"Got him, Ram?"
"Yes, father; here he is."
For the moment the midshipman felt disposed to descend again, but he
kept on, and a minute later he looked up, to see Ram's frank face
looking out of the hole, and the boy stretched out his hand.
"Want any help? Oh, all right then!"
"Did you think you'd get out that way, youngster?" said Shackle, as the
midshipman stood erect at the top of the rough stairs.
"I thought I'd try," said the lad stiffly.
"Took a lot o' trouble for nothing, boy," said the smuggler. "I come to
see what was amiss, Ram, boy, you was so long. Don't come again without
Jemmy Dadd or some one."
"No, father."
"So you thought you'd get away, did you?" said the smuggler, with an
ugly smile. "Ought to have known better, boy. You wouldn't be kept
here, if there was a way for you to escape."
Archy felt too much depressed to make any sharp reply, and the smuggler
turned to his son.
"What's the matter with you?"
"Bit of a tumble, father, that's all," said the boy cheerfully, as he
placed his hand to the back of his head.
"You should take care, then; rocks are harder than heads. Hi! You
Jemmy Dadd!"
"Hullo!" came out of the darkness.
"Get Tom to help you to-morrow. Bring a bushel or two o' lime stuff,
and stop up this hole, all but a bit big enough for a pigeon to go in
and out. It'll give him a taste o' light and air. Now, youngster, on
with you. Show the lanthorn, Jemmy."
The man came forward, and Archy was made to follow him, the smuggler and
his son coming on behind; and ten minutes later the prisoner was seated
in his old place in the darkness, with Ram's basket of provisions for
consolation. As he sat there, listening to the departing footsteps, and
feeling more and more that it was quite true,--escape must be impossible
down the cliff, or else they would not have left him with the opening
unguarded,--there was the dull, heavy report of the closing trap-door,
and the rattle and snap of bolts, and that followed by the rumbling down
of the pieces of stone.
He had pretty well thought out the correct theory of this noise, that it
was on purpose to hide the trap-door from any prying eyes which might
pass, and prying eyes must be few, he felt, or else the smugglers would
not have had recourse to so clumsy a contrivance.
He thought all this over again, as he sat there wearied out and
despondent, for in the morning his task had seemed as good as achieved,
and now he was face to face with the fact, after all that labour, that
it had been in vain, and he was more a prisoner than ever.
"Not quite so badly off as some, though," he thought, as, moved thereto
by the terrible hunger he felt, he stretched out his hand for the
basket. Not bread and water, but good tasty provisions, and--"What's
this in the bottle?" he asked himself, as he removed the cork.
It was good wholesome cider, and being seventeen, and growing fast,
Archy forgot everything for the next half-hour in the enjoyment of a
hearty meal.
An hour later, just as he was thinking of going to the opening to sit
there and look out at the evening sky, he dropped off fast asleep, and
was wakened by the coming of two of the smugglers, who busied themselves
in the repairs of the broken wall.