My first memory is of voices, and after that I was shot swiftly out
of a tunnel from an immense distance and opened my eyes upon the
same world which I had left at some indefinite period in the past.
Faces, at first very large, by and by adjusted themselves in a
proper perspective and became quite recognizable and familiar.
There was Aunt Jane's, very tearful, and Miss Higglesby-Browne's,
very glum, and the Honorable Cuthbert's, very anxious and a little
dazed, and Cookie's, very, very black. The face of Dugald Shaw I
did not see, for the quite intelligible reason that I was lying
with my head upon his shoulder.
As soon as I realized this I sat up suddenly, while every one
exclaimed at once, "There, she's quite all right--see how her color
is coming back!"
People kept Aunt Jane from flinging herself upon me and soothed her
into calm while I found out what had happened. The penknife that I
had lost in my struggle with Captain Magnus had fallen at the
Scotchman's feet. Wrenching himself free of his all but severed
bonds he had seized the knife, slashed through the rope that held
him to the tree, and flung himself on Captain Magnus. It was a
brief struggle--a fist neatly planted on the ruffian's jaw had
ended it, and the captain, half dazed from his potations, went down
limply.
Meanwhile Cookie had appeared upon the scene flourishing a kitchen
knife, though intending it for no more bloody purpose than the
setting free of Cuthbert Vane. Throughout the fray Chris slumbered
undisturbed, and he and the unconscious Magnus were now reposing
side by side, until they should awake to find themselves neatly
trussed up with Cookie's clothes-lines.
But my poor brave Crusoe dragged a broken leg, from a kick bestowed
on him by Captain Magnus, at whom he had flown valiantly in my
defense.
So far so good; we had signally defeated our two guards, and the
camp was ours. But what about the pirates who were still in the
cave and would shortly be returning from it? They were three armed
and sturdy ruffians, not to include Mr. Tubbs, whose habits were
strictly non-combative. It would mean a battle to the death.
Our best hope would be to wait in ambush behind the trees of the
clearing--I mean for Dugald Shaw and Cuthbert Vane to do it--and
shoot down the unsuspecting pirates as they returned. This
desperate plan, which so unpleasantly resembled murder, cast gloom
on every brow.
"It's the women, lad," said the Scotchman in a low voice to
Cuthbert. "It's--it's Virginia." And Cuthbert heavily assented.
Seeing myself as the motif of such slaughter shocked my mind
suddenly back to clearness.
"Oh," I cried, "not that! Why not surprise them in the cave, and
make them stay there? One man could guard the entrance easily--and
afterward we could build it up with logs or something."
Everybody stared.
"A remarkably neat scheme," said Mr. Shaw, "but impossible of
application, I'm afraid, because none of us knows where to find the
cave."