"He shall fight for his Majesty the king. Now, my lads, quick. Some
one coming, and the wrong sort."
Don felt himself lifted off his feet, and half smothered by the hot
jacket which seemed to keep him from breathing, he was hurried along two
or three of the lanes, growing more faint and dizzy every moment, till
in the midst of a curious nightmare-like sensation, lights began
suddenly to dance before his eyes; then all was darkness, and he knew no
more till he seemed to wake up from a curious sensation of sickness, and
to be listening to Jem Wimble, who would keep on saying in a stupid,
aggravating manner,--"Mas' Don, are you there?"
The question must have been repeated many times before Don could get rid
of the dizzy feeling of confusion and reply,--"Yes; what do you want?"
"Oh, my poor lad!" groaned Jem. "Here, can you come to me and untie
this?"
"Jem!"
"Yes."
"What does it mean? Why is it so dark? Where are we?"
"Don't ask everything at once, my lad, and I'll try to tell you."
"Has the candle gone out, Jem? Are we in the big cellar?"
"Yes, my lad," groaned Jem, "we're in a big cellar."
"Can't you find the candle?" said Don, with his head humming and the
mental confusion on the increase. "There's a flint and steel on the
ledge over the door."
"Is there, my lad? I didn't know it," muttered Jem. "Jem, are you
there?"
"Yes, yes, my lad, I'm here."
"Get a light, quick. I must have fallen and hurt myself; my face
bleeds."
"Oh, my poor dear lad!"
"Eh? What do you mean? You're playing tricks, Jem, and it's too bad.
Get a light."
"My hands is tied fast behind me, Mas' Don," groaned Jem, "and we're
pitched down here in a cellar."
"What?"
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I don't mind for myself," groaned Jem, in his
despair, "but what will she do?"
"Jem!"
"I often said I wished I could be took away, but I didn't mean it, Mas'
Don; I didn't mean it. What will my Sally do?"
"Jem, are you mad?" shouted Don. "This darkness--this cellar. It's all
black, and I can't think; my head aches, and it's all strange. Don't
play tricks. Try and open the door and let's go."
"What, don't you know what it all means, Mas' Don?" groaned Jem.
"No, I don't seem as if I could think. What does it mean?"
"Mean, my lad? Why, the press-gang's got us, and unless we can let 'em
know at home, we shall be took aboard ship and sent off to sea."
"What?"
The light had come--the mental light which drove away the cloud of
darkness which had obscured Don Lavington's brain. He could think now,
and he saw once more the dark lane, the swinging lanthorn, and felt, as
it were, the struggle going on; and then, sitting up with his hands to
his throbbing head, he listened to a low moaning sound close at hand.
"Jem," he said. "Jem! Why don't you speak?"
There was no answer, for it was poor Jem's turn now; the injuries he had
received in his desperate struggle for liberty had had their effect, and
he lay there insensible to the great trouble which had come upon him,
while it grew more terrible to Don, in the darkness of that cellar, with
every breath he drew.