GHOSTS AND SPIES.
SOMEWHERE about twelve o'clock one night, Davey awoke quite suddenly
from a deep and dreamless sleep. Strange sounds were in his ears, and a
feeling of dread and sinking lay like a dead weight at his heart.
Around him all was dark, and through the narrow entrance to his tiny
cell, he could perceive nothing. But sundry horrible and unaccountable
noises were rudely breaking the silence of Hoyle's Mouth, and setting
the lad's pulses beating hard and fast, till he felt sick and faint
with their throbbing. Yes, there could be no doubt about it now; these
were precisely the sounds of which the villagers had spoken; they
had not lied—the place was really haunted. Hark! Yes—there were the
doleful cries and howls that he and Tom had heard described; and the
demoniac laughter in wild, mad bursts, and the rattling of fetters and
chains, and the heavy blows—muffled as though by distance—but distinct
notwithstanding, and followed by grievous shrieks and groans.
There could be nothing human in such a din as this, Davey thought.
Surely nothing but ghosts, and very unhappy ghosts too, could give
vent to such sounds as these! Quaking and trembling, Davey listened
breathlessly.
The noises went on for a few minutes more, and then died away. But the
boy fancied that at intervals still he could catch yet fainter and
further sounds of rumbling and creaking, with shuffling as of several
feet on a stone floor.
He lay there, afraid to move, shaking with fear and horror, and his
teeth chattering with cold; for the autumn nights were growing chill,
and he had nothing to cover him—exposed there on the bare rock—but his
jacket.
Suddenly, however, he started up into a sitting posture, and began to
sniff the air. Could it be? Was he not mistaken? No, there was a faint
smell of smoke—wood smoke.
"Queer ghosts these!" said the boy to himself, plucking up courage as
the homely, familiar odour, bringing back so many memories, pleasant
and painful, filled his nostrils. "I never heard of them making fires,
but maybe Welsh ghosts are chillier than others. I'm sure I'm cold
enough for a Welsh ghost myself, and I only wish I could warm myself at
that fire."
Davey sat quite still for a minute or so, thinking matters over. Then
he got up, slipped on his jacket and boots, and peeped cautiously forth
from his cell.
All was pitch dark, save where the moonlight, struggling through the
tangle of gnarled branches, cast a weird, pale patch of light just
across the threshold of Hoyle's Mouth, a wan radiance that left the
rest of the outer cave in yet deeper shadow.
As Davey stood then, peering round-eyed into the darkness, he heard a
whisper, and presently Tom stood beside him.
"Awake, Davey? Did you hear the row? What about that smoke? A cave
can't be set afire like a ship's hold; what do you make of it?"
"I don't know what to make of it," said Davey in a hushed, frightened
voice.
"Well, I'm going to have a look, and try and find out where it comes
from," said Tom.
"Then I'll go too," said Davey.
And the two lads began to grope their way through the outer chamber
of the cave towards a narrow passage, of which the villagers had told
them, but which they had never yet found courage to explore.
On they went, but slowly and cautiously, with careful feet, and arms
outstretched; for without light, it was not easy to keep from knocking
up against the rocky projections in their way.
The smell of the burning wood, though still not strong, grew more
distinct as they neared the passage, and it was evident that it came
from that direction.
"Here's the entrance," whispered Tom; "the passage is very small, and
we'll have to creep through. Now for it! And mind you don't speak once
you're in!"
And getting down on his hands and knees, he crept in, followed by Davey.
The passage ended in a tiny chamber some six feet wide, as the boys
could tell by a faint glimmer of light that seemed to come from another
passage beyond, the entrance of which they could just see before them.
"Do you mean to go any further?" whispered Davey, with his lips close
to Tom's ear.
"Why, yes; what's the use of getting so far only to turn back again?
I'm not afraid of ghosts, leastways not when they've got light and
fire. But you needn't come if you don't want to. You was always a bit
of a coward," added Tom, scornfully.
"I'm not a coward, and I'm going if you are," replied Davey,
indignantly.
And the two lads entered another long, low passage, down which they
crept as before.
As they neared the end of this corridor, they saw whence the light had
come that had served to guide their steps for the last part of the
way. For through a rough doorway, which was only partially filled up
by a wooden shutter laid lightly against the rocky opening, a warm,
bright glow streamed forth—a glow of fire and of lamp, and in the
air, mingling with the scent of the wood smoke, were the fumes of hot
grog and tobacco. Then Tom, who had been creeping along upon hands
and knees, raised himself cautiously to a standing posture, on the
right side of the doorway, and peeped round the rough wall through the
opening between the shutter and the rock into the next cave.
"What is it? Oh, Tom, what is it?" gasped Davey, as he saw his
companion's face suddenly change, and his eyes open wide, staring with
amazement and fear.
But Tom heard nothing. His attention was concentrated upon the scene
before him, and he had eyes and ears for naught else.
"If you won't tell me," whispered Davey, "I'll see for myself."
And standing up on the left of the doorway, he, too, peered in through
the wide chink on his side. But at that moment a sudden whiff of
pungent smoke caught the boy's nose and throat, and he gave a violent
sneeze, followed by a shrill shriek of horror at what he had done.
"Ha! What's that?" bellowed a deep bass voice. "Spies! Spies! Here, my
men, ferret the sneaking lubbers out!"
And paralysed with fear, Davey dropped with his face to the ground.
[Illustration]