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Cutlass and Cudgel

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<h3>Chapter Thirteen.</h3> “Sure you’ve looked round everywhere, boy?” “Yes, father, quite.” “Nothing left nowhere? Sure none of the lads chucked anything aside the path when they ran up?” “Yes, father. I looked well both sides.” “Humph! Worse lads than you if you knew where to find ’em.” “Thank ye, father.” “I’m going home to breakfast.” “Shall I come too, father?” “No. Stop here till Sir Risdon comes down, and tell him I’m very sorry; that we should have cleared out last night, only a born fool saw Jerry Nandy’s lobster-boat coming into the cove, and came running to say it was a party from the cutter.” “Yes, father.” “Tell him not to be uneasy; ’tis all right, and I’ll have everything clear away to-night.” The dull sound of departing steps, and a low whistling sound coming down through the skylight window into the cabin where Archy Raystoke lay with his heavy eyelids pressed down by sleep. “What a queer dream!” he thought to himself. “No; it couldn’t be a dream. He must be awake. But how queer for Mr Gurr to be talking like that to Andrew Teal, the boy who helped the cook! And why did Andy call Mr Gurr father?” There was an interval of thinking over this knotty question, during which the low whistling went on. “If Mr Brough goes on deck and catches that boy whistling, there’ll be someone to pay and no pitch hot,” thought Archy nautically. “But what did Mr Gurr mean about going home to breakfast? And I’m hungry too. Time I was up, I suppose.” He gave himself a twist, and was about to turn out of his sleeping place, and then opened his eyes widely, and stared about him, too much overcome still by his heavy sleep to quite comprehend why it was that he was in a gloomy, oak-panelled, poorly furnished room, staring at an iron-barred open window. No: he was not dreaming, for he was looking out on the sea, over which a faint mist hung like wreaths of smoke. It was just before sunrise too, for there were flecks of orange high up in the sky. What did it mean? The answer came like a flash. He recollected it all now, even to his sitting down in the chair, wearied out. He had been fast asleep, and those words had awakened him. What did they say?—false alarm—tell Sir Risdon they would clear all away to-night—see if anything had been left about—lobster-boat! Then no boat had come from the cutter last night, and the lieutenant would wait for him to signal, and here he was a prisoner, with the information—locked up—the very news the lieutenant would give anything to know. He jumped up from the chair feeling horribly stiff, and looked steadily round for a way to escape before it was too late. Once out of that room he could ran, and by daylight the smugglers dare not hunt him down. “Oh, those bars!” he mentally exclaimed, and he was advancing toward them, when just as he drew near, there was a rustling noise under the window, a couple of hands seized the bars, there was a scratching of boot-toes against stone work, and Ram’s face appeared to gaze into the room by intention, but into the astonished countenance of the young midshipman instead. Ram was the first to recover from his surprise. “Hullo!” he said, “who are you? I was wondering why that window was open.” “Here, quick! Go round and open the door. I was shut in last night by mistake.” “Oh!” said Ram looking puzzled. “I saw you last night, and wondered whose boy you was. It was you father kicked for shirking, and—My!—well: I hardly knowed you.” “Nonsense! Come round and open the door. I’ve been shut in all night.” “Won’t do,” said Ram grinning. “Think I don’t know you, Mr Orficer? Where’s your fine clothes and your sword? Here, what made you dress up like that?” “You’re mistaken,” said Archy gruffly, as he made a feeble struggle to keep up the character he had assumed. “Won’t do,” said Ram quickly. “I know you. Been playing the spy, that’s what you’ve been doing. Who locked you in?” “Will you come round and open the door?” said Archy in an angry whisper. “Oh, of course,” replied the boy grinning; and he dropped down, rushed through the bushes, and disappeared from view. Archy stepped back to the door listening, but there was not a sound. “He has gone to give the alarm,” thought the prisoner, and he looked excitedly round for a way of escape. Nothing but the chimney presented itself. The door was too strong to attack, and he remembered the three fastenings. Should he try the chimney? And be stuck there, and dragged out like a rabbit by the hind legs from his hole! “No; I’ve degraded myself enough,” he said angrily, “and there are sure to be bars across. Hah!” A happy inspiration had come, and placing one hand upon his breast, he thrust in the other, gave a tug, and drew out his little curved dirk, glanced at the edge, ran to the window and began to cut at one of the bars. Labour in vain. He divided the paint, and produced a few squeaks and grating sounds, as he realised that the attempt was madness. Turning sharply, he looked about the room; then, after glancing ruefully at the bright little weapon, halfway up the blade of a rich deep blue, in which was figured a pattern in gold, he yielded to necessity, and began to chop at the top bar of the grate, so as to nick the edges of his weapon and make it saw-like. The result was not very satisfactory, but sufficiently so to make him essay the bar of the window once more, producing a grating, ear-assailing sound, as he found that now he did make a little impression,—so little though, that the probability was, if he kept on working well for twenty-four hours, he would not get through. But at the end of five minutes he stopped, and thrust back the dirk into its sheath. He fancied he had heard steps outside the room door, and he ran to it and listened, in the faint hope that the boy might have come to open it and set him free. It was a very faint hope, and one he felt not likely to be realised, and he returned once more to the window, with the intention of resuming his task, when he heard the bushes pressed aside by some one coming, and directly after the bars were seized as before. Ram sprang up, found a resting-place for his toes, and looked in, grinning at him. “Hullo!” he cried, in a whisper, as if he did not wish to be heard; “here you are still.” “Yes. Come round and open the door.” “What’ll yer give me?” “Anything I can,” cried Archy eagerly. “Well, you give me that little sword o’ your’n.” “No; I can’t part with that.” “Ha! Ha! Ha!” laughed the boy jeeringly. “But I’ll—yes, I’ll give you a guinea, if you will let me out.” “Guinea?” said the boy. “Think I’d do it for a guinea?” “Well, then, two. Be quick, there’s a good fellow. I want to get away at once.” “Not you,” said the boy jeeringly. “It would be a pity. I say, do you know what you look like?” “A fisher-boy.” “Not you. Only a sham. Why, your clothes don’t fit you, and your cap’s put on all skew-rew. Don’t look a bit like a fisher-lad, and never will.” “Never mind about that; let me out of this place.” “What for?” cried Ram. “Because I want my liberty.” “Not you. Looks comf’table enough as you are. I say, do you know what you are like now?” “I told you, a fisher-boy!” cried Archy impatiently, but trying not to offend his visitor, who possessed the power of conferring freedom, by speaking sharply. “Not you. Look like a wild beast in a cage. Like a monkey.” “You insolent—” Archy checked himself, and the boy laughed. “It was your turn yesterday, it’s mine to-day. What a game! You laughed and fleered at me when I was on the cutter’s deck. I can laugh and fleer at you now. I say, you do look a rum ’un. Just like a big monkey in a show.” “Look here, sir!” said Archy, losing his temper. “Gentlemen don’t fight with low, common fellows like you, but if you do not come round and let me out, next time we meet I’ll have a bit of rope’s-end ready for you.” Ram showed his white teeth, as he burst out with a long, low fit of laughter. “You rope’s-end me!” he said. “Why, I could tie you up in a knot, and heave you off the cliff any day. What a game! Bit of a middy, fed on salt tack and weevilly biscuit, talk of giving me rope’s-end! Dressed up with a dirty face and a bit o’ canvas! Go back aboard, and put on your uniform. Ha! Ha! Ha!” “Once more; will you come and let me out?” “No. I’m going to keep you here till the gentlefolks get up, and then I’ll bring ’em round to see the monkey in his cage, just like they do in the shows, when you pay a penny. See you for nothing, middy. I say, where’s your sword? Why don’t you draw it, and come out and fight? I’ll fight you with a stick.” “You insolent young scoundrel!” cried Archy, darting his hand through between the bars, overcome now by his rage, and catching Ram by the collar. To his astonishment the boy did not flinch, but thrust his own arms through, placing them about the middy’s waist, clenching his hands behind, and uttering a sharp whistle. It was a trap, and the midshipman understood it now. The boy had been baiting him to rouse him to attack, and he was doubly a prisoner now, held fast against the bars, so that he could not even wrench round his head as he heard the door behind him opened, while as he opened his mouth to cry for help, a great rough hand was placed over his eyes, pressing his head back, a handkerchief was jammed between his teeth, and as he heard a deep growling voice say, “Hold him tight!” a rope was drawn about his chest, pinioning his arms to his sides, and another secured his ankles. “Now a handkerchief,” said the gruff voice. “Fold it wide. Be ready!” The midshipman gave his head a jerk, but the effort was vain, for the hand over his eyes gave place to a broad handkerchief, which was tightly tied behind, and then a fierce voice whispered in his ear,— “Keep still, or you’ll get your weasand slit. D’ye hear?” But in spite of the threat the lad, frenzied now by rage and excitement, struggled so hard that a fresh rope was wound round him, and he was lifted up by two men, and carried away. By this time there was a strange singing in his ears, a feeling as if the blood was flooding his eyes, a peculiar, hot, suffocating feeling in his breast, and then he seemed to go off into a painful, feverish sleep, for he knew no more. <hr> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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