Don stood looking at Jem Wimble for some few minutes in silence, as if
the sight of some one else in trouble did him good. Then he sat down on
the stock of an old anchor, to begin picking at the red rust scales as
he too stared at the ships moored here and there.
The tall masts and rigging had a certain fascination for Don, and each
vessel seemed to offer a way out of his difficulties. For once on board
a ship with the sails spread, and the open sea before him, he might
cross right away to one of those beautiful lands of which Mike had
spoken, and then--
The thought of Mike altered the case directly, and he sat staring
straight before him at the ships.
Jem was the next to break the silence.
"Thinking you'd like to go right away, Master Don?"
"Yes, Jem."
"So was I, sir. Only think how nice it would be somewhere abroad, where
there was no Sally."
"And no Uncle Josiah, Jem."
"Ay, and no Mike to get you into trouble. Be fine, wouldn't it?"
"Glorious, Jem."
"Mean to go, Master Don?"
"What, and be a miserable coward? No."
"But you was a-thinking something of the kind, sir."
"Yes, I was, Jem. Everybody is stupid sometimes, and I was stupid then.
No. I've thought better of it."
"And you won't go, sir?"
"Go? No. Why, it would be like saying what Mike accused me of was
true."
"So it would, sir. Now that's just how I felt. I says to myself,
`Jem,' I says, `don't you stand it. What you've got to do is to go
right away and let Sally shift for herself; then she'd find out your
vally,' I says, `and be sorry for what she's said and done,' but I knew
if I did she'd begin to crow and think she'd beat me, and besides, it
would be such a miserable cowardly trick. No, Mas' Don, I'm going to
grin and bear it, and some day she'll come round and be as nice as she's
nasty now."
"Yes, that's the way to look at it, Jem; but it's a miserable world,
isn't it?"
"Well, I arn't seen much on it, Mas' Don. I once went for a holiday as
far as Bath, and that part on it was miserable enough. My word, how it
did rain! In half an hour I hadn't got a dry thread on me. Deal worse
than Bristol, which isn't the most cheersome o' places when you're
dull."
"No, Jem, it isn't. Of course you'll be at the court to-morrow?"
"I suppose so, Mas' Don. And I say they'd better ask me if I think you
took that money. My! But I would give it to some on 'em straight. Can
you fight, Mas' Don?"
"I don't know, Jem. I never tried."
"I can. You don't know what a crack I could give a man. It's my arms
is so strong with moving sugar-hogsheads, I suppose. I shouldn't wish
to be the man I hit if I did my best."
"You mean your worst, Jem."
"Course I do, Mas' Don. Well, as I was going to say, I should just like
to settle that there matter with Mr Mike without the magistrates. You
give him to me on a clear field for about ten minutes, and I'd make
Master Mike down hisself on his knees, and say just whatever I pleased."
"And what good would that do, Jem?"
"Not much to him, Mas' Don, because he'd be so precious sore afterwards,
but it would do me good, and I would feel afterwards what I don't feel
now, and that's cheerful. Never mind, sir, it'll all come right in the
end. Nothing like coming out and sitting all alone when you're crabby.
Wind seems to blow it away. When you've been sitting here a bit you'll
feel like a new man. Mind me smoking a pipe?"
"No, Jem; smoke away."
"Won't have one too, Mas' Don?"
"No, Jem; you know I can't smoke."
"Then here goes for mine," said Jem, taking a little dumpy clay pipe
from one pocket and a canvas bag from another, in which were some rough
pieces of tobacco leaf. These he crumbled up and thrust into the bowl,
after which he took advantage of the shelter afforded by an empty cask
to get in, strike a light, and start a pipe.
Once lit up, Jem returned to his old seat, and the pair remained in the
same place till it was getting dusk, and lights were twinkling among the
shipping, when Jem rose and stretched himself.
"That's your sort, Mas' Don," he said. "Now I feels better, and I can
smile at my little woman when I get home. You aren't no worse?"
"No, Jem, I am no worse."
"Nothing like coming out when you're red hot, and cooling down. I'm
cooled down, and so are you. Come along."
Don felt a sensation of reluctance to return home, but it was getting
late, and telling himself that he had nothing to do now but act a
straightforward manly part, and glad that he had cast aside his foolish
notions about going away, he trudged slowly back with his companion,
till turning into one of the dark and narrow lanes leading from the
water side, they suddenly became aware that they were not alone, for a
stoutly-built sailor stepped in front of them.
"Got a light, mate?" he said.
"Light? Yes," said Jem readily; and he prepared to get out his flint
and steel, when Don whispered something in his ear.
"Ay, to be sure," he said; "why don't you take a light from him?"
"Eh? Ah, to be sure," said the sailor. "I forgot. Here, Joe, mate,
open the lanthorn and give us a light."
Another sailor, a couple of yards away, opened a horn lanthorn, and the
first man bent down to light his pipe, the dull rays of the coarse
candle showing something which startled Don.
"Come on, Jem," he whispered; "make haste."
"Ay? To be sure, my lad. There's nothing to mind though. Only
sailors."
As he spoke there were other steps behind, and more from the front, and
Don realised that they were hemmed in that narrow lane between two
little parties of armed men.
Just then the door of the lanthorn was closed, and the man who bore it
held it close to Jem's face.
"Well?" said that worthy, good-temperedly, "what d'yer think of me, eh?
Lost some one? 'Cause I arn't him."
"I don't know so much about that," said a voice; and a young-looking man
in a heavy pea jacket whispered a few words to one of the sailors.
Don felt more uneasy, for he saw that the point of a scabbard hung down
below the last speaker's jacket, which bulged out as if there were
pistols beneath, all of which he could dimly make out in the faint glow
of the lanthorn.
"Come away, Jem, quick!" whispered Don.
"Here, what's your hurry, my lads?" said the youngish man in rather an
authoritative way. "Come and have a glass of grog."
"No, thank ye," said Jem; "I've got to be home."
"So have we, mate," said the hoarse-voiced man who had asked for a
light; "and when a horficer asks you to drink you shouldn't say no."
"I knew it, Jem," whispered Don excitedly. "Officer! Do you hear?"
"What are you whispering about, youngster?" said the man in the pea
jacket. "You let him be."
"Good-night," said Jem shortly. "Come on, Mas' Don."
He stepped forward, but the young man hurried on the men, who had now
closed in round them; and as Jem gave one of them a sturdy push to get
off, the thrust was returned with interest.
"Where are you shovin' to, mate?" growled the man. "Arn't the road wide
enough for you?"
"Quiet, my lad," said the officer sharply. "Here, you come below here
and have a glass of grog."
"I don't want no grog," said Jem; "and I should thank you to tell your
men to let me pass."
"Yes, by-and-by," said the officer. "Now then, my lads, sharp."
A couple of men crowded on Jem, one of them forcing himself between the
sturdy fellow and Don, whose cheeks flushed with anger as he felt
himself rudely thrust up against the wall of one of the houses.
"Here, what are you doing of?" cried Jem sharply.
"Being civil," said one of the men with a laugh. "There, no nonsense.
Come quiet."
He might just as well have said that to an angry bull, for as he and his
companion seized Jem by the arms, they found for themselves how strong
those arms were, one being sent staggering against Don, and the other
being lifted off his legs and dropped upon his back.
"Now, Mas' Don, run!" shouted Jem.
But before the words were well out of his lips, the party closed in upon
him, paying no heed to Don, who in accordance with Jem's command had
rushed off in retreat.
A few moments later he stopped, for Jem was not with him, but struggling
with all his might in the midst of the knot of men who were trying to
hold him.
"Mas' Don! Help, help!" roared Jem; and Don dashed at the gang, his
fists clenched, teeth set, and a curious singing noise in his ears. But
as he reached the spot where his companion was making a desperate
struggle for his liberty, Jem shouted again,--
"No, no! Mas' Don; run for it, my lad, and get help if you can."
Like a flash it occurred to Don that long before he could get help Jem
would be overpowered and carried off, and with the natural fighting
instinct fully raised, he struck out with all his might as he strove to
get to the poor fellow, who was writhing and heaving, and giving his
captors a tremendous task to hold him.
"Here, give him something to keep him quiet," growled a voice.
"No, no; get hold of his hands; that's right. Serve this cockerel the
same. Down with him, quick!" cried the officer sharply; and in
obedience to his words the men hung on to poor Jem so tenaciously that
he was dragged down on the rough pavement, and a couple of men sat
panting upon him while his wrists were secured, and his voice silenced
by a great bandage right over his mouth.
"You cowards!" Jem tried to roar, as, breathless with exertion,
bleeding from a sharp back-handed blow across the mouth, and giddy with
excitement and the effects of a rough encounter between his head and the
wall, Don made one more attempt to drag himself free, and then stood
panting and mastered by two strong men.
"Show the light," said the officer, and the lanthorn was held close to
Don's face.
"Well, if the boy can fight like that," said the officer, "he shall."
"Let us go," cried Don. "Help! He--"