NED IS FLOGGED.
The cold barrel of the pistol quickly brought me to myself; but I
felt strangely bewildered. The glare of many torches was in my eyes,
and was reflected on the irregular roof and walls of the giant cave
with a strange and weird effect. These flickering rays of light also
glinted with an almost dazzling brightness on the muskets and other
weapons that lay about, and fell in a more subdued fashion on the
fierce-looking visages of about a score of the inmates of the cavern,
who had unconsciously assumed highly-dramatic attitudes. All had sprung
to their feet, and some had drawn pistols from their belts, whilst
others waved the bright blades of swords over their heads.
The chief did not appear to be present, as far as I could tell in the
confusion, nor did I see his savage-looking dog; but one individual,
whose face seemed strangely familiar to me, was standing somewhat
apart from the others. He was talking loudly in a high-pitched voice,
and seemed to be in a very excited state of mind, using a great deal
of gesticulation, and pouring forth what sounded uncommonly like the
language of menace.
Where had I previously seen that swarthy, unprepossessing face, those
cruel eyes, that tall ungainly form?
As I racked my brains in an effort to solve the mystery, the angry and
energetic orator suddenly paused in his copious flow of invective, and
in a dramatic manner pointed straight at Ned Burton.
At the same moment every eye and every weapon was turned upon my
coxswain in a terribly ominous manner.
The truth flashed across me in an instant, and made me feel sick at
heart.
This angry orator, this passionate denouncer, was none other than the
cruel mule-driver who, on the way up from the sea-coast, had been
flogged by Ned, in accordance with the instructions of the gunnery
lieutenant.
Could any meeting have been more unfortunate?
My coxswain’s conduct during this trying ordeal was beyond all praise.
That he recognized the man I had not the smallest doubt. He could not
have failed to do so.
By the flickering light of the torches, which were jammed into rude
sockets in the wall, I could see that Ned was sitting on the floor of
the cave in the exact spot where I had seen him before, and watched by
the lynx eyes of three armed desperadoes. He looked quite unconcerned
at the angry tirade of his accuser; but I noticed that he kept his
eyes steadily fixed upon those of the mule-driver, and that the latter
seemed rather uneasy under this steadfast gaze. I could not help
feeling alarmed as to the outcome of this episode and its accompanying
disorder, for I felt convinced that Ned’s enemy was exaggerating the
details of his story in the hopes of taking an ample revenge for his
fancied wrongs.
I looked about for Mr. Triggs, but could not see him anywhere. It
was evident that my former supposition was correct, and that he was
confined in another portion of the cavern. The worthy gunner could
have been of no possible use to us in this emergency, but I felt that
it would have been a comfort to see him, and to feel assured of his
presence and sympathy.
As I was gazing in a sort of fascinated way at the strange scene, a
hush fell as if by magic on the excited assembly, a loud resonant voice
rang throughout the cavern, and I saw the chief’s form appearing in the
distance. He had evidently been absent for some little time, and was
unaware of the advent of the mule-driver.
His followers fell back abashed as he strode forward imperiously into
the centre of the cavern, closely followed by the big bloodhound. I
fancied that the autocrat’s eyes flashed angrily, and that there was an
unusual flush mantling on his olive-tinted cheek.
There was now a dead silence, and the only sound that broke the
stillness was the rush and plash of the cascade. Even this appeared to
annoy the chieftain, for he called one of his followers to his side
and gave him some directions in sharp, curt tones. The man saluted,
and quickly disappeared around a corner of the cavern. After a minute
or two had elapsed the sound of the falling water abruptly ceased. The
stream had evidently been turned into another channel.
The chief now called up and interrogated the mule-driver, who had
meanwhile slunk aside as if afraid of the reception he was likely to
meet with from the perturbed leader of the gang.
How earnestly I wished at that moment that I had been acquainted with
even a smattering of the Spanish language! Even Ned was a better
scholar in this respect than I was, and I noticed that he bent forward
eagerly to listen.
The mule-driver was evidently only too ready to be questioned, for he
immediately stepped forward and launched out once more into the tale
of his wrongs. The chief moodily listened, with bent brows and fingers
toying idly with the butts of his silver-mounted pistols. Once or twice
he glanced vindictively at my coxswain, but during the greater part of
the rehearsal kept his sombre eyes fixed stonily on the cavern floor.
As for Ned, not a muscle of his face moved whilst the acting of this
little drama was being carried out. His clear brown eyes were fixed
intently on the speaker, though from time to time they rested for a
moment on the strongly-marked features of the listening chieftain. I do
not think I have mentioned before that my coxswain was a good-looking
fellow of the best sailor type. His age at this time must have been
about thirty-four or thirty-five, and though he was only of medium
height, his build was that of a very active and athletic man. Beards
were not in vogue in the navy at the time of my story, and as Ned had
no personal fancy for whiskers, his face remained clean-shaven.
The mule-driver gradually worked himself up into a passion as he
progressed in his second recital, and at the end thereof had recourse
to a very dramatic proceeding; for as he wound up his long-winded
peroration with many emphatic words, he tore off a light cotton jacket
he was wearing, and exposed to view his bare shoulders, on which
several weals were distinctly visible.
This action had the desired effect, as no doubt the wily mule-driver
had foreseen. The inmates of the cave rose _en masse_ to their feet
in an excited manner, and shouted and yelled like a lot of maniacs.
But, as had happened before, the chief did not at all approve of
this hubbub, and promptly and indignantly quelled it. Doubtless he
was afraid of his followers’ cries being heard outside the cave by
unfriendly ears.
A sickly dread took possession of me. What was to be the next act in
the drama? As to that, I was not long left in suspense.
The chief, as soon as quiet reigned again, summoned to his side
the mule-driver and four of his own satellites. The result was
a conference which did not last very long. At its conclusion the
mule-driver looked perfectly radiant, not with genuine pleasure, but
with gratified malice. He cut various capers on the sandy floor of the
cave, and snapped his bony, yellow fingers at Ned Burton. Indeed, I do
not know to what extremities he might not have gone if the chief had
not sternly called him to order.
At a signal from that autocrat, six of his followers advanced quickly
and in a determined manner towards Ned Burton, exchanging jocose
remarks as they did so.
The seaman looked perfectly impassive. He might have been a statue
sculptured out of marble for all the notice he took of what was going
on around him.
In a moment these six ruffians had seized Ned and forcibly raised him
to his feet, their victim offering no resistance, though I fancied I
saw the corners of his firmly-cut lips quiver for a moment.
My heart began to beat tempestuously. What were these
malevolent-looking rascals about to do to my coxswain? Their looks
boded him no good; that much was certain.
Meanwhile the mule-driver had disappeared from the scene. He now,
however, came skipping back into view in a jaunty manner, carrying in
his hands a long, cruel-looking cane.
Then the awful truth flashed across me—Ned was to be flogged!
I think I lost my head for a few moments, and it is difficult for me
to record my actions with any exactitude. I only know that in spite of
the lashings which confined my arms, I bounded to my feet and attempted
to rush madly forward to my coxswain’s rescue. I believe I raved, and
stormed, and entreated mercy, all in the same breath. The only thing
I _do_ most distinctly remember was seeing Ned’s handsome pale face
turned in my direction with an imploring expression upon it. It was
this which brought me to myself, and showed me the utter futility of my
Quixotic attempt at interference.
It was the feeling of devotion which I had for my coxswain, of course,
that prompted the action; but fortunately I realized in time that any
rash effort on my part might do him more harm than good.
I was about to stagger back to my corner, sick at heart, when one of
the sentinels who had been detailed to watch me, and was enraged at my
attempt to elude him, rushed up and knocked me down with a heavy blow
from the butt-end of a pistol.
Thank God! I became unconscious, and therefore did not witness the
cruel flogging to which Ned was subjected.