TAKEN PRISONER.
When I found myself blindfolded, gagged, and securely bound by the
ruffians who had sprung upon me, my heart sank within me, for I fully
thought that my fate was sealed. And what an awful fate it might be I
hardly dared to contemplate. I had heard, of course—and the remembrance
recurred to me now with additional force—that the mutineers of the
_Flying-fish_, had cruelly and in cold blood murdered their captain
and chief mate, and thrown their bodies to the sharks. Men who had
committed such a deed of infamy were capable of anything—even of
torturing us.
Till I was completely exhausted, I fought desperately with these
fiends, and so, as I mentioned before, did the gunner and Ned Burton.
I must say this much for our captors, that they carried out the affair
with amazing cleverness, coolness, and audacity; for our seizure was
accomplished in such a manner as to ensure secrecy and obviate any
necessity for using weapons.
I really felt more dead than alive when I was ruthlessly dragged away
from the spot where the struggle had taken place. I can assure the
reader that it is no joke to be knocked about and roughly handled by
four active, muscular rascals who have received orders to secure you at
any cost.
Feeling bruised, giddy, and faint therefore, I had to submit to the
indignity of being dragged away like a dead pig, convinced that an
awful fate most surely awaited me and my unfortunate companions.
What would I not have given to see the brave Jim Beddoes and his trusty
men rushing down like a whirlwind upon these audacious scoundrels, and
making them fly in all directions. It was terribly tantalizing to think
of the well-armed little detachment of stanch friends actually within
hail, if we could only have managed to shout to them for assistance. I
felt extremely sorry for Mr. Triggs, for I knew what his feelings must
have been, and how he must have blamed himself for having led us into
danger.
In spite of my weak and terribly anxious state, I could not help
wondering how the foe had got wind of our approach, and been able to
make such elaborate preparations for our capture.
For about ten minutes these ruthless fellows dragged us at their heels,
and then came to a sudden halt, and I heard them exchanging remarks
in a language which sounded to me like bad Spanish. I concluded,
therefore, that none of the mutineers of the _Flying-fish_ were amongst
them, which struck me as a peculiar circumstance. Whilst revolving this
in my mind, I felt that some one was carefully examining the bandage
over my eyes, as if to ascertain whether I could see or not. The
next moment I was hurried forward by the united exertions of several
men, and felt myself being borne through what felt like a plantation
of young trees or shrubs; and shortly afterwards realized the very
disagreeable fact that I was being impelled down a flight of rude,
slippery steps, on which I had considerable difficulty in keeping my
footing. If it had not been for the iron grip of my jailers, I should
have been precipitated from the top to the bottom. To my bewildered
mind this rude staircase seemed interminable, and at every step my
spirits sank lower and lower, and at length, when we appeared to reach
the bottom, they were pretty well at zero.
A burst of coarse laughter here fell upon my ears, and some snatches of
a Spanish song, mingled with which, like a humming accompaniment, was
the sound of falling water.
I made a great effort to pull myself together and manfully face my fate
whatever it might be; but my nerves, I must confess, had been terribly
shaken, and my success was only very partial.
I was determined, however, that I would not flinch from death if our
murder had been determined upon, as I felt that it would be casting a
dishonour upon our nation not to meet even that terrible fate with calm
courage—hard, very hard as it seemed, to be cut off at such an early
age, when life was at its brightest epoch.
Having now arrived at the bottom of the steps, I was forced along a
smooth sandy floor; my conductors laughing and joking among themselves
in an uproarious manner, evidently in the highest spirits, and not
afraid of being overheard.
The truth flashed across me in a moment. I was in a cave, deep down
under the surface of the ground!
The bandage over my eyes was now removed and the gag taken from my
mouth; but the lashings which secured my arms were, I need hardly say,
not interfered with. With very unnecessary force, and before I had had
time to look around me, I was pushed down into a corner of the cave,
and two swarthy, cut-throat-looking rascals with loaded pistols in
their hands were told off to guard me securely. The first thing these
fellows did was to rob me of my silver watch and chain, and the small
amount of money I had about me.
It was an impressive and weird tableau which met my gaze as soon as my
eyes had got accustomed to the semi-gloom of the dimly-lighted cavern,
the feeble illumination of which evidently came from natural fissures
in the rocky roof, many of them being half-choked with vegetation.
This cave, in which I found myself a most unwilling prisoner, was
vast in size and unequal in shape; but I could not see its whole
extent from the spot where I lay. The sound of falling water was loud
and continuous, and I fancied that there must be a cascade—invisible
to me—falling through an orifice in the roof into a pool beneath.
Notwithstanding this fact, the cavern appeared to me to be very dry.
My first impulse, of course, was to look for Mr. Triggs and Ned Burton.
The former I could not see, and concluded that he had been placed in
one of the invisible portions of the cave; but my coxswain was sitting
leaning against the rough wall on the opposite side of our subterranean
prison, a very angry and perturbed expression upon his bronzed face.
Three armed men closely watched his every movement. Our eyes met, but
we did not dare even to make a sign to each other for fear of the
consequences.
As near as I could tell, there were about a score of Creole desperadoes
grouped about in the cave. They were all well-armed, truculent-looking
ruffians, and were, to my intense astonishment, arrayed in a sort of
semi-nautical costume, consisting of a striped jersey, white-duck
trousers, and sombrero hats, whilst some of them sported gay-coloured
kerchiefs knotted around the throat. They were all young men, with
the exception of one individual, who at this moment was seated upon
a barrel smoking a cigar. He was a man of about fifty, with a fine
physique and clearly-cut features; but the expression of his face
was cruel, stern, and unbending. He wore a moustache and beard, the
latter streaked with grey; and between his eyes some perpendicular
lines had been deeply impressed. The dress of this chief—for so I
deemed him to be—differed somewhat from that of his followers, as he
wore a silk shirt fastened with elaborate studs and with a turn-down
collar affixed to it, and a thin blue flannel pea-jacket with plain
gilt buttons. He wore no hat, and his hair was curly, dark, and
thick, except at the temples, where it was a little worn and tinged
with grey. His weapons consisted of a handsome sword and a pair of
beautifully-chased silver-mounted pistols; whilst a short cavalry
carbine—evidently of the very best make—was reclining against the
barrel on which he was seated. At his feet lay a large, fierce-looking
Cuban bloodhound, possessed of muscular limbs and cruel-looking fangs.
I could not resist shuddering when I looked at this animal, for I felt
sure that at a sign from its master it would make short work of any one
who had displeased him.
When my eyes first lighted upon this chieftain, of anything but
prepossessing looks, I found that he was examining with great curiosity
the weapons which had been taken from us by his followers, and his mind
seemed specially exercised by the mechanism of the service-revolvers.
I remember distinctly that although I was at the time fully expecting
to be led away somewhere to be summarily executed, yet I felt nervous
at the careless way the chief was handling weapons which were loaded in
all their cylinders, and with the working of which he could have but a
very slight acquaintance, if any.
There was a very large assortment of arms stored in every nook and
cranny, and hung around the cavern’s rude walls, consisting chiefly
of various kinds of swords, scimitars, and daggers. There was also a
trophy of pistols and tomahawks, and another of boarding-pikes; whilst
a goodly number of rifles and muskets were ranged in rough stands
occupying two sides of the cave. The area of the latter appeared to be,
as nearly as I could judge, fifty feet in length by thirty in width;
but these measurements did not include, of course, those portions which
were invisible to me. I could detect no exit from the spot where I lay
except the rude steps by which we had descended, but I felt convinced
that there was an outlet elsewhere.
Two or three of the chief’s followers were engaged in handing our
appropriated weapons to him, and giving him—at least so I presumed—an
account of our capture. The remainder of the gang were grouped about
in various attitudes in different parts of the cave: some sprawling on
mats or blankets spread carelessly on the sandy floor, and engaged in
smoking and playing cards; others eating and drinking with ferocious
appetites; whilst a few more industrious ones were polishing their
weapons, or mending tattered clothes and boots, singing or whistling
to themselves the while. I could see no signs of a fire or of cooking
utensils, or, indeed, of any provisions. The men who were eating
appeared to be devouring sausages and coarse bread, which they drew
from their capacious pockets, and a strong and very disagreeable odour
of garlic pervaded the close stagnant atmosphere of the cave. I was
terribly thirsty, and the rushing sound of the waters of the invisible
cascade very much aggravated the feeling. I longed to bury my burning
lips in the sparkling clear pool that lay, I felt sure, beneath it.
Then the remembrance of the story of the valuable cargo of the
_Flying-fish_ flashed across my memory. According to the reports of
the spies and guides, all this valuable booty which the mutineers had
seized upon was stowed away _in caves well known to their insurgent
allies_. Well, here was a cave big enough in all conscience to hold the
cargo of an ordinary merchantman; but where in the name of all that
was wonderful _was this much-talked-of loot_? I could see no traces of
it, and I felt sure that my eye embraced the main portion of the giant
cave. Stay! there might be other and smaller caverns opening from this
one, in which the spoils might have been stowed for greater safety. I
felt sure that this was the solution of the mystery, and longed to go
on a voyage of exploration.
Oh that distressing feeling of burning thirst! I at length summoned
up enough courage to say in an imploring tone to one of my guardians,
“Agua, agua!”
To my surprise the fellow fetched a pannikin of water and held it to my
parched lips.
Oh how delicious, how cooling, how like nectar was that heavenly
draught!
I was obliged to stop at length with a sigh of gratitude, and murmur
“Gracias.”
A slight feeling of hope animated me after this incident, for it struck
me that if our instant execution had been decided upon, the very
scantiest consideration would have been shown for our wants—indeed that
they would not have been considered in any one particular.
That we had fallen into the hands of consummate scoundrels went without
saying, of course. A glance at the cruel, repellent visage of the
chief, or at those of his swarthy, stick-at-nothing myrmidons, was
sufficient to settle that question.
Who were these mysterious individuals?
The more I looked at them, the more I felt convinced that they were
not Creole insurgents. At any rate, they were not the same men whose
fort we had stormed and whose forces we had dispersed only a day or two
previously. Neither did they resemble—except in their olive-coloured
complexions—the dashing irregular cavalry which had met with the same
disastrous fate. The men into whose clutches we had fallen were much
more of the sailor type, and this impression was not given by the cut
of their clothes alone. It was also betrayed by _the cut of their
jibs_, as sailors express it—that is, by their physiognomies having an
unmistakable nautical stamp upon them.
Had the Cuban insurgents any vessels under their orders—privateers
or cruisers of any kind? I could not answer the question, though I
was aware of the fact that the Spanish navy in the West Indies was
deplorably weak.
Ned Burton was emboldened by my successful application for water to ask
for some too. It seemed to me that his guards went rather grudgingly to
fulfil his request. However, I don’t suppose Ned much minded that, so
long as he got the water. The enormous quantity he drank without so
much as winking actually provoked laughter among the swarthy gang who
were watching him.
The rope lashings which bound my arms together were exceedingly
painful, and seemed like the cruel fangs of animals gnawing into the
flesh. I only knew about half a dozen Spanish words, but I utilized
these as well as I could in an endeavour to persuade my guards to relax
the tightness of my bonds. Having been successful in one instance, I
hoped to be in another. Vain hope! The only result of my appeal was a
violent kick from one of the sullen sentinels, which made me heartily
wish that I had held my peace.
A burst of ribald laughter rang through the gloomy cavern, echoing on
the rocky roof, and drowning for the moment the roar of the cascade.
I saw an angry frown gather upon Ned Burton’s brow, and a flush mount
into his cheeks, and felt sure that he was itching to feel his fingers
around the throat of my assailant. It would have gone hard with the
latter if my brawny coxswain had been free from his lashings. As it
was, he had to chafe under the heavy yoke of enforced inactivity, and I
had to do the same.
It must have been shortly after this that, in spite of my strange
surroundings, I fell fast asleep, and was lost in the world of happy
dreams.
It was the sleep of exhaustion, of tired-out nerves, of a bewildered
brain. Nature, kindly dame, comes to our rescue on these occasions; and
deeply grateful ought we to be to her for her loving care of us.
I do not know at all how long I had been slumbering in the arms of
Morpheus, when I was awakened by a hideous uproar—by a perfect babel of
angry, excited shouts and vindictive yells.
With my head in a whirl, and scarcely realizing where I was, I strove
to rise to my feet. At that instant, however, I felt the cold muzzle
of a pistol pressed against my temples, and heard a torrent of angry
invective from one of my sentinels.