"What's the matter?" cried Don, starting up, as there was the sound of
bolts being shot back, and a light shone in upon the darkness.
Don could hardly believe it possible, but it was quite true. In spite
of pain and anxiety, weariness had mastered him, and he had been asleep.
As the light shone in, Don could see Jem lying, apparently asleep, but
in a very uncomfortable position, and that they were in a low, arched
cellar, one which at some time had been used for storing casks; for in
one corner there were some mouldy staves, and, close by, a barrel, whose
hoops seemed to have slipped down, so that it was in a state of
collapse.
He had no time to see more, for half a dozen well-armed sailors came in
after a bluff-looking man, who crossed at once to the prisoners.
"Hold the lanthorn here," he said sharply. "Now let's have a look at
you."
He examined their injuries in an experienced way, roughly, but not
unkindly.
"All right, my lad," he said to Don; "you will not die this time. Now
you."
He spent longer over Jem, who roused up and looked at him curiously, as
if he did not quite understand.
"Been rather rough with this one, my lads."
"Couldn't help it," said one of the sailors; "he fote so hard. So did
this young chap too."
"Nothing wrong with him, I daresay," said the bluff man. "No bones
broken. All right in a day or two."
Don had been silent while Jem was examined, for he felt that this man
was either a doctor, or one who knew something about surgery; but as
soon as he had finished, the boy, whose indignation had been growing,
turned to him haughtily.
"Now, sir!" he exclaimed, "have the goodness to explain the meaning of
this outrage."
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" cried the bluff man.
"It is nothing to laugh at, sir. I insist upon knowing why we have been
ill-used and dragged here by your men."
"Well crowed, my young cockerel," said the bluff man, laughing. "They
said you fought well with your fists, so you can with your tongue."
"Insulting us now you have us down will not save you," cried Don
fiercely.
"No, my lord," said the bluff man, as Jem rose up, shook his head, and
stood by Don.
The men laughed.
"You coward!" cried Don in hot anger; "but you shall all suffer for it.
My uncle will set the law to work, and have you all punished."
"Really, this is growing serious," said the bluff man in mock alarm.
"You will find it no laughing matter. You have made a mistake this
time; so now let us go at once."
"Well, I would with pleasure, my noble captain," said the bluff man,
with mock solemnity; "but his Majesty is in sore need just now of some
dashing young fellows who can fight; and he said to our first
lieutenant, `short of men, Mr Morrison? Dear me, are you? Well then,
the best thing you can do is to send round Bristol city, and persuade a
few of the brave and daring young fellows there to come on board my good
ship _Great Briton_, and help me till I've settled my quarrel with my
enemies,' so we have persuaded you."
"You are adding insult to what you have done, sir. Now let us pass.
You and your miserable press-gang shall smart for this. Stand aside,
sir."
"What, after taking all this trouble? Hardly."
"Here, I'm all right again now, Mas' Don. Press-gang, eh?" cried Jem.
"Here, let me get at him."
Jem made a dash at the bluff man, but his arms were seized, and he was
held back, struggling hard.
"Ah, I wish we had fifty of you," said the bluff man. "Don't hurt him,
my lads. There, there, steady; you can't do anything. That will do.
Save your strength to fight for the king."
"You cowards!" cried Jem, who suddenly turned so faint that the men
easily mastered him, laid him on his back, and one held him down, while
another held Don till the rest had passed out, the bluff man only
standing at the entrance with another holding up the light.
"Come along," he shouted; and the man who held Jem left him, and ran
out.
"Do you hear?" cried the bluff man again. "Come along!"
"How can I, when he's sticking on like a rat?" growled the man who held
Don. "Did you ever see such a young ruffian?"
The bluff man took a stride or two forward, gripped Don by the shoulder,
and forced him from his hold.
"Don't be a young fool," he said firmly, but not unkindly. "It's
plucky, but it's no good. Can't you see we're seven to one?"
"I don't care if you're a hundred," raged Don, struggling hard, but
vainly.
"Bravo, boy! That's right; but we're English, and going to be your
messmates. Wait till you get at the French; then you may talk like
that."
He caught Don by the hips, and with a dexterous Cornish wrestling trick,
raised him from the ground, and then threw him lightly beside Jem.
"You'll do," he said. "I thought we'd let you go, because you're such a
boy, but you've got the pluck of a man, and you'll soon grow."
He stepped quickly to the entrance, and Don struggled to his feet, and
dashed at him again, but only flung himself against the door, which was
banged in his face, and locked.
"The cowards!" panted Don, as he stood there in the darkness. "Why,
Jem!"
"Yes, Mas' Don."
"They won't let us go."
"No, Mas' Don, that they won't."
"I never thought the press-gang would dare to do such a thing as this."
"I did, sir. They'd press the monkeys out of a wild beast show if they
got the chance."
"But what are we to do?"
"I d'know, sir."
"We must let my uncle know at once."
"Yes, sir, I would," said Jem grimly; "I'd holloa."
"Don't be stupid. What's the good?"
"Not a bit, sir."
"But my uncle--my mother, what will they think?"
"I'll tell yer, sir."
"Yes?"
"They'll think you've run away, so as not to have to go 'fore the
magistrates."
"Jem, what are you saying? Think I'm a thief?"
"I didn't say that, sir; but so sure as you don't go home, they'll think
you've cut away."
"Jem!" cried Don in a despairing voice, as he recalled the bundle he had
made up, and the drawer left open.
"Well, sir, you was allus a-wanting to go abroad, and get away from the
desk," said Jem ill-naturedly--"oh, how my head do ache!--and now you've
got your chance."
"But that was all nonsense, Jem. I was only thinking then like a
stupid, discontented boy. I don't want to go. What will they say?"
"Dunno what they'll say," said Jem dolefully, "but I know what my Sally
will say. I used to talk about going and leaving her, but that was
because I too was a hidyut. I didn't want to go and leave her, poor
little lass. Too fond on her, Mas' Don. She only shows a bit o'
temper."
"Jem, she'll think you've run away and deserted her."
"Safe, Mas' Don. You see, I made up a bundle o' wittles as if I was
a-going, and she saw me take it out under my arm, and she called to me
to stop, but I wouldn't, because I was so waxy."
"And I made up a bundle too, Jem. I--I did half think of going away."
"Then you've done it now, my lad. My Sally will think I've forsook
her."
"And they at home will think of me as a thief. Oh, fool--fool--fool!"
"What's the use o' calling yourself a fool, Mas' Don, when you means me
all the time? Oh, my head, my head!"
"Jem, we must escape."
"Escape? I on'y wish we could. Oh, my head: how it do ache."
"They will take us off to the tender, and then away in some ship, and
they will not know at home where we are gone Jem, get up."
"What's the good, sir? My head feels like feet, and if I tried to stand
up I should go down flop!"
"Let me help you, Jem. Here, give me your hand. How dark it is?
Where's your hand?"
"Gently, my lad; that's my hye. Arn't much use here in the dark, but
may want 'em by-and-by. That's better. Thank ye, sir. Here, hold
tight."
"Can't you stand, Jem?"
"Stand, sir? Yes: but what's the matter? It's like being in a
round-about at the fair."
"You'll be better soon."
"Better, sir? Well, I can't be worse. Oh, my head, my head! I wish
I'd got him as did it headed up in one of our barrels, I'd give him such
a roll up and down the ware'us floor as 'ud make him as giddy as me."
"Now try and think, Jem," said Don excitedly. "They must not believe at
home that we are such cowards as to run away."
"No, sir; my Sally mustn't think that."
"Then what shall we do?"
"Try to get out, sir, of course."
"Can you walk?"
"Well, sir, if I can't, I'll crawl. What yer going to do?"
"Try the door. Perhaps they have left it unlocked."
"Not likely," said Jem. "Wish I'd got a candle. It's like being a rat
in a box trap. It _is_ dark."
"This way, Jem. Your hand."
"All right, sir. Frontards: my hands don't grow out o' my back."
"That's it. Now together. Let's get to the wall."
There was a rustling noise and then a rattle.
"Phew! Shins!" cried Jem. "Oh, dear me. That's barrel staves, I know
the feel on 'em. Such sharp edges, Mas' Don. Mind you don't tread on
the edge of a hoop, or it'll fly up and hit you right in the middle."
_Flip_!
"There, I told you so. Hurt you much, my lad?"
"Not very much, Jem. Now then; feel your way with me. Let's go all
round the place, perhaps there's another way out."
"All right, sir. Well, it might be, but I say as it couldn't be darker
than this if you was brown sugar, and shut up in a barrel in the middle
o' the night."
"Now I am touching the wall, Jem," said Don. "I'm going to feel all
round. Can you hear anything?"
"Only you speaking, my lad."
"Come along then."
"All right, Mas' Don. My head aches as if it was a tub with the cooper
at work hammering of it."
Don went slowly along the side of the great cellar, guiding himself in
the intense darkness by running: his hands over the damp bricks; but
there was nothing but bare wall till he had passed down two sides, and
was half-way along the third, when he uttered a hasty ejaculation.
"It's all right, Jem. Here is a way into another cellar."
"Mind how you go, sir. Steady."
"Yes, but make haste."
"There's a door," whispered Don. "Loose my hand."
He hastily felt all over the door, but it was perfectly blank, not so
much as a keyhole to be found, and though he pressed and strained at it,
he could make no impression.
"It's no use, Jem. Let's try the other door."
"I don't believe there are no other door," said Jem. "That's the way
out."
"No, no; the way out is on the other side."
"This here is t'other side," said Jem, "only we arn't over there now."
"I'm sure it can't be."
"And I'm sure it can be, my lad. Nothing arn't more puzzling than being
shut up in the dark. You loses yourself directly, and then you can't
find yourself again."
"But the door where the men went out is over there."
"Yah! That it arn't," cried Jem. "Don't throw your fisties about that
how. That's my nose."
"I'm very sorry, Jem. I did not mean--"
"Course you didn't, but that's what I said. When you're in the dark you
don't know where you are, nor where any one else is."
"Let's try down that other side, and I'll show you that you are wrong."
"Can't show me, my lad. You may make me feel, but you did that just now
when you hit me on the nose. Well? Fun' it?"
"No, not yet," said Don, as he crept slowly along from the doorway; and
then carefully on and on, till he must have come to the place from which
they started.
"No, not yet," grumbled Jem. "Nor more you won't if you go on for
ever."
"I'm afraid you're right, Jem."
"I'm right, and I arn't afraid," said Jem; "leastwise, save that my
head's going on aching for ever."
Don felt all round the cellar again, and then heaved a sigh.
"Yes; there's only one door, Jem. Could we break it down?"
"I could if I'd some of the cooper's tools," said Jem, quietly; "but you
can't break strong doors with your fisties, and you can't get out of
brick cellars with your teeth."
"Of course, we're underground."
"Ay! No doubt about that, Mas' Don."
"Let's knock and ask for a pencil and paper to send a message."
Jem uttered a loud chuckle as he seated himself on the floor.
"I like that, Mas' Don. 'Pon my word I do. Might just as well hit your
head again the wall."
"Better use yours for a battering ram, Jem," said Don, angrily. "It's
thicker than mine."
There was silence after this.
"He's sulky because of what I've said," thought Don.
"Oh, my poor head!" thought Jem. "How it do ache!"
Then he began to think about Sally, and what she would say or do when
she found that he did not come back.
Just at the same time Don was reflecting upon his life of late, and how
discontented he had been, and how he had longed to go away, while now he
felt as if he would give anything to be back on his old stool in the
office, writing hard, and trying his best to be satisfied with what
seemed to be a peaceful, happy life.
A terrible sensation of despair came over him, and the idea of being
dragged off to a ship, and carried right away, was unbearable. What
were glorious foreign lands with their wonders to one who would be
thought of as a cowardly thief?
As he leaned against a wall there in the darkness his busy brain
pictured his stern-looking uncle telling his weeping mother that it was
a disgrace to her to mourn over the loss of a son who could be guilty of
such a crime, and then run away to avoid his punishment.
"Oh! If I had only been a little wiser," thought Don, "how much happier
I might have been."
Then he forced himself to think out a way of escape, a little further
conversation with Jem making him feel that he must depend upon himself,
for poor Jem's injury seemed to make him at times confused; in fact, he
quite startled his fellow-prisoner by exclaiming suddenly,--
"Now where did I put them keys?"
"Jem!"
"Eh? All right, Sally. 'Tarn't daylight yet."
"Jem, my lad, don't you know where you are?"
"Don't I tell you? Phew! My head. You there, Mas' Don?"
"Yes, Jem. How are you?"
"Oh, lively, sir, lively; been asleep, I think. Keep a good heart, Mas'
Don, and--"
"Hist! Here they come," cried Don, as he saw the gleam of a light
through the cracks of the door. "Jem, do you think you could make a
dash of it as soon as they open the door?"
"No, Mas' Don, not now. My head's all of a boom-whooz, and I seem to
have no use in my legs."
"Oh!" ejaculated Don despairingly.
"But never you mind me, my lad. You make a run for it, dive down low as
soon as the door's open. That's how to get away."
_Cling_! _clang_!
Two bolts were shot back and a flood--or after the intense darkness what
seemed to be a flood--of light flashed into the cellar, as the bluff man
entered with another bearing the lanthorn. Then there was a great deal
of shuffling of feet as if heavy loads were being borne down some stone
steps; and as Don looked eagerly at the party, it was to see four
sailors, apparently wounded, perhaps dead, carried in and laid upon the
floor.
A thrill of horror ran through Don. He had heard of the acts of the
press-gangs as he might have heard of any legend, and then they had
passed from his mind; but now all this was being brought before him and
exemplified in a way that was terribly real. These four men just
carried in were the last victims of outrage, and his indignation seemed
to be boiling up within him when the bluff-looking man said
good-humouredly,--
"That's the way to get them, my lad. Those four fellows made themselves
tipsy and went to sleep, merchant sailors; they'll wake up to-morrow
morning with bad headaches and in His Majesty's Service. Fine lesson
for them to keep sober."
Don looked at the men with disgust. A few moments before he felt
indignant, and full of commiseration for them; but the bluff man's words
had swept all that away.
Then, crossing to where the man stood by the lanthorn-bearer, Don laid
his hand upon his arm.
"You are not going to keep us, sir?" he said quietly. "My mother and my
uncle will be very uneasy at my absence, and Jem--our man, has a young
wife."
"No, no; can't listen to you, my lad," said the bluff man; "it's very
hard, I know, but the king's ships must be manned--and boyed," he added
with a laugh.
"But my mother?"
"Yes, I'm sorry for your mother, but you're too old to fret about her.
We shall make a man of you, and that chap's young wife will have to wait
till he comes back."
"But you will let me send a message to them at home?"
"To come and fetch you away, my lad? Well, hardly. We don't give that
facility to pressed men to get away. There, be patient; we will not
keep you in this hole long."
He glanced at the four sleeping men, and turned slowly to go, giving Don
a nod of the head, but, as he neared the door he paused.
"Not very nice for a lad like you," he said, not unkindly. "Here, bring
these two out, my lads; we'll stow them in the warehouse. Rather hard
on the lad to shut him up with these swine. Here, come along."
A couple of the press-gang seized Don by the arms, and a couple more
paid Jem Wimble the same attention, after which they were led up a
flight of steps, the door was banged to and bolted, and directly after
they were all standing on the floor of what had evidently been used as a
tobacco warehouse, where the lanthorn light showed a rough step ladder
leading up to another floor.
"Where shall we put 'em, sir?" said a sailor.
"Top floor and make fast," said the bluff man.
"But you will let me send word home?" began Don.
"I shall send you back into that lock-up place below, and perhaps put
you in irons," said the man sternly. "Be content with what I am doing
for you. Now then, up with you, quick!--"
There was nothing for it but to obey, and with a heavy heart Don
followed the man with the lanthorn as he led the way to the next floor,
Jem coming next, and a guard of two well-armed men and their bluff
superior closing up the rear.
The floor they reached was exactly like the one they had left, and they
ascended another step ladder to the next, and then to the next.
"There's a heap of bags and wrappers over yonder to lie down on, my
lads," said the bluff man. "There, go to sleep and forget your
troubles. You shall have some prog in the morning. Now, my men,
sharp's the word."
They had ascended from floor to floor through trap-doors, and as Don
looked anxiously at his captors, the man who carried the lanthorn
stooped and raised a heavy door from the floor and held it and the light
as his companions descended, following last and drawing down the heavy
trap over his head.
The door closed with a loud clap, a rusty bolt was shot, and then, as
the two prisoners stood in the darkness listening, there was a rasping
noise, and then a crash, which Don interpreted to mean that the heavy
step ladder had been dragged away and half laid, half thrown upon the
floor below. Then the sounds died away.
"This is a happy sort o' life, Mas' Don," said Jem, breaking the
silence. "What's to be done next? Oh! My head, my head!"
"I don't know, Jem," said Don despondently. "It's enough to make one
wish one was dead."
"Dead! Wish one was dead, sir? Oh, come. It's bad enough to be
knocked down and have the headache. Dead! No, no. Where did he say
them bags was?"
"I don't know, Jem."
"Well, let's look. I want to lie down and have a sleep."
"Sleep? At a time like this!"
"Why not, sir? I'm half asleep now. Can't do anything better as I
see."
"Jem," said Don passionately, "we're being punished for all our
discontent and folly, and it seems more than I can bear."
"But we must bear it, sir. That's what you've got to do when you're
punished. Don't take on, sir. P'r'aps, it won't seem so bad when it
gets light. Here, help me find them bags he talked about."
Don was too deep in thought, for the face of his mother was before him,
and he seemed to see the agony she suffered on his account.
"Justly punished," he kept muttering; "justly punished, and now it is
too late--too late."
"Here y'are, Mas' Don," cried Jem; "lots of 'em, and I can't help it, I
must lie down, for my head feels as if it was going to tumble off."
Don heard him make a scuffling noise, as if he were very busy moving
some sacks.
"There!" Jem cried at last; "that's about it. Now, Mas' Don, I've made
you up a tidy bed; come and lie down."
"No, Jem, no; I'm not sleepy."
"Then I must," muttered Jem; and after a little more scuffling noise all
was still for a few minutes, after which there was a regular heavy
breathing, which told that the great trouble he was in had not been
sufficient to keep Jem Wimble awake.
Don stood for some time in the darkness, but by degrees a wretched
feeling of weariness came over him, and he sat down painfully upon the
floor, drawing his knees up to his chin, embracing them, and laying his
head upon them.
He wanted to think of his position, of his folly, and of the trouble
which it had brought upon him. Jem's heavy breathing came regularly
from somewhere to his left, and he found himself, as he crouched
together there in the darkness, envying the poor fellow, much as he was
injured.
"But then he has not so much on his mind as I have," thought Don. "Once
let me get clear away from here, how different I will be."