’d go in to pull him back, but I shouldn’t get in fur ’fore I was stuck.”

“No, no,” I said excitedly. “Of course not.”

“Then Neb had have to come, and he wouldn’t get far arter me for he was stuck too. Then what would you do ’bout pulling us out all three?”

“Nothing,” I said, desperately. “You must not either of you go. The time has come for me to try and save him myself.”

Bob Hampton laid a hand upon my shoulder to stop me; but I thrust him back and was half into the opening when the rustling sound within increased.

“I’m coming, Blane,” I said, in a loud whisper.

“No, no; don’t you come,” he whispered back. “I’m coming out, and there arn’t room for two.”

I stopped in astonishment, for I had pictured him to be hopelessly fixed and unable to move; and not only did the rustling continue, and he seemed to be approaching, but he said he was coming out.

“Rather an awkward kind o’ place, sir,” he said, and his voice was carried along toward me, so that it sounded as if he were whispering close to my ear. “One feels like a rat going down a pump to make a meal off the sucker, and a drink o’ water after. Don’t you try to come, sir.”

“But I am in, Barney, I came to help you.”

“Thankye, sir; but I’ll talk to you when I get out. I’m coming fast now.”

And he did come on so fast that in less than a minute, as I waited motionless, and with one hand extended to touch his feet when they came into reach, his face was close to mine, and I shrank back as he said—

“Here we are, sir. That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Barney. But you didn’t go in feet first?”

“No, sir, head-first; and I come out head-first too.”

I was so puzzled that I said nothing, and backed out as quickly as I could, followed by the sailor, who seated himself panting.

“Precious hot in there, sir,” he said.

“But how did you manage? You said you were stuck fast,” growled Bob.

“So I was, matey, for a minute or two, right at the end as far as I could go; for it got too small for me at last.”

“How far did you go in?”

“Ah, that I don’t know, sir. Ever so far in, till it got so as I should ha’ been stuck fast if I’d gone any farther.”

“Then how could you turn round?”

“It was wider and higher a little bit this side of the narrow part, and I made shift to double myself up pretty close and get round there.”