The walk did Vince good, for the action given to his muscles carried off
the sensation which made his fists clench from time to time in his
pockets and itch to be delivering blows wherever he could make them
light on his companion's person.
He did not notice that he was ploughing a rut in the sand by going
regularly to and fro, for he was thinking deeply about their position;
and as he thought, the dread that the captain's words had inspired,
endorsed as they were by Daygo's, began to fade away, till he found
himself half contemptuously saying to himself that he should like to
catch the skipper at it--it meaning something indefinite that might mean
something worse, but in all probability keeping them prisoners till he
had got away all his stores of smuggled goods.
Then, as the rut in the sand grew deeper from the regular tramp up and
down, Vince's thoughts flitted from the trouble felt by his mother, who
must be terribly anxious, to his companion, whose back was towards him,
and who with elbows on knees had bent down to rest his chin upon his
hands.
Vince was a little surprised at himself, and rather disposed to think
that he was weak; for somehow all the hot blood had gone out of his arms
and fists, which were now perfectly cool, and felt no longer any desire
to fly about as if charged with pugno-electricity, which required
discharging by being brought into contact with Mike's chest or head.
"Poor old Ladle!" he found himself thinking: "what a temper he was in!
But it was too bad to hit out like that, when what I did was to help
him. But there, he didn't know."
Vince was pretty close to his fellow-prisoner now; but he had to turn
sharply round and walk away.
"Glad I didn't hit him again, because if I had we should have had a big
fight and I should have knocked him about horribly and beaten him well,
and I don't want to. I'm such a stupid when I get fighting: I never
feel hurt--only as if I must keep on hitting; and then all those sailor
fellows would have been looking on and grinning at us. Glad we didn't
fight."
Then Vince began to think again of their position, which he told himself
was very horrible, but not half so bad as that of the people at both
their homes, where, only a mile or two away from where they were, the
greatest trouble and agony must reign.
"And us all the time with nothing the matter with us, and sitting down
as we did and eating such a breakfast! Seems so unfeeling; only I felt
half-starved, and when I began I could think of nothing else.--Such
nonsense! he's not going to kill us, or he wouldn't have given us
anything to eat. Here, I can't go on like this."
Vince stopped his walk to and fro at the end of the beaten-out track in
the sand, and turned off to stand behind Mike, who must have heard him
come, but did not make the slightest movement.
Then there was silence, broken by the voice of the French captain giving
his orders to his men, who were evidently rearranging the stores ready
for removal.
"I say, Mike," said Vince at last.
No answer.
"Michael."