IN THE PIRATES’ CAVERN.
Some considerable time must have passed before my senses returned to
me. When I opened my eyes again in a scared way, wondering whether or
not I was in the midst of an extremely disagreeable dream, I found
myself lying on my back on the floor of the cavern; which latter seemed
strangely dim and dark, rendering it very difficult to distinguish
anything. My head ached terribly, and I think I groaned aloud as the
remembrance of late events came crowding into my mind.
“Hush!” was suddenly uttered in low friendly tones coming out of the
semi-darkness around me; “be as quiet as possible, and I’ll try to give
you some water.”
With astonishment and relief I recognized the voice of Mr. Triggs.
What was he doing here, and where were all our captors gone? The cave
seemed buried in silence as well as in gloom.
I endeavoured to raise myself, and quickly realized that my arms were
still confined by the cruel rope lashings. Like arrows through my
temples shot agonizing neuralgic pains. Was my brain on fire? It felt
uncommonly like it. My throat and lips, too, were dry and parched with
feverish thirst, and my tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of my mouth.
And now the gunner’s friendly face came peering through the darkness as
he bent over me.
“Keep up your pecker, Mr. Darcy,” he said soothingly; “’tain’t no use
giving way. There is a pannikin of water here close to your head, and I
want you to screw yourself round a bit and try to get a drink from it.
I can’t assist you, worse luck, for my arms are bound too.”
Water! The very notion brought back with a rush the vitality which was
at such a low ebb in my system. I was dying for a drink of water.
It seemed to cost me little or no effort now to raise myself, and I
turned over upon my side and recognized the pannikin of which the
gunner had spoken. Crawling over the short space which separated me
from it, I plunged my face into the cool refreshing liquid and lapped
greedily like a dog.
It was fresh life to me as far as actual strength of body was
concerned, but it did not abate the pains in my head, which were still
intense.
The gunner was kneeling near me. I could now distinguish objects more
distinctly, but the only source of illumination in the cave, as far as
I could see, was one flickering sputtering torch, and this was dimly
flaring away at the farthest extremity of the great rock-chamber. The
ghostly light fell weirdly on Mr. Triggs’s strongly-marked features
and crouching figure. I noticed that he was looking pale, worn, and
anxious. When he saw me glance at him, however, he tried to smile
encouragingly.
My eyes roamed around the great deserted cavern with a puzzled
expression. Surely it was all a dream! Where was the gang of shouting
and yelling desperadoes, the chief, the mule-driver? Ha! where was my
brave and faithful coxswain, Ned Burton? When I had last seen him—
The gunner divined my thoughts.
“I must explain everything hurriedly,” he said in a low rapid voice,
“for at any moment that swab of a chief and his men may return. First
with regard to Ned Burton. I’m thankful to say the brave fellow lies
sleeping over yonder in the dark shadow of that projecting corner.
Don’t you see him?”
I glanced hurriedly at the spot indicated by Mr. Triggs, and now that
my eyes had got more accustomed to the peculiar light, managed to
discern a dark, huddled-up, human form.
“But were not those cruel brutes going to flog him?” I falteringly
asked; “or was it only the beginning of a dreadful dream?”
“They _did_ flog him, poor chap,” answered the gunner, in tones which
shook with emotion; “but Ned bore it like a man. Not a sound escaped
his lips during the punishment, and he did not faint. I’ve been to him
and given him some water, and he is now happily asleep. Of course his
back is in a terrible state, but he declares it will be all right in a
few days. I feel sure, however, that he is very much exhausted.”
“What a mercy that he can sleep!” I said. “But tell me, Mr. Triggs,
what has become of our captors?”
“They were hastily summoned away by a messenger,” answered the gunner,
“a man who seemed breathless and nearly exhausted, as if he had run
for a very long distance without stopping to rest. The whole gang
then hurriedly seized their weapons, extinguished all the torches
except the one you see there, and rushed tumultuously out of the cave
by an entrance which was visible to me where I lay. Half a dozen men,
however, remain on guard just outside, and may enter the cave at any
moment. They have not done so yet, however, and are, I think, in too
excited a state to pay much attention to us, besides—”
“Then can’t we escape?” I asked impetuously. “Is there no other
exit—the way we came in, for instance?”
The gunner shook his head dolefully.
“Whilst our arms are bound we’re helpless,” he answered; “if they were
only free, we’d make a dash for liberty. I’ve hurriedly examined the
flight of steps by which we entered, and I’ve found that the opening to
the outer air is securely closed by an iron door. You may depend upon
it that every possible precaution against our escaping has been taken
by these villains, for they’ve got their wits about ’em.”
“I expect that Beddoes and the rest of the detachment are on their
trail,” I said, “and that is what caused them such alarm. Perhaps we
shall be rescued sooner than we think.”
“I hardly think so,” said the gunner dubiously, “for I’m certain that
the messenger had travelled a long distance.”
“Then perhaps the main body have got an inkling that something has gone
wrong,” I suggested; “Beddoes may have sent a message to Mr. Thompson
asking him to push up his forces.”
“There hasn’t been time for all that, Mr. Darcy, when you come to think
of it. I shouldn’t say it was more than nine o’clock now, if so much.
No, ’tis a mysterious business altogether, and I can’t make head or
tail of it, and that’s the truth.”
“You don’t think, Mr. Triggs, that they mean to murder us?”
“Make your mind easy about that, lad. The ghastly deed would have been
done before this, I reckon, if they had resolved upon foul play. What
their little game is I can’t for the life of me say. ’Tis a plot I’d
like to unravel, I can tell you, but I’m all in the dark—all in the
dark.”
“I don’t believe that they’re insurgents at all,” I said; “they look
for all the world like a gang of—”
“Mum’s the word!” interrupted Mr. Triggs, scrambling nimbly to his
feet; “I hear the swabs coming back.” And so saying he took to his
heels, and in a moment had disappeared around a projecting part of the
cavern wall.
I heard the subdued buzz of many voices speaking in the distance,
and felt a cold shiver go down my back. Then came the sound of many
shuffling footfalls, the clang of weapons, and the louder tones of an
excited troop of men. The guard that had been stationed outside rushed
in to see that their prisoners were safe, and finding that we were in
our respective corners, ran out again to meet their returning comrades.
A few seconds later the whole gang came straggling into the cavern,
threw themselves on the ground, and began talking rapidly in what I
believed was a _patois_ peculiar to themselves. The chief did not
appear to be with them.
A few minutes later I was thankful to see some preparations made for
supper, for I was ravenously hungry, and should have eaten heartily of
a monkey pie or devilled crocodile at that moment. No fire was lit, but
from some recess in the cave various comestibles were brought forth
and placed on upturned cases and barrels. A few more torches had been
lit, and though they were not enough to illuminate the cave properly, I
could see distinctly what was going forward.
At this moment the chief, carrying his carbine over his shoulder,
stalked in, followed closely by his immense dog, the latter—for some
reason best known to himself—snarling and showing his long white
fangs, whilst saliva dropped continuously from his heavy jowls. I had
a mortal dread of this savage-looking animal, for I felt instinctively
that if ever by good-fortune we should be enabled to make our escape
from our present captors, the bloodhound would be put upon our trail
to hunt us down. The reflection was a very disturbing one, and I
strove to banish it, but in vain. Certainly no plan of escape seemed
feasible, but a British midshipman is sanguine even when things look
irretrievably dark, and, like the immortal Mr. Micawber, trusts that
eventually something favourable will turn up.
The chief strode into the centre of the cavern and flung himself down
on a pile of goatskins, his dog taking up a position at his feet, and
keeping its eyes fixed upon those of its master. Its snarling now
ceased, much to the relief of my overwrought nerves.
A man hurried forward to bring the leader some refreshment, and I was
astonished to recognize in this servitor the mule-driver who had been
the cause of Ned’s flogging. The reason I was astonished was that
this fellow had completely changed his costume, and now wore the same
nautical dress as the chief’s immediate followers.
I divined the truth at once. The cunning rascal had been told off to
spy upon the movements of the naval brigade, and had enlisted as a
camp-follower for that very purpose. On being relieved of his duties
he had doubtless found some means of following us—himself unseen—and
had been the actual moving spirit in the underhand arrangements for
our capture; for he evidently owed allegiance to the chief, and was
perfectly familiar with the life of the cavern.
Fresh sentries had been told off to guard us, and one or two of these
fellows went off to procure us some food. By this time I was nearly
fainting for want of nourishment. I glanced across to Ned’s corner, and
fancied that he had been awoke by the noise in the cave, but I could
not tell for certain.
Some sausage and coarse bread was brought to me on an earthenware
platter, and my arms were unbound that I might eat, the sentries
sitting down close to me with loaded pistols in their hands. As the
reader may suppose, I ate ravenously and without stopping to consider
what the sausage was made of; but I was very disappointed to see that
Ned Burton was not disposing of his supper also. I quickly guessed the
reason of this, however. It was evident that we were not all to be
allowed to take our meals at the same time for fear of our making some
desperate attempt at escape whilst our arms were free. Perhaps on the
whole this was a wise precaution.
When my hunger was satisfied I took another pull at the water pannikin,
and began to feel more myself again. Inferior as the food was, it
instilled new life into my veins and raised my spirits wonderfully. My
head still ached painfully, and the muscles of my arms were terribly
stiff and sore; but I felt convinced that no serious harm had accrued
from the blow I had received on the head, and that was something to be
very thankful for.
I should have liked to prolong my meal as much as possible so as to
allow of the muscles and sinews of my arms regaining some of their
ordinary elasticity; but I was afraid that my doing so would still
further postpone my coxswain’s supper hour, so I finished off as
quickly as possible, and submitted quietly to the indignity of having
my arms bound again.
I had the great satisfaction a minute or two later of seeing Ned peg
into his prison allowance as if he had not had anything to eat for
a month. It was really a great relief to me, for I could not help
feeling anxious as to the effect of the severe flogging he had so
lately received at the hands of the mule-driver, for severe no doubt
it had been. I could not see Ned’s face at all distinctly, as he was so
much in the deep shadow, but I augured favourably from his apparently
prodigious appetite.
My brief conversation with Mr. Triggs recurred to my memory as I lay
ruminating upon the floor of the cave. The gunner had pooh-poohed
the idea that the chief had effected our capture with the notion of
making away with us, founding his belief on the length of time that had
elapsed since we had been taken prisoners. It appeared to me doubtful
whether much importance could be attached to that. I knew that the
gunner was considered a man of sound judgment; but it also occurred to
me that he had already made one fatal mistake in endeavouring to make
a reconnaissance in a hostile country with an inadequate force, and
he might even now be making mistake number two, and deceiving himself
egregiously.
Yet it seemed the most plausible explanation of our capture, that a
demand for a heavy ransom would be made to the Spanish or the British
Government—that is, supposing that the chief and his followers were
simple bandits and nothing more; and for all I knew to the contrary,
they might be. But then it occurred to me that even if a ransom were
paid and we were released, the subsequent extermination of the whole
band by the Spanish troops and an English naval brigade would be a
comparatively easy matter. Would bandits allow themselves to run this
terrible risk? Had their stronghold been situated in the midst of
inaccessible mountains far from the haunts of man, the case would have
been different; but this cave—
My ruminations were suddenly cut short at this point by the loud baying
of the Cuban bloodhound, which had arisen from its crouching position
and was alternately sniffing the air and glancing at its master. The
next moment a messenger arrived in a breathless condition and handed a
note to the chief.
The latter took the missive without uttering a word, tore it open, and
quickly mastered the contents. Then he gave one or two short sharp
words of command, in response to which all his followers leapt to their
feet and busied themselves in preparations for an immediate departure.
I was thunderstruck at this sudden resolve on the part of the chief,
and wondered what it portended. I calculated that it must now be
somewhere about midnight, though I could not tell for certain.
My thoughts were suddenly turned into a still more disagreeable
channel; for the chief stalked up to me, in company with his ferocious
four-footed satellite, and made the latter deliberately smell me all
over. This repellent couple then crossed over and went through the same
performance with Ned Burton. Then they disappeared around a corner of
the cavern, doubtless in search of Mr. Triggs. I am ashamed to say that
I felt in mortal terror when that fierce-looking dog came and poked his
great jowl and snout against me, as if in search of a nice tender place
in which to bury his fangs. There could be no doubt as to the reason of
this strange procedure. The dog was to be familiarized with our scent,
so that in the event of his being put upon our trail he would follow it
up with more bloodthirsty zest.
It gave one a “creepy” feeling to think of it!
The chief now came hurriedly striding back into the main part of the
cavern again, and pointing first at me and then at Ned Burton, issued
some order in his usual domineering manner.
Immediately we were seized, lifted upon our feet, and blindfolded.
It was evident that we were going to set off on a journey somewhere,
and my heart sank within me at the thought; for not only was my poor
head still racked with pain, but I felt terribly fatigued as well, and
almost overcome with a strong desire to sleep.
In rasping tones the chief marshalled his men and enjoined silence upon
them. Every voice was hushed, but I could clearly distinguish the heavy
breathing of my _bête noire_, the Cuban bloodhound, as it followed its
master about.
One hope animated me at this moment, and that was that the chief was
about to beat a retreat in consequence of the advance of the naval
brigade, and therefore that there was a chance of our being succoured
ere long.
“Jim Beddoes _must_ have given the alarm before this,” I muttered to
myself, “and we shall soon be free again.”
We moved off almost at once, and I quite expected, from what Mr.
Triggs had said, that we should immediately emerge into the open air;
but to my surprise this was not so. No fresh air of heaven fanned my
heated brows, and I did not stumble over stones and inequalities in
the ground. I was impelled forward at a rapid pace, but it was quite
evident that we were still underground. It was equally evident to
me that we were following some narrow, dark, and tortuous passage.
The flickering light of torches penetrated, to a certain extent,
the bandage over my eyes, and I was gifted with a keen sense of
smell, which revealed to me the fact that I was breathing the noxious
atmosphere of an ill-ventilated subterranean tunnel charged with
mephitic vapours. The footfalls of the men, as they trooped along,
sounded hollow and unreal, as also did the occasional ring or clang of
their weapons. Now and again the sound of water dripping over rocks
smote upon my ears, and I heard the rush and gurgle of a stream—no
doubt the one that had fed the cavern cascade—as it forced its way
through some underground aqueduct of nature’s own making.
It was terribly tantalizing to be blindfolded.
The way seemed to me interminable. Once or twice I began to feel my
head swim round; but I managed to pull myself together with a great
effort, hoping every moment that we should emerge from the subterranean
passage and be enabled to breathe pure air.
The idea occurred to me that it might be difficult, indeed, to discover
the main entrance to the cavern if it was by such an approach as this,
and one could hardly blame Jim Beddoes for not having discovered our
prison. I felt sure that the gunner had been mistaken in thinking that
he saw the mouth of the cave from where he lay, and I concluded that he
had probably been deceived by the descent of the flood of light from
some orifice overhead.
At length I began to breathe more freely. The mephitic vapours were
gradually giving place to a purer atmosphere. It was like new life
to me, and the feeling of faintness passed away. Still we seemed to
wind along the tortuous tunnel. Still the measured tramp, and the
reverberating echoes upon the rocky vault.
A low word of command issued by the chief; a halt; a whispered
conference which appeared to last some time; a few hurried footfalls,
and then a sound of some heavy obstruction being rolled back. I felt a
sudden rush of cold night air. With what ecstatic delight did I draw
it into my lungs, and feel it playing over my face and hair. My nerves
were instantly braced up, and my head ached with less intensity.
Another order came from the chief, still in a low tone, as if he were
fearful of being overheard.
Once more we moved forward, and then a strange thing happened. I was
bent almost double by the men who were conducting me, and pushed
through what seemed to be a small square orifice in the rocks.